Independent Study Part A

A Walk Among Broken Glass

An Independent Study into The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

Part A

Courtney Cutts

Mr. Pierce

EWC 4U1

Bio

Jeannette Walls, the author of The Glass Castle was born on April 21st 1960 in Phoenix, Arizona. As the second living child of Rex and Rose Mary Walls her first memory is of being burned while making hot dogs as a child. Her family life consisted of constant movement, unconventional parents and the violence found in desperation. This novel outlines the basis of her experiences growing up, from a toddler to a teenager to a thriving adult. Walls currently lives in Virginia with her second husband and fellow writer John Taylor. I would give you a much lengthier idea on the life that Walls has had, however this novel outlines the basis of her experiences growing up, from a toddler to a teenager to a thriving adult, and I will not sully that experience any further.

Sources:

http://www.gradesaver.com/author/jeannette-walls

 Walls, Jeannette. The Glass Castle. Simon and Schuster, 2006. 288. Print.

Setting

The beginning of this novel takes place in a little desert town in Southern Arizona in 1963, three years after Jeannette was born. The landscape of this novel is forever changing from small town to small town until Jeanette follows her sister to New York City after graduating from high school. The entire family follows Lori to New York one by one and that is where they live for a time until Maureen moves to California, Rex dies and Jeannette settles down with her second husband in a little country cottage. The majority of people that the Walls family meet whilst on their travels are not that different from them; most are poor and just looking to survive, at least until Jeannette gets older. However wherever they go their issues followed; no matter how many “henchmen, bloodsuckers and the gestapo” (Page 19). were after them, Rex always drank away any type of security they attained as a family. The paranoia was so deep set that Rex would go to such extremes as to smoke his cigarettes backwards to burn the brand name; always running from something only found in his own mind. As the pages turn you travel with Jeannette over the years and many miles, you watch as her perception of what actually is the issue in her life changes with her.

Characters

Jeannette: 

The main character in this story and the second child, Jeannette grew up tall, pale and with the characteristic shock of red hair of the Walls family. Jeannette grows up strong but thin and more like a boy than the majority of children she grew up with. Forever adventuring with her little brother Brian and trying the very hardest to help her family survive her main virtue is the endurance she shows; pushing herself past her limits for her family. The term daddy's little girl could never have been more true than with Jeannette and Rex, “In my mind, Dad was perfect” (page 23). She supported him even when he wronged her grotesquely. As you read this novel you get to see Jeannette grow into a strong young woman, learning the ins and outs of keeping house when she wasn't even a teenager yet; her morals and loyalty to her family stayed solid, even when she learned enough was enough and to start protecting herself. As she ages, she begins to see that although she may love her father with her entirety, he is not always right and should not always be followed.

Lori:

The eldest Walls child, she immediately took to her mother’s writing and paintings. The meek and shy one out of the lot, Lori was never one for adventuring for reasons unbeknownst to her family until later in life; her eyesight was terrible. Due to this, she saw the world differently afterword when “seeing for the first time all these things that most everyone else had stopped noticing” (Page 96). As the novel progresses you are able to watch as Lori truly finds herself with her new perspective as an artist and finally steps out from the shadow of her mother. Terrified of her father’s wrath Lori grows to find the inner strength she needs to speak up for herself without the blind love that Jeannette had in her childhood. Lori may have been blind in sight but she had always been witness the darkness in her father and how they lived; she loved him, but she didn't believe him.

Grandma Smith:

Grandma Smith was Mary's mother, she may not be one of the most focused on characters in the novel but I believe her importance in Jeannette's childhood makes her a superior selection to most. She lived in Phoenix and had helped her husband rear a ranch until he passed away. Grandma Smith never turned Mary and her family away, even though she despised Rex and would constantly get into shouting matches, being called a "castrating banshee bitch" by a "flea-bitten drunk" (Page 20). She would never turn down her daughter and was always lending the family money but always pushed Mary to come and stay with her, to not let that drunk bastard take her grandchildren from her. She was a teacher after she had children, she didn't trust their educations to anyone else and pushed her daughter to get a degree to fall back on if her artistic capability didn't pan out. Mary grew to dislike her mother, but Jeannette loved her rules and order, her sense of purpose and stability. I believe that Grandma Smith was the strongest character in young Jeannette's life and her biggest inspiration to want more than the disorder, the disgusting conditions and the hunger.

Mary Rose:

The young mother of the family of four, or at least the one that officially carried that title. Mary was forever a free spirit, never to be tethered to the responsibilities of having children; she believed that the best thing for them is to raise themselves. The very beginning of the novel is evidence enough of this; Jeannette at the age of three cooking herself hot dogs until she caught on fire. Her baby was lucky to be alive, and the night after coming home from the hospital she was making hot dogs herself once more, only to be told “You’ve got to get right back in the saddle. You can’t live in fear of something as basic as fire” (Page 15). A self-appointed "excitement addict" she never looked at the bad part of things, even when that was the only part to see. A devote catholic with extremely questionable morals, she allowed for perverts, drunks and the homeless to come in and out of her mother’s house because it was so hot and they couldn't afford air conditioning. An ill fit mother with a mountain of mental issues, she never surrendered to fear apart from her husband and throughout her ages never faltered from her beliefs.

Rex Walls:

The man of the house who never really earned the title of a father, brilliant and charismatic when sober he always inspired his children with his far-fetched tales of the night. He did his best to educate his children when they were on his good side and always had the dream of creating a castle made completely of glass and self-sufficient. To scratch the surface, “Everybody said Dad was a genius. He could build or fix anything” (Page 23). He cares deeply about his family, but more about the inability to think as the years pass. He always seems to get the family out of the stickiest situations and uses his intelligence to outsmart the "man". He prided himself on the ability to care for his children but was blind when he hurt them and broke promise after promise. He tried to be the savior of his family, but often became very violent and dishonest with alcohol, he would allow for his daughter to be raped in order to make a bit of cash. No matter how dire things got however, he would never leave his family and even when they were afraid of him.

6. Is the central problem resolved or unresolved?

The central problem in this novel in not resolved, in my mind the central problem in this story is people who think they should be parents and why they probably shouldn't be. Mary and Rex Walls were young and in love, but the most unstable pair up I've come across in a while. I feel like neither of them even wanted children, and Lori, Jeannette, Brian and Maureen felt that more times I'm sure than she wrote. Mary was a free spirit that yearned more to paint and write than look after her children, Rex cared more about drowning in booze than putting food on the table. As the story progresses and their children grow older, none of that changes to the very day they die. They wouldn't accept help and preferred to be homeless than feel obligated to their children, that they owed them anything. Even as Rex is dying, he asks Jeannette, "Have I ever let you down?' (Page 279) and the only response she has is to smile.

7. Can you imagine yourself reading the book again in 10 years? Would you suggest that a friend read it? Explain.

   I find that I can definitely picture myself reading this novel again in a number of years, I found that it really refreshed some of my morals about the value of life and family. I would suggest this to a friend, it really makes you look at your life subjectively, it shows just how unique certain relationship can be. The main character in this novel walks a very thin line with her family, she's definitely Daddy's little girl but that's not always in her best interest; Daddy gets quite interesting when he's been drinking. However to me it really illustrates the strength and willpower that is needed to separate yourself from all the harshness from one owns past. It truly shows that you can love someone with all of your heart, however you still need to look out for yourself; you can love something that's not in your best interest but you need to be able to draw a line to protect yourself. But at the end of the day, in Jeannette’s situation, would you be able to agree that at least “life with your father was never boring?” (Page 288). Do you have the character within yourself to have lived with and loved fiercely someone who wronged you and to learn from it?

Dressed to Confess

How long do you have to repeat something for it to become true to you? People always try to infringe upon each other, always butting into each other business and personal lives, but why does it matter to them? Why can't people just leave each other alone? How long can you fake your way through your life? "You're not even paying attention to me!" Whined the most important person in my life, Bianca.

We had met when I moved into the neighborhood at 12 years old, my mother and I were both running from something, Bianca's mother was heavenly to us; she kept my mother sane through the years. At the mere sound of her voice I can feel my smile bloom, there was rarely a time that she didn't delight me. "Hun, you look amazing in both the blue and purple ones; you look tasty enough to eat." She huffs, sticking out her bottom lip and complaining, "You're still not helping me pick!" Her words lost their volume as my eyes automatically went to her lips; such a soft pink so full of moisture, they always looked so soft. "See and now I've lost you again!" I jerk my eyes to her impatiently waiting brown ones, "You haven't lost me darling, my thoughts seem to want to wander however. I'm sorry." A sadness clouds her eyes for the briefest moments; almost too fast to see if you didn't know what you were looking for. But I knew exactly what to look for, for years now it had been far simpler to imagine Bianca's face than my own. It was something she never tired of seeing; long brown hair swept to the side that reached her hips, the softest big brown eyes over a small nose speckled with freckles and the pink full lips with a slight intent along the bottom lip. "Come now, you look beautiful in both lovely." She twirls once more, analytically scanning the image in the mirror with a mix of hateful scorn and sadness. With a sign I go to her, "You will be the envy of the night, I can barely breathe just looking at you now!" Everything stands still as I wait for the self hatred to be washed from her eyes, as her thoughts move to my words and her eyes look like they have life in them again.

I watch as she twirls around, scrutinizing her matching peach dress and heels. I can barely take my eyes off her; I've always been one to appreciate beauty when I have the chance. Without raising her eyes she says, "You know we came here for both of us to shop, not for you to stare at me trying on dresses. If you don't have something to try on in the next fifteen minutes I'm picking something for you and you know you hate that." Her eyes meet mine and almost violently wanted to kiss the smirk off her lips; she always knew how to tease me without taking it too far. "You know I said I wasn't going to go, I don't have a date; I'd just be following you around like a puppy all night aha." Her heels clack as she comes to stand before me, still just barely reaching my eye level. I never could resist the puppy dog eyes I'm now faced with, "okay, okay. I'll try to find something, though you know its hopeless." She smiles at me triumphantly and goes into the change room to change back into her regular clothes. Bianca comes to my rescue two and a half racks later with three dresses already in hand, "this is my favorite and you need to try it on first!" she says as she hands me a long deep red silk dress. I slip into a change room and hold my breath as I slide the soft material over my head, staring at the deformity in the mirror. As I open the door I search Bianca's face as she spots me, "Oh my god you look amazing. That's the dress. That's it you have to come now you can't back out with something so beautiful!" I feel heat crawl up my neck at her compliment but her words don't soothe me. I watch as her eyes continue to rake down my form; I whisper, "you know I'm not going.." I stand before her, the entirety of my shame exposed and she just stares. "Why?" she asks. I barely heard her over the sound of my heart, like a bird begging for flight.
"Because I love you."

The Makings Of

Memories and time have always been something I've struggled with in ways, like a book read long ago; the words are lost but perhaps you can recall the plot, maybe even some of your favorite parts. What if your life was like that? Like a once well loved novel tossed to the side once stripped of its vast of knowledge. A story waiting to be told in the subconscious of those witness to it, stories that are either refused and ignored or merely misplaced in the mind. Where does one ever start with an earliest memory? How concrete of a thought, image or action constitutes as a memory? In my minds eye when I think of my childhood I get an emptiness that when explored heeds nothing but disappointment. One of the more tangible early memories I have is of my family's house in Windsor, a cute little white country house. Our road seemed to stretch on forever (I would often think this on the multiple bus rides to and from school), acres between our nearest neighbors and home to the inspiration for my career choice. Though our houses were separated by miles you could still smell them; strong, towering horses muscled and bred to work. One day my neighbor came by and allowed me to go with her for a ride, when she rode up on horseback all I could do was stare, this beautiful beast was almost if not taller than my roof! I remember all the different animals we used to have, their species and who in the family they belonged to but other things are just a blur and I don't understand how I've forgotten what was once important to me. I remember the first birthday that I had had in that house; only one boy showed up (he spent the day in tears because of it) and I had awoken to find my gerbil mysteriously dead in its cage. I wasn't even ten yet but I still knew what type of person I was, a gerbil killer!

Whenever I try too hard to think of my childhood it comes and goes, like being able to see filaments in water when the light is shining, how the tiny specks seem to dance in the ray of light only to disappear upon focus. But is does your past really have that strong of a correlation to what and whom you are now? As an adult I can definitely admit that the past does have certain influences, but where does it end? When does the child die and the adult take its place? Am I the adventurous little tomboy or the teenager filled to the brim with stress, anxiety and emptiness if you could believe it. Am I the grade nine student that begged to stay home day after day so I wouldn't have to be in this wretched place? Or am I the grade twelve that attends every day with a silent scream on their lips? How do you actually measure how old someone is? Is it the amount of years they've been on the earth, the amount of wrinkles around their eyes, the amount of lovers they've had or how well they can score on a test?  You wish to know of my past and how that has shaped the person you see in front of you today; so how can I answer a question about someone I don't know? Such questions have always seemed out of place to me; completely directed at the wrong person. How am I supposed to know the things that effected me and didn't as a child? Isn't there someone, anyone else that was there and has more faith in their memories than someone who doesn't believe in any? But the worst part is....who really gives a damn about what made you like you are now? I supposed someone very interested in the individual; but what was it that sparked the interest in the first place? People are only ever interested in the gift they over look; the present.

Educational Wits

Thats it, thats all
I hope you kids have had a ball
How ungrateful
and how hateful

When you scheme
you make me want to scream
you act like little hogs
that need a good flog

What a disrespectful choice
as awful as your high pitched voice
I honestly love to teach
but you suck the fun out of it like a leech
I'm not here to preach
but your education is a reach

No control or consideration
Should I even ask the question?
What do you see when you look at me?
Am I someone you want to be?

Another voice lost in the wind
words barely skimmed
Am I your babysitter
or a lottery winner?

I honestly love to teach
I'm not here to preach
your education is in your hand
I'm just part of the damned

Summer Sky

In the summer sky
where the sun flies
in the crowds
among the clouds

Elegant and pose
so far yet so close
a beauty unseen
almost like a dream

A ball of flaming gas
When will your time come to pass?
Will it be a mighty show
or a cosmic blow?

What will be left in the dust?
Will you split the Earth's crust?
Like a giant eye
is your brightness a lie?

We're nothing more than speck of grass
as these clouds come to pass
So many things left for us to see
We're nothing to what we could be

In the summer sky
Where I'd like to fly
in the crowds
among the clouds

Stranger

I watch the ornate hands of my watch slowly slip past three, what an annoyance to be late; minutes wasted on a descending metal box stuffed to the brim with strangers. A mechanical shudder brings the coffin closer; stealing all the air in the room with the opening of a door. Golden flecks danced among emerald stone; deep set sharp intelligence framed with lashes stole the air from my lungs. You never realize how dependent you are on an action like breathing until you are unable to perform such an action. Eyes like those have the depth to hide unimaginable secrets and danger; I step inside the normally bustling elevator to be alone with Flecks. Hundreds, if not thousands of people were in this airport and I was stuck alone in an elevator with a complete stranger; normally escaping a crowd is a heaven send, so why is my heart beating against my chest like a bird desperate for flight? I study his profile; sharply dressed in a dark blue suit, styled dirty blonde hair fell to the side. He looked dressed to kill; able to smooth any conflict but ruffle feathers when he wanted to. Such an odd reaction to being in such proximity to a stranger; my feathers were definitely ruffled, heat started to tingle up my neck and creep across my face. My flush reaches its maximum intensity; shame sends my eyes to the floor selection panel, seeing that the ground floor had already been selected. I can't breathe for what seems like ages, but mere seconds later his presence was calling to me. I turn back to this stranger before me, his powerful eyes sweep to mine and everything freezes; his eyes take in everything and give nothing away, stripping me to my soul. His face transforms as his lips stretch into smile that seemed to be lit from within. A source of indistinguishable fire; as dangerous as the smile imprinting itself in my mind with an image of emerald green; surrounded by fear, desire and memories.

Darkness brings with it endless fear now that she's not here, what would her opinion be? How would she judge he? So many things had been left unsaid and secrets hidden; but secrets are only as strong as those that keep them, and when she died he broke. Halfway through his newest bottle of bourbon I know it wont be long, he always find me. I have been at war with one of the most basic urges for what seems like ages; years upon years, do I run or do I slowly die? I have to wonder what my mother would think, would she stand beside be, or shame me for what he takes from me?

My mind scrambles to banish the haunting memory as the elevator doors wheeze open. Composure is the key to hiding truths; a meltdown was out of the question. The air between this stranger and I seemed charged, hushed like the moment before the storm, crowd eagerly awaiting on the edge of their seats. How long would it take for disappointment to settle into the crowd and myself? What amazing eyes; I could watch the light catch the different highlights of gold and green for eternities. Such thoughts are nothing more than pointless fantasies, a green eyes hero dressed sharply in a suit. However fantasies and realities are rarely the same, he was nothing more than a stranger and I nothing more than a pathetic girl, unable to stop gawking at merely a handsome face. Seconds kept pace with my thoughts and the elevator doors begin to shut. Reflexively I lurch forward, coming face to face with Flecks as we both stand with arms outstretched, waiting. Had he been waiting for me to go first the entire time? As soon as the thought seeps into consciousness a flush sweeps through my skin, showing just how embarrassed I was at the moment. I rush to step back and create distance between us, my body had become intensely aware of his, my every muscle taunt while my mind screamed to run; to get out of this situation and away from this man. My gaze is torn back to him, "After you, Azure." he says in a deep but quiet tone. My body reacts, unfrozen by his words before my mind can fully process what he said. My feet seemed disconnected as I spun to face him, "What did you call me?" I demand like a child. He pulls up short, nearly colliding with my luggage bag. He pauses to compose himself, smiling as he looks in my eyes. "I called you Azure," he begins to walk around me, "it was the only way I could think of to describe eyes as beautiful as yours." My eyes track his movements as heat rushes to my face, an answer on my lips only to be silenced by the sight of an approaching figure. I stammer out a thank you and have a nice day before I turn heel and head to cut off the approach. When he finally reaches me I can tell from the anger in his face that there was only one thing left to say, "I'm sorry Father."

Apologies have never pleased him, his face a faint shade of pink as he reaches for me; pulling me close in an iron grip. His grip is enough to draw the eyes of a few people passing by and raised eyebrows as he pulls me close and whispers in my ear. "Who was he? What were you doing with him? I could see the way he was looking at you; his eyes are right, you're nothing more than piece of trash. Were you a good little girl or do you screw everything that moves?" I stare into his eyes, not a word would come out; how could such an intelligence be wasted on a creature so cold? He watches me as the seconds seem to trickle by, completely vulnerable under his control. Desperately trying not to draw any more attention to myself I remain silent; I'd rather be thought of as a fool for my silence, then to open my mouth and prove to everyone that I am. As his elbow cracks against my ribs I know there is only one thing he wants to hear, obedience and acceptance in three words. "I'm sorry Father."

I walk to avoid him and the wandering glances, if I kept silent he wouldn't explode somewhere as public as an airport. As my thoughts follow my meaningless coasting I'm drawn back to emerald green with flecks of gold. How meaningless to be effected in such a way by a man, those things only lead to heartbreak and misery; I have enough of those already. How odd it is to yearn for one of the same things that trap you; an insect hungering for the sap of a venus fly trap. We're all just birds in a cage. I come to a mirror lining the hall, picking out all the different stages of yellow and purple along my skin. I stay like that; entranced by the reminders of times rather forgotten. I allow myself to go dangerously deep into my own thoughts; time stops and there is nothing but the voice in my head. How can I ever forget? "Hello again, Azure." I spin around, lurching away from the strangers voice as if it were a whip, hand flying to my throat to catch my heart before it launched itself at him. I take in a deep breath, trying to smooth all the cracks that I knew would be in my voice, "Hello Flecks." I tremble, seeing nothing but golden green flecks as I wait for a response.