It’s 1939 I’m staring from the top of a mountain in a country unknown, at the smooth downhill expanse of its slope. Around me are similar mountains, the peaks of which are concealed by wisps of condensed water. Like my mountain, the rest of the mountain range is covered in snow. I am with my dad, we are both wearing wooden skis, and we are both about to ski down this vast almost vertical slope. When we do, ski downwards in a straight line steadily gaining momentum as we continue our descent. Some way down the slope, the inevitable, happens. We collide with the icy surface and proceed the rest of the way, rolling. When we reach the bottom we are not hurt, instead we are shaken and laughing. Later we casually speak about it food and hot drink in the mountain side rest stop. As I finished my book The Snows of Kilimanjaro by Ernest Hemingway, this is vision most distinctive in the text as I read today. This scene also happens to remind of a similar experience I shared with my dad skiing in Austria, minus the downhill collision and wooden skis. Even though the book is composed mainly of short stories depicting the lives of different people, Nick is the only recurring character in the book. The first time he appears, he is a kid of my age accompanying his dad to oversee a child birth in a small shanty town possibly in India or maybe South Africa. The fact that Nick is the only kid of my age in the book, if only temporarily, allows me to relate to him a little more on some level making him a likely candidate for friendship. The book has no plot or story line rising action or climax, makes it a little difficult to follow because of its lack of direction. Hemingway’s one defining literary tool is his ability to describe. This book is purely contrived of plain descriptive imagery. Descriptive imagery that is written bluntly and inelegantly but yet portrays awe- inspiring visions of nature and the lively subcultures of the world. This particular candid simplicity contributes in making this book all the more realistic. In the beginning of the book there is a story resulting in the death of a writer on safari in Kenya. If I could jump inside the book I would like to postpone his death.

Reading log 5

As I read my book today, what i pictured more vividly than anything else, was a masterfully crafted figurine of a ferocious dragon with precious gems suited for eyes, shedding its inanimate skin and coming to life. In a sense, the book is like film or a play because of its vast array of characters. Out of all of them, I would have liked to have known Mr. Sunshine, an original Greek who plays at being fate in the novel by writing the stories of the lives of people in the world. I enjoy writing, and because many of the characters in the book are storytellers, I can connect with them on some level. The book is a comic type of fantasy and so isn’t very realistic in regard to the ability of bending ones will for convenience. I cannot say I’ve shared any of the characters experiences, nor can I relate to any of the events that occur in the story. The author uses imagery to enhance the plentiful visions the book contains, and to enhance the imagery, the author utilizes simile and metaphor on more than one occasion. The passage I read today is similar to a sort of thing the same author would write in another one of his books that I’ve read. In the next section I read I think the protagonist will most likely feel despair at the departure of another character in the story. If I could jump into the story right now I would probably hang out in the Tolkien fraternity house and check out the many mysterious wonders the house has to offer.