Excavating Poetry and Staking Claims

Constructing an arguable thesis in a poem that isn't as cliche as singing in the rain or as boring as cardboard can be a real chore. Fortunately, I am not left to my own devices as I dig further into "Introduction to Poetry" by Billy Collins. Gideon Burton has stocked 9 helpful tips on his blog, Coming to Terms With Literature on how to really juice the nutrients of a poem, shake those insights into claims, and cocktail those claims into a thesis.

Dwelling in Possibility

In order to write literary criticism well, you must first recognize what exactly you're going to argue. This is done through a process called "pre-writing" which is simply everything you do before sitting down to write. My earlier blog post named Understanding Poetry in 8 Steps outlines eight different steps that we can take to understand what a poem is about but there is always more that we can do to fully understand where an argument is going to take us. In that post, I analyzed Emily Dickinson's poem "I Dwell in Possibility" and I will be continuing my analysis on that poem in this blog post.

The Combination of Two Arts

This Thursday was the 2019 Poetry Jam at the BYU Museum of Art. It was fascinating and eye-opening to see the poets perspective of the art pieces that they stood next to. I had never experienced anything like it before. The poems complimented the art in a way that revealed different aspects of the pieces.
One of the poets, Hayley Rawle, read a poem about The Drowned Cathedral by M. C. Escher. The picture is based on a legend where the city of Ys is lost in the sea. The legend tells how the bells can still be heard in the sea. The short poem told briefly of the of the legend and then described the sunken cathedral. The poem was read in a way that showed the mystery behind the painting and the tone of the poem matched the black and white of the picture itself.

Prewriting and the Killer Thesis Statement

After you have gauged and recorded your initial response to a poem, then comes the more in-depth prewriting. A lot of work goes into creating your claim, and crafting a Killer Thesis Statement. Hopefully you can take the work you did with the previous eight steps for responding, and carry it right into your prewriting and thesis creation.

For my prewriting work, I wrote out the poem (the same poem I used on the earlier 8 tips for responding post) Ars Poetica. After I wrote it out, I annotated it in depth, using my own uniquely-crafted system-- as you can too! Mark up the poem as much as you need to in order to help you pick it apart, and formulate some good ideas about it. Here is a picture of what I did:

Experiencing Ekphrasis

This week I had the privilege of attending BYU's annual Poetry Jam at the Museum of Art. The evening began with the definition of what we were doing: poetry responding to art, or ekphrasis. This was my first experience with ekphrasis, and I have to say it was a good one. We actually walked to the inspirational paintings through many of the exhibits in the museum, and each poem was read by its original author next to its muse. That combination alone is a rare privilege. 

The Meaning in Low Sky and Mean Clouds

Poetry as an art form is both ancient and prolific. There is, however, a resistance against it. Many people, even those among educated circles, view poetry as difficult to understand and essentially pointless. While being difficult in many cases, poetry like the other art forms, can be highly expressive and we, the masses, can understand with just a little context. The Norton Introduction to Literature, has offered that context.

1. Listen to the Poem First

When I read Emily Dickinson's The Sky is low-the Clouds are mean I read it through first. I listened to the way it flowed, the way the words sounded when they are put together. I notice the elegance of the poem.It has a statement/answer kind of feel. It feels like the lines are connected, like the second half is a sub clause to the first. It reminds me of Old English poetry, with it's two part rhythm, albeit without the alliteration.

Perusing Poetry with a Fine Toothed Comb

Similar to the stacks upon stacks of movies about movies, there are poems about poems. One such renowned piece of work was written by Billy Collins called "Introduction to Poetry" In this post, I will dig into Collins words with knife and fork clasped in my fists, absorbing all the nutrients. Luckily, the Norton Introduction to Literature has 8 nifty maneuvers that will help me dissect and feast on any poem. 

Learning to Respond Well

We live in a world of literature-- both formal and informal. We are all exposed to it, and we all respond to it. We can learn to respond, just as we can learn to read. It can bring great fulfillment to our lives when we learn to respond in more sophisticated and interesting ways. How we respond to literature can be just as important as the literature itself.

The Norton Introduction to Literature suggests eight steps that we can take to begin to respond well to literature, and specifically to poetry.

Understanding Poetry in 8 Steps

Poetry can be hard to understand the first time that you read it since poets don't always follow traditional styles or use normal sentence structure. Understanding poetry though can open up a new realm of understanding. Here are eight steps to better interpret poetry using Emily Dickinson's poem "I dwell in Possibility". 

1. Listen to or read the poem aloud 

[I dwell in Possibility—]
by Emily Dickinson

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of Eye –
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –

Putting the 'Me' in Melodramatic

I stumbled into the lap of the poem, "God Says Yes to Me", written by Kaylin Haught, near the hazy beginning of this semester. I was perusing my Women's General Studies textbook, shrouded in self-disappointment blues, frustrated with myself before I found it.

So it was quite a shift when I read the first words, hunkered in a cafe, wrapped in my text, illuminated by dust sprinkled sunlight, and felt the squeeze of an ethereal hug. If there is one constant in my life, it is the unvoiced question, "Is this ok?" that hinges on my every choice, interaction, or badly framed joke. In this pocket of a moment, I felt the truth of Haught's poem proudly proclaiming "Yes!" to all my blubbering life attempts.

Kaylin Haught's casual vernacular and word choices are both specific and vague enough to taste familiar to each reader. The purity of her craft and intentions are glued to my mind.  

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic

and she said yes

I asked her if it was okay to be short

and she said it sure was.

Angels and Demons

I hope you’re ready for this.

There was once a difficult time in my life. I won’t tell you when it was or when it ended, all I’ll say, is, I have no idea what to say.

Open up your eyes
Shut your mouth and see
That I’m still the only one that’s been in love with me
I’m just happy getting you stuck in between my teeth
And there’s nothing I can do about it

I met a girl, she was short, blonde, and gorgeous. I started talking to her and realized that we had some common interests and hobbies. I asked her out. The date was great. We hit it off and it felt like the world was lined up with the stars. I was getting ready to start my journey when she ghosted me.

Broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door
I got splinters in my knuckles crawling across the floor

I didn’t understand. I thought everything was perfect. But she was gone. I should have let her leave.

Sacrificing Innocence

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/539517230344483142/

I grew up as a scapegoat. I was the one who wasn't involved and the one to blame at the same time. I was the easy target as a child—too quiet to speak up and too shy to fight back. I grew up as that tired girl who was never big enough to fight her battles. She would stand patiently while the older kids berated her and tore at her confidence until she would politely knot her hands together behind her back and stare mutely at the ground.

I can feel the tug
of the halter at the nape
of her neck, the wind
on her naked front.

I was always the one to blame and the one to pick on. I had grown so accustomed to it that I no longer reacted. At night I would climb up on the roof of my family’s home and sit with my back against the slanted shingles. The stars would welcome me in and I would always smile back. I don’t know where I found the courage to smile. Eventually, I found my voice again and I raised it loud enough to stir the bones of society. That journey is why when I read "Punishment" by Seamus Heaney, I felt an odd bond to the broken woman who was dug out from a bog.

Love's Unknown Worth

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 is a well-written, much-loved, and highly praised piece of classic literature, but to a young girl ignorant of literary intricacies, simply watching a Jane Austen movie with her dad, it was none of those things—it was magic. The words danced and swirled and moved in her heart like she’d never felt words do before. That child was me.

When I watched Ang Lee’s 1995 version of Sense and Sensibility as a little girl and heard Marianne quote Shakespeare’s beautiful words, I certainly wasn’t thinking about his use of syntax, rhyme, or sonnet structure. Shakespeare’s craft with words allowed me to experience the power of poetry without any knowledge of why it worked. However, I was moved to tears at the pure beauty of what he had created. His words entered the deepest parts of my heart. Even now, the words come to me almost unbidden:

Black History Month is Every Month

A Poetry Slam Experience

February's Poetry Slam at the wall was a riveting experience with electrifying audience energy. The house was packed, and each performer was buoyed with yards of applause. But in between the raucous moments of fun and excitement, I was touched beneath every layer of my constructed self, to the deep bones of my human soul.

Near all the performers who shared a piece of themselves had suffered from discrimination, from both bullies and friends. One boy tentatively came up at the end. He hadn't intended to perform, but it would have been a travesty if he hadn't. He unleashed his thoughts on a frequently asked question, "What's it like to be black?" He conjured up every ache and memory that question brings to mind. He talked about how no answer could encompass the subtle digs and blatant racism he's experienced. His poem prodded me specifically because I can see myself ignorantly asking some less crude form of that question, unaware of the pain it would cause.

Another girl gave a tender performance of a self-written poem, interrupted by her own choked tears. The poem was called, "I Love BYU". She mentioned all the warm emotions she felt toward BYU, while including the racism she encountered there. The piece ended with her saying something along the lines of,

"I love BYU/So why doesn't BYU love me?"

Although the poem was not to be praised for its astonishing craft, it was seeped in such heartfelt emotions one could not sidestep the message it lent itself to. This poem allowed me to see an intimate side of her. The performance aspect carried the heart of the poem farther than the words needed to.

All in all, I came out of the experience invigorated, touched, and full of food for thought, and in my belly.

Why Poetry is Alive and Well

Brigham Young University holds a Saturday night Poetry Slam for students and community members alike-- it's tradition, and it's often open-mic. I wasn't able to attend the slam held this last Saturday, so I participated off-campus by watching videos of previous participants' preformed poetry. It was engaging-- if somewhat surprising. There was everything from poetry I found inspirational, well-written, and beautiful, all the way through childish imitations of emotion labeled loosely as poetry. I honestly found both of these kinds intriguing, because to me it meant that poetry is alive and well among this generation of college students. I want to focus my reflections on two videos, but I will link all of the videos I watched below.

The first video I want to discuss is this young woman's courageous use of poetry as a tool for social change. Millennials are a generation obsessed with social change, and poetry can be a powerful means of communicating different perspectives and ideas. Words spoken well can break through years of prejudice. In Mallory Matheson's "Untitled" poem, she succeeded in breaking through my idea of what was normal and acceptable at BYU. She helped me to see that maybe some behavior I had been socially taught to accept, was not in harmony with my feminist equality views. I found her passion on the subject intriguing.

The Passion of Poetry

I attended the February Poetry Slam for Black History Month. It was a really great experience! It was energized, controversial, heart-breaking, and chilling all in a few hours. Overall, I loved the atmosphere of the Slam. When the poets recited their lines with passion, the crowd would cheer and shout. There would be the occasional holler of approval that would encourage the poet onward. Each reading was followed by thunderous applause.

From the Slam, I had two favorite poems. The first, I can't remember the name of but it dealt heavily and unabashedly with feminism. The woman poet called out every aspect of male chauvinism and then pointed out every redeeming quality of a woman. The poem mainly showed the beauty of a period and why men should celebrate a woman's period rather than demean it.

My second favorite poem was titled "Jesus Was a Black Man". At first, the title comes off sounding controversial among LDS groups and for that reason it immediately caught my attention. The poem turned out to be touching and beautiful. The poet said that each Jesus suffered for every pain including the pains of the black man. It ended beautifully by saying "Jesus was a black woman" and the woman poet teared up when she said those words.

I really enjoyed the Slam and I definitely plan to attend more of them!

Putting the 'Me' in Melodramatic (Draft)

I stumbled into the lap of the poem God Says Yes to Me, written by Kaylin Haught near the hazy beginning of this semester while perusing my Women's General Studies textbook. I was shrouded in self-disappointment blues, frustrated with myself before I found it. Then when I read the first words, hunkered down in a cafe, wrapped in my text, illuminated by dust sprinkled sunlight, I felt the squeeze of an ethereal hug. If there is one constant in my life, it is the unvoiced question, "Is this ok?" that hinges on my every choice, interaction, or badly framed joke. In this pocket of a moment, I felt the truth of this poem proudly proclaiming the answer to all my social and and personality attempts is "yes!"

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes

I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is

The words stuck familiar inside me right away. I'd asked God if my melodrama was 'okay' through multiple bouts of sniffles. The immediate personification of God as a woman was unconventional, but I asked God if it was okay for him to be portrayed as a woman for the sake of giving girls a hypothetical divine mother role model, and he said it sure is. I don't believe this poem is propaganda trying to sway my opinion on the gender of God. By using the pronoun 'she', the poem is empowering women to give themselves permission. I personally find myself scampering around to please men as a majority. Every boss I've had, my favorite teachers, many inspirational artists, and anyone I've been in love with, is a man. God is a man. I inspect my work and my actions through their metaphorical monocles. But a woman has a different life experience than a man, regardless of innate or societal origins. This poem is merely pointing out that women are also a source of validation. The bond of women is an empowering force, even in a patriarchy, and God's feminine attributes are as prevalent as masculine.

I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to

I fell in love with the casual, succinct phrases. Haught rejected gaudy words of Shakespeare for the colloquial words of friendship. There is no pedestal between the asker and God. In fact, this excerpt convinces me God isn't just personified as a woman conversing with a girl, but as a Mother and a child. 'Honey' is a term of endearment first tied to a mom. I was struck by how effortlessly the poem linked the love of the two together, strengthening the effects of both. The intimacy of a mother is projected onto god, and the limitless power of truth is bestowed on the mother. The choice to plant the words "You can do just exactly what you want" on the cusp of God's lips is vehement. Suddenly the confirmation transcends the culture that says you should wear nail polish. The poem isn't condoning all action--murder is still out of the question. No--in this poem--God is broadening the boa-constrictor like, man-made rules that ruthlessly tell me make-up is always a better choice, curled hair is more important than sleep, and I should spend my scrappy grocery money on nail polish. Every time I read this, I breath deeper with each stanza. It relieves the pesky, air clogging stress tirelessly converting me to the idea that society has discovered the exclusive right answers. 

Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

Again there is an act of defiance from the higher powers that be against these menial rules set in         place. God doesn't care if we paragraph our letters or our prayers. Mothers don't care if letters are properly formatted. God doesn't care if women pluck their brows before they ask for help or not. Moms don't notice a cute outfit if you're barreling into them, crying over an emotional boo-boo. These arbitrary rules are allowed to be ignored. They don't define us as people. The last line is impact-ful because it extends beyond the quarantines of what has been mentioned in the poem. The repetition of three 'yeses' indicate many more to come. Girls everywhere are asking if it's ok to stop shaving their legs, or if they don't get married, if they do get married. God is approving the symbol of choices  prohibited from women in the past, in her relatable vernacular. You don't have to be smart or rich to receive an emphatic, feminist yes from God. 

Despite growing up claiming the title of feminist as one claims the title princess, I am guilty of bound-less girl stereotypes. I loved barbies. I will not touch a bug with my bare flesh. I am wretchedly emotional and melodramatic. My ex-boyfriend repeatedly told me he was a saint for putting up with me four weeks of a month. I feel fat most of the time. All of these qualms I have with myself, I have at some point asked someone, "Is this ok?" Haught's poem affirms so sweetly how the "Yes" applies. Her words are a celebration of differences, and a poetic advertisement to combat the media telling everyone it's not okay, unless you buy this product. I'm encouraged to inquire instead of relying on what I've always known. Instead of just assuming a certain choice would be wrong, the protagonist in the poem asked someone with a cosmic perspective. Since reading over these stanzas, I muse over where and what I seek for validation. My encounter with this poem has molded me into something better.  

When the Innocent Are Sacrificed (Draft)

It wasn’t until I turned 22 that I was overpowered by the need to create—to express the deep emotional trauma that I felt. The only satisfying way to express that pain was through poetry. So, I wrote the raw feelings and emotions and condensed them into a cathartic poem.

My little friend, with your wobbly walk,

With your big, round eyes that blink with

Innocent sincerity,

I'm sorry.

When I was a little girl, I thought that there was something weird about eating meat. I didn’t know why or what made me think that way. I grew up eating beans stew with bacon and ham, stuffed turkey for Thanksgiving, a lamb for Christmas—meat was a part of every meal. Still, for some reason, I avoided it. I wasn’t old enough then to know that the cut of roasted beef on the dinner table was once a cow. I didn’t know how meat was actually produced.

I saw you the other week,

And you didn't look well. They still haven't

Bandaged the sore above your eye

Or cleaned the ground below your feet.

Unknown Worth: A Poetic Experience of Love and Truth (draft)

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 is a well-written, much-loved, and highly praised piece of classic literature, but to a young girl ignorant of literary intricacies, simply watching a Jane Austen movie with her dad, it was none of those things—it was magic. The words danced and swirled and moved in her heart like she’d never felt words do before. That child was me.

When I watched Ang Lee’s 1995 version of Sense and Sensibility as a little girl and heard Marianne quote Shakespeare’s beautiful words, I certainly wasn’t thinking about his use of syntax, rhyme, or sonnet structure. Shakespeare’s craft with words allowed me to experience the power of poetry without any knowledge of why it worked. However, I was moved to tears at the pure beauty of what he had created. His words entered the deepest parts of my heart. Even now, the words come to me almost unbidden: 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove. 

These are the words I would find myself whispering alone in my room at night during my high school days, searching for something more, praying that love was real and that all men were not as ignorant or selfish as the boy who had just dropped me off. Poetry helped me form an idea of what true love was long before my time—causing me to skip the girlish giggles and swoons, and cling to my belief that love could be true when it was caring and considerate. Was I fanciful and childish? Carried off in a Cinderella dream? Maybe, but to me it felt deeper than that. This poem had set off in me the beginnings of wisdom; a yearning for what I wanted most in this life. It became a kind of rebellion against the lust, conflict, and brokenness that I saw all around me. I believed that love was possible, and I believed that it was powerful.

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken; 

Shakespeare’s meticulous diction awakened me to the power of words. His use of the traditional sonnet structure somehow gave the poem a dependability and consistency that seemed symbolic itself. His beautiful lyricism swept me away to another world—a better world—a world where kindness ruled the day. These words gave me permission to feel; I began to believe that empathy was strength, and that emotion was not weakness. I have forgotten this many times, but always this poem always brings me right back. Even as a child, my heart could feel the truth of the words, and it gave me hope for the future. For my own future, and the future of the world.

It is the star to every wand'ring bark, 

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 

What a beautiful sentiment! “It is the star to every wand’ring bark,/ Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.” I felt like my height had been taken, and I’d come up short. But maybe my worth was yet unknown—maybe I didn’t know my own worth, and maybe those around me didn’t either. Maybe finding my worth would be a journey; the symbolism of a guiding star hinting that maybe this journey would take some faith.

Imagine my delight when I stumbled upon the same poem in what would become a beloved book. The book is Blackmoore by Julianne Donaldson. In this story the protagonist hears her best friend reading this poem to his elderly grandfather who is losing his memory. With this impactful scene, the poem became even more meaningful to me:

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come; 

Love cannot be tricked by time. The personification of both Love and Time makes these subjects real and tangible. Somehow, giving them names and personalities helps us understand their intricacies in new light. “Love’s not Time’s fool,” although “Within his bending sickle’s compass come,” and “Love alters not with brief hours and weeks.” Real Love is not diminished or controlled by Time, even as beauty fades, Love grows stronger.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

Love is a journey, just as life is a journey. Words like “wand’ring,” “bears it out,” “hours and weeks,” and “edge of doom” tell a story. We can almost see the hero’s arc within the poem as Love itself voyages on.

Poetry such as this reveals our earnest emotions—as if the use of a dance-like rhythm deliberately shakes it out of us, all while alliteration like “alters not when it alteration finds” and “remover to remove” sticks it into our minds for good. In addition, poetry often says what we cannot say. What this poem said for me was undeniable—I felt that Love was true and somehow these words had proven it.

If this be error and upon me prov'd, 

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

In these closing words Shakespeare wrenches you out of the spell he has previously cast. He calls us to reality by bringing in a first person narrative, which he hasn’t used since the very beginning of the poem. He references himself—and swears on the authenticity of his many works of literature and the love of all men everywhere that what he says is true. Could there be a more profound promise than that? These closing words connected poet and reader like nothing else could have. I felt like I knew him—as if we could commune across time and space to say the same words and feel the same sentiments. Ultimately, this is what I believe all poetry can do. It is a powerful medium that I believe can foster connection, understanding, and communication—in other words, it can foster Love—in unparalleled ways. Just as this one did for me, poems have the power to slice through the trifling and mundane things of everyday life, and connect our very hearts.

Don't Ignore the Signs: An Analytical Review of "The Silent Child"

The Silent Child is a phenomenal short film brought to light by the most recent Oscar Awards. The screenplay was written by Rachel Shenton, an actress and ambassador for the National Deaf Children's Society, as well as directed by Chris Overton. The messages addressed in the film are raw and heartfelt as the audience watches a young deaf girl named Libby leave her isolation of misunderstandings and embrace the communication and community a social worker offers in the form of sign language. I believe this film is so striking because the cinematography and script lend itself to the power of feeling understood. The film plays with lighting and framing to enhance that meaning, and the script shows us through the characters reactions.

For instance, there is a moment where Libby and the Joanne (the social worker) exuberantly talk in the light, outside. Libby has been learning sign language for some time, and her built relationship with Joanne, someone who understands Libby is like a breath of fresh air. Meanwhile, the next shot shows Libby's mother Sue, lurking behind the curtains, watching, drenched in darkness. At this moment, Sue feels alienated. She isn't understood by Libby, and sign language has broadened that barrier by providing a true confidante Libby can speak with. These emotions are heightened for the audience by the contrast of light and dark. Without the illumination of being understood, one is left in the dark.

The power of being understood is also embedded in the plot. The film ends with Libby ripped from the very tools that empower her. To withhold a happy ending from an audience is risky, but necessary to show how destitute one can be without a form of showing their capabilities. Beforehand the audience sees her in class, unaware of the spelling test taking place. It relied on hearing. The plot creates a poignant loss for the audience as one sees exactly how promising Libby's future can look with a means of communication, and the drastic shift once it is taken away. The cinematography captured the essence of that in the last shot. Joanne had rushed to Libby's school, in hopes to console her in some way. Libby signs, "I love you" Tears trickle down Joannes face as she signs it back. The camera zooms in on Libby, removing the audiences view of her hands. The camera cuts off the most integral form of her communication, just as the mother did to Libby. She could be signing underneath, but the audience will never know. Libby's thoughts could be boiling underneath, but her mother revoked the potential for her to express them as efficiently as possible.

The film could not have ended with a harder punch. The screen shows shocking statistics of how many deaf children are bereft of help with their condition. Then the screen reminds the audience deaf people can be anything they want to with a good support system. The team of "The Silent Child" is begging for that support system to be built. Some say it lacks art form to brazenly enlist the audience with those statistics, the work should speak for itself. In this case, it was a an empowering form of communication, with a message that deserves to be as clear as possible, giving voice to those who the world perceives as having none.

The Silent Child

The Silent Child was an awe-inspiring film that won the 2018 Oscars award for short films. It shows the life of a deaf girl born into a hearing family. The mother of the child hires a translator to help prepare the girl for school. The girl had been lost in the hearing world with little understanding of lip-reading or spoken English but she immediately latches onto Sign Language. Her interpreter introduces her to a world where she can communicate and be understood. The mother fears that she is losing her connection with her daughter because of ASL and decides to fire the interpreter and send the girl to school. This cuts off the girls communication with the world around her.

The film uses important cinematic elements in the film to give the viewers an insight into the deeper emotions of the characters. The film using symbolism in all of the major events. Towards the beginning of the film, it shows the girl sitting on the second floor while the mother walks out of the house on the first floor. The interpreter then walks into the house and up the stairs to meet the girl. By placing the girl on a different floor of the house separate from the mother, it shows the distance that is becoming apparent in their relationship. When the interpreter walks up the stairs to meet the girl, we learn that their relationship is expanding. This gives us an insight as to why the mother eventually fires the interpreter. She felt as if her relationship was being threatened by the addition of Sign Language to the daughter's life.

The second use of symbolism that I would like to point out from the film is right after the mother fires the interpreter. After the phone call, the mother and the daughter drive into a wall of mist that obscures the car from view. The mist shows the audience that the girl's life is now lost because she will no longer be able to communicate. It tells the audience that the mother's decision will become a barrier to the girl's progression. By becoming obscured by the mist, the girl loses hope.

The film itself was beautifully done. It perfectly captured the life of a deaf person in a hearing world and the challenges that the children have to take.

Empathy and Artistry in “The Silent Child”— A Review

“The Silent Child” is the 2018 Oscar-Winning short film about a deaf child living in a world of silence. Her family hires a young specialist to help their daughter get ready to attend English public school. The child (Libby) is found to be intelligent and capable, making great strides in her learning and communication with the help of her attentive tutor. However, along the way Libby’s inattentive mother becomes jealous of Libby’s relationship with her tutor and begins to feel she is being pulled away from her. She becomes blinded to the progress Libby is making and determines to cut the tutor out of her life entirely. In a heartbreaking end, she sends Libby to school with no help at all.

This engaging and inspiring film pleads with its audience to remember that “disability is diversity” and that there are many living among us who deserve our compassion and support. The film’s low-budget was visible at times, however I found that the director (Christ Overton)’s ingenious use of the tools he did have made his low-budget a strength rather than a weakness. The filmmakers used their limited resources to create a unique and impactful kind of artistry. They found unconventional ways to invoke the audience’s emotions which greater budget films often rely on their money to fuel.

One of the ways they invoked such a strong empathetic response in their audience was through their camera work. They were very intentional in their use of lines and angles in how they portray different characters and settings. After the opening scene, the camera comes in to show the family’s home at a diagonal. This unusual line creates immediate tension, communicating to the audience that all may not be what it seems in this family. Diagonal lines are used often throughout the film to create this same sense of unease. Another use of camera work is the choice to have Libby and her tutor often filmed from above looking down, and Libby’s mother from down looking up. This demonstrates the lack of support and tolerance, especially from Libby’s mother. Close up shots also play a major role in prompting sympathy from the audience, and also portraying lack of communication at times. One especially memorable close up shot is that of the tutor’s sleepless night. After hearing the truth about Libby (that she is her mother’s daughter of a different father), the tutor is completely unable to sleep—at this pivotal time the camera moves in close to her face and then switches to Libby’s face in a way that allows audience to almost tangibly feel their pain.

“The Silent Child” was a marvelous work of film—definitely deserving of the praise it has received. Its resourceful artistry was ingenious in prompting empathy from its audience and rallying allies to its cause.