“The Answer is Right in Back of Your Eyes”

     An incredibly complex organ, the brain is essential to our survival; however, there is a staggering amount that we do not yet know about its workings and abilities.  In a New York Times Opinion piece entitled “What Our Brains Can Teach Us,” David Eagleman, author and neuroscientist at Baylor College of Medicine, touches upon some of the brain’s intricacies that distinguish it from human created artificial sources of intelligence.  The examples used additionally further his claims of the merits of the brain that justify and validate Obama’s decision to invest perhaps 3 billion dollars to the study of neuroscience in the future.

     A notable technique employed by Eagleman was his constant comparisons between the brain and machines of artificial intelligence.  He writes, “Google Translate can convert any language to any other, but understands nothing of the content. Watson still can’t answer simple questions like, ‘When President Obama walks into a room, does his nose come with him?’ ” (1).  Mentioning these well known human advancements, in addition to appealing to cultural memory, gives the audience a solid basis for comparison, both ensuring that they understand Eagleman’s points and increasing the chances that they will be persuaded by his perspective.  By juxtaposing these two elements, Eagleman effectively establishes the brain’s superiority for the audience, as well as the weaknesses and limitations of human inventions when compared to the adaptability of the brain.  This is further illustrated through the vivid comparative anecdotes Eagleman uses to begin the piece.  By comparing humans investigating the brain to aliens who have just discovered Earth and are struggling to understand its complexities, the audience can clearly imagine how vast and enigmatic the brain is to humans.  The effectiveness of this metaphor is strengthened because Eagleman expands and adds to it throughout the editorial.  Imagining humans trying to categorize aspects of the brain as aliens judging Earth based on its natural disasters adds imagery and depth to the first comparison.  In addition, the metaphor helps Eagleman to pictorially show the shallow level of current human knowledge of the brain.

     These elements together appeal to the reader’s senses of logic and reason and increase their awareness of the brain.  Eagleman’s neat concluding lines, “So when a taxpayer asks how to endow our country with a confident future, you can reply, the answer is right in back of your eyes,” (1) thus make sense and resonate well with this audience, making Eagleman’s purpose of convincing his audience of the merits of the brain unquestionably fulfilled.

To the Ages or the Angels?

Angels and Ages, by Adam Gopnik.  Passage analyzed: Section 1 of Chapter 1, pages 26-29

     It seems natural that a book rhetorically analyzing the genius of Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin should also contain many deliberate rhetorical and stylistic decisions.  Adam Gopnik, writer for The New Yorker since 1986, employs many notable rhetorical techniques in his novel Angels and Ages while delving into some of the strange coincidences and parallels surrounding Lincoln and Darwin.  The book begins on February 12, 1809 with the births of Lincoln and Darwin.  The story proceeds to trace each man’s upbringing, and how their different backgrounds allowed each man to impact the world in a different field, but in remarkably similar ways.  Gopnik has a distinctive writing style and approach, which became evident in the first section of chapter one.

     Contrary to the way most books introduce new chapters, Gopnik begins the first chapter (and subsequent chapters) of the book with a nineteenth century poster style list of the chapter’s title and main points, and a short phrase explaining them.  This introduction helps to graphically set the scene in a way that words fail to do, because it evokes images and feelings of nineteenth century America.  In addition, it acts as a neat story map for the audience, any teen or adult interested in reading about the parallels between Lincoln and Darwin.  The story begins with an anecdote of Lincoln’s deathbed scene, where his secretary of war Stanton reputedly said of Lincoln “Now he belongs to the ages.”  Gopnik then relates the same story to the audience, changing Stanton’s words to a different account of what he said: “Now he belongs to the angels.”  Repeating this scene in two different ways for the reader helps to firmly establish in their minds the conflict that the book’s following chapters will discuss between religion, time, and evolution.  Gopnik’s focus on such a small aspect of the scene also reinforces for the reader the importance of small details, and how slight variations of letters can completely alter meaning.  The narrative voice of this section is first person, using the words “us” and “we.”  This creates an inclusive tone and appeals to the audience by inviting them in and allowing them to experience Gopnik’s revelations as he does.

     Thus far, I feel that Gopnik has fulfilled his purpose of capturing the reader’s interest and setting up the story’s main conflict.  I am intrigued to see how he will continue to add to his discussion, especially when he introduces Darwin into the story.

"What Fear Can Teach Us"

     In her illuminating TED Talk, Karen Thompson Walker, author of the book “The Age of Miracles” and former editor for Simon and Schuster, ponders the limits of the human imagination while examining its connection to fear.  Walker postulates that fear, contrary to the negative effects commonly associated with it, can actually be beneficial if interpreted correctly.  This “correct” examination rests on seeing fears as stories that could happen in the future, and allowing these stories and their potential side effects to help us make smart decisions and avoid possible trouble.

     The crux of Walker’s argument rest on the major premise that fear is an inherent part of human emotion, leading to her minor premise and conclusion that by regarding fears as stories rather than things we must conquer, humans will be able to improve their lives and subsequently decrease their fears.  The talk begins with an anecdote about the doomed whaling ship Essex, which Walker uses to vividly depict fears to the audience, anyone with an open mind willing to learn to look at their fears in a fresh way.  However, she does not immediately reveal the entire story, instead telling it in bits and pieces interspersed throughout the talk.  In this way, the story becomes an allegory that shows how our fears can paralyze us, like the sailors stranded at sea.  Even so, by tracing each fear to its potential end, we can better cope with and learn from our fears.  The allegory additionally played on the audience’s cultural memory, allowing them to bring preconceived notions (and even fears) about whaling and being stranded at sea into the discussion.  This interpersonal connection with the audience is furthered through Walker’s first person narration.  This point of view includes the audience, making them feel as if Walker is speaking directly to them and as if they can successfully look at their fears from a new perspective.

     However, one striking thing about the talk was Walker’s body language.  Although her words strove to connect with the audience, her actions did not; she was a relatively immobile public speaker, standing rigidly in the center of the stage, not always looking at the audience.  Therefore, had Walker been a more charismatic public speaker, it would have helped the audience to better hear and understand the talk, although Walker’s purpose was somewhat fulfilled in that she successfully employed some verbal rhetorical techniques throughout the talk.

A Crimson Stain

 The Slate article "There is No Harvard Cheating Scandal," by Farhad Manjoo, in wordle form.  Click here to read the article.

This past Friday, sixty students were forced to “withdraw” from Harvard because of allegations that they cheated on the University’s “Introduction to Congress” final last spring.  When news broke of the scandal this September, many people were astonished at the potential ways in which this could tarnish the university’s reputation.  In contrast to typical negative reactions, Farhad Manjoo, Slate’s technology columnist, spoke up in defense of the accused students.  Manjoo’s argument rests on the major premise that once in the “real world,” collaboration will be vital to the success of these students; thus, it did not make sense to forbid them from working together, especially on an open note exam when they were allowed to consult the Internet.  By structuring the article around this central claim, Manjoo effectively lays out his argument, further enhancing it through skillful usage of rhetorical elements.

At various points in the article, Manjoo uses rhetorical questioning to transition between aspects of the argument.  In the beginning, after establishing the facts for his audience, Manjoo asks the question, “What’s the point of prohibiting students from working together?”  A bridge between fact and opinion is thus created, allowing Manjoo to bring his own thoughts into the article as well as create flow.  The third person perspective from which the argument is narrated strengthens it.  Impressively, Manjoo never once says the word “I” throughout the piece.  His omission of this word lends credibility and sophistication to the article and helps to reinforce his focus on the students, as he leaves himself out of the piece.  The wide variety of quotes Manjoo weaves into the article also contributes to its effectiveness.  By incorporating quotes of questions from the “Introduction to Congress” exam, as well as one from Steve Jobs about the way Pixar’s office is set up to foster creativity, Manjoo enhances the argument by backing it up with external evidence to validate his claims.  The range of quotes shows the effort Manjoo put into the argument and allows him to appeal to a wide range of audience members, in particular American students around college age and teachers, both of whom are familiar with rigorous testing.

Therefore, I think Manjoo successfully uses his argument to fulfill his purpose.  In his attempt to exonerate the accused students, Manjoo employs many persuasive devices that work to convince the audience of a surprising yet compelling point.

Is Handwriting Worth Preserving? (Rewrite)

Photo taken from Julia Turner's Slate article, "The End of Pens: Is handwriting worth saving?"

Society’s digital age seems to usher in faster and better ways of communication, as well as the end of “the handwriting” era.  In her intriguing article, Julia Turner, Slate’s Deputy Editor and regular on Slate’s Culture Gabfest Podcast, addresses this new phenomenon.  She frames her points in the context of a book review of The Missing Ink (Philip Hensher), which traces handwriting across the centuries.  Turner explains how handwriting has evolved as cultures attempt to make writing speedier and more legible.  However, handwriting today is often replaced with typing on technological devices, which raises the question: is handwriting even something worth preserving?

Turner’s statements gain credibility because she wrote some of her article by hand (scanned, of course, into the typed computer article).  This imagery reinforces some of her main points by allowing her to show and not just tell.  Turner uses several different handwriting styles throughout the article, ranging from a print-cursive hybrid (handwriting Turner learned in grade school) to a completely uppercase, block letter font (learned in an architecture class; shown in picture), to the scribbled version of the block font (a style she reverts to when rushing).  This plethora of fonts reflects Turner’s words and effectively furthers her points, as they trigger reactions in the reader based on how Turner writes as well as their own personal associations with writing styles.  The contrast between the block and scribbled block handwriting reminded me of disparities in my own handwriting depending on the context of my writing, an appeal to cultural memory that really helped Turner’s points to hit home.  Turner’s decision to arrange the points in the article in a cause and effect fashion helps the audience to better understand what is being said.  For instance, Turner begins the article discussing her handwriting at a young age, and in chronologically tracing her handwriting’s progression is able to weave in specific points from Hensher’s book.  This logical progression makes it harder for her points to be disputed because they occur in such a natural way and allow her to build up evidence furthering the article’s central question.

Turner’s compelling evidence for both sides of the handwriting preservation dilemma render this question difficult to answer.  However, based on the effects of the different handwritings used in the article, I do feel it is worth preserving.  In allowing her audience (teenage and older Americans interested in aspects of culture and their evolution) to ponder this question, Turner successfully fulfills her purpose of convincing her audience that Hensher’s book is both applicable and interesting.

"Jesus Shaves"

In “partie deux” (part two) of Me Talk Pretty One Day, author David Sedaris demonstrates once again his skillful command of language and ability to make an audience laugh.  These two assets feature prominently in the story “Jesus Shaves.”  This story centers around one of Sedaris’ memorable French classes, in which he and his classmates learn about French holidays and then attempt to explain to a Moroccan student (with their limited French vocabulary) the basics of Easter.  The rhetorical devices used by Sedaris effectively enhance his delivery and influence the reader’s perception of different characters, making this story especially memorable.

The most prominent device Sedaris uses is his blurring of French and English by writing in English but using French syntax.  This technique, coupled with Sedaris’ creative phrasing (“It [Easter] is a party for the little boy of G-d who call his self Jesus…” [177]) brings Sedaris’ amateur French class to life for the reader.  This style is enhanced through Sedaris’ usage of simile to create humorous and lasting imagery.  For instance, in France there is no Easter bunny but instead an Easter bell, which for Sedaris is “…like saying that come Christmas, a magic dustpan flies in from the North Pole, led by eight flying cinder blocks,” (179).  In addition to inducing laughter, these comparisons play upon the reader’s cultural memory.  To an audience (particularly Americans who love to laugh but are mature enough to handle some explicit and racy language) that actually understands and has specific associations with Easter of bunnies and chocolate and with Christmas of Santa Claus delivering presents with his sleigh of reindeer, the holiday explanations presented by Sedaris and the members of his class seem especially out of place and thus funny.  By taking aspects of life familiar to his audience and twisting them into funny anecdotes, Sedaris’ words leave a lasting impression.

It is ironic that for someone with such a strong facility for the English language, Sedaris makes so many French “faux pas”.  These “mistakes”, however, lend originality and humor to Sedaris’ writing, allowing him to effectively complete his purpose of entertaining his audience with personal anecdotes.

La Revue Misérable

 

 

     In his critique of the movie Les Misérables, which appeared in The New Yorker, David Denby (staff writer and film critic at The New Yorker since 1998) attacks many of the film’s intrinsic elements.  Beginning with its setting, and progressing through its staging, singing, actors, music, connections to life, and use of emotion, Denby explains how the movie only featured melodramatic scenes.  He finds fault with the gray, drab, and wet (both through tears and rain) atmosphere of the movie, its “elemental” use of emotion and disconnect with actual life, even suggesting two “cures” at the end of his article for those still “suffering from absorption in ‘Les Mis’ ”.  Denby effectively uses rhetorical questioning to challenge the audience’s preconceived beliefs about Les Mis, which helps to raise doubt and uncertainty in their minds.  However, he is unable to provide much external evidence to support his opinions.  Denby seems to have targeted the review specifically at Les Mis fans and lovers, with the intention of highlighting for them all the ways in which Les Mis the movie fails to deliver the incredible, emotional, and complex story of its written counterpart.  However, I think the tautology of Denby’s writing (ironically, the same overuse of pathos to make points for which he condemned the movie) detracted from the overall strength of his claims.  Perhaps a less ardent Les Mis fan would disagree, but I think Denby’s negative tone and highly critical approach interfered with his ability to successfully accomplish his purpose.