Implementing Organizational Change Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words - 1

Actualizing Organizational Change - Essay Example The third stage is process reengineering. In this stage it is accepted that gradual changes have an insignificant effect, significant upgrades might be accomplished by ignoring how the procedure is embraced during the present and beginning a fresh start. The last stage is the corporate change that is increasingly intense and includes changes that influence the association when all is said in done. It might incorporate acquisitions and mergers. One of my friends posted an article on Tichy’s three sorts of progress. The article expressed that any change inside an association was brought about by changes in the specialized, political and social viewpoints. This article was appropriately explored anyway neglected to consider the phases of progress inside a substance (Lune, 2006). The other article was on Balogun and Hope-Hailey’s Change Model. This model expresses that there are four kinds of progress inside associations that consider four procedures. Two orders depend on the final product and incorporate realignment and change. The other two classes depend on nature of progress and incorporate enormous detonation and gradual

Why I want to Be a Fire Officer free essay sample

It will be multi year in May since the first occasion when I said I needed to be a fire official. I was at the foundation with my colleagues as we discussed what we might want to achieve in the local group of fire-fighters. One thing I said that echoes in the rear of my psyche is that I needed to have any kind of effect in the local group of fire-fighters and the network by bringing new advanced thoughts and doing whatever it takes not to fix anything that’s not broken. Thusly, I set a drawn out objective for one day to turn into a fire Chief. In the wake of being relegated to Engine 2 out of the fire foundation my objective was at a halt. I needed to learn, in any case, it was almost no exertion placed in to show newcomers around then. Along these lines, Instead of proceeding with my vocation there, I chose to proceed onward and begin once again. Therefore I put my exchange in for Engine 124 where they had a custom of preparing fireman into great pioneers. We will compose a custom article test on Why I need to Be a Fire Officer or on the other hand any comparable theme explicitly for you Don't WasteYour Time Recruit WRITER Just 13.90/page When I moved, I disclosed to myself when I increase enough understanding and become progressively able to be an official is the point at which I would read and sit for the official test. During my time at Engine 2 I turned out to be increasingly acquainted with my activity by working under and being tutored by my official. I was instructed how to be a decent fireman just as being a decent Acting Lieutenant. I likewise realized the stuff to be a piece of a group. Because of being a newcomer and not getting sufficient preparing, Additionally, I figured out how to be a decent pioneer you should be a decent instructor. Since I have just about fourteen years in the Fire office, energized through the positions with in my unit to a first acting man, and keeping in mind that doing that picking up experience that makes me progressively qualified to be an official. What's more, consequently, I think it’s time for me to proceed with my excursion to fulfillâ my objective of turning into a boss in the Fire Department.

The Chinese Calendar Chinese New Year Reference (Grades K-12)

The Chinese Calendar Chinese New Year Reference (ou'll find a chart of the Chinese calendar. Students can reference this calendar to figure out their Chinese sign of the horoscope. Subjects: Social Studies and History (3,353) China (18) Holidays: Asian-Pacific-American Heritage Month (33) Holidays (392) New Years (9) Chinese New Year (28) The Chinese lunar year is divided into 12 months of 29 or 30 days. The calendar is adjusted to the length of the solar year by the addition of extra months at regular intervals. The years are arranged in major cycles of 60 years. Each successive year is named after one of 12 animals. These 12-year cycles are continuously repeated. The Chinese New Year is celebrated at the second new moon after the winter solstice and falls between January 21 and February 19 on the Gregorian calendar. The year 2007 translates to the Chinese year 4704â€"4705. The year 2008 translates to the Chinese year 4705â€"4706. Rat Ox Tiger Rabbit Dragon Snake Horse Sheep(Goat) Monkey Rooster Dog Pig 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 1914 1915 1 916 1917 1918 1919 1920 1921 1922 1923 1924 1925 1926 1927 1928 1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 1941 1942 1943 1944 1945 1946 1947 1948 1949 1950 1951 1952 1953 1954 1955 1956 1957 1958 1959 1960 1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971 1972 1973 1974 1975 1976 1977 1978 1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 199 3 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019 Extension ActivityOn the chart, find the year you were born. Research the traits associated with your Chinese zodiac sign. Does your personality match these traits? Which traits match and which traits don't match. Give examples. Is there a different sign with characteristics that match your personality? Explain which sign is a better match and why. Infoplease Infopleaseâ€"an authoritative, comprehensive reference website that offers an encyclopedia, a dictionary, an atlas, and several almanacs. Visit Infoplease.com to find more resources endorsed by teachers and librarians.

The Handmaids Tale By Margaret Atwood And Brave New World

The Handmaids tale by Margaret Atwood and Brave New World by Aldous Huxley are both dystopian fiction novels. In both novels all the aspects of society are controlled by the government. In Brave New World Characters in the novel are kept happy through drugs and society’s roles are determined depending on the genetics and lack of education. However in Handmaids Tale characters are controlled by secret police and very strict social rules and societal roles are determined by your lack of reproductive abilities. In this essay I will be focusing on how the role of women in dystopian societies focus on sexual roles and motherhood. In Hand maids tale there were different names and roles for women within Gilead in order of status. The Commander’s wives; wives of the commanders who always wear blue coloured clothing and are expected to have children and if they can’t the role gets passed down to Handmaids. The Aunts; women who wore only brown clothing, were very strong believers of Gilead and its values and morals, they enforce the ways of Gilead onto the Handmaids forcing them to accept their fate. The Martha’s; women who only wore green coloured clothing, they were house hold servant which were in charge of cooking and cleaning, they have been given this status of a Martha because they are either; too old, infertile or have had their tubes ties before society arose so can’t reproduce. The Handmaids, who always had to wear red clothing there one and only job is to produceShow MoreRelated Feminism In The Handmaids Tale Essay1588 Words   |  7 PagesFeminism In The Handmaids Tale      Ã‚  Ã‚   Feminism as we know it began in the mid 1960s as the Womens Liberation Movement. Among its chief tenants is the idea of womens empowerment, the idea that women are capable of doing and should be allowed to do anything men can do. Feminists believe that neither sex is naturally superior. They stand behind the idea that women are inherently just as strong and intelligent as the so-called stronger sex. Many writers have taken up the cause of feminismRead MoreThe Handmaid s Tale By Margaret Atwood1540 Words   |  7 Pages Handmaid’s Tale The literary masterpiece The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, is a story not unlike a cold fire; hope peeking through the miserable and meaningless world in which the protagonist gets trapped. The society depicts the discrimination towards femininity, blaming women for their low birth rate and taking away the right from the females to be educated ,forbidding them from reading or writing. These appear in Ethan Alter’s observations that: In this brave new world, women are subjugatedRead MoreSexuality in Literature Essay2653 Words   |  11 Pagessocieties it is encouraged, praised, and advocated to speak about it openly. Sexuality in The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood was one that was tabooed and against the strict, empowering rules of the Gilead state. Sex was forbidden for men and women; but women were the ones who reproduced the babies. Therefore, they were forced into having sex with no pleasure to conceive children. In Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, sex for only sexual pleasure is what society actually strived at. The feeding of theRead MoreMemories of Life Before Government Control: Orwells 1984, Atwoods The Handmaids Tale, and Huxleys Brave New World1107 Words   |  5 Pagesstories of the past cannot be completely altered to forget what life was like. Society uses these memoires to compare it to the new way of ruling which sometimes is less favorable to the individual. Governments try to chang e people’s opinions of reality which proves to be impossible. Within the novels, 1984 by George Orwell, The Handmaids Tale by Margaret Atwood and Brave New World by Aldous Huxley the Governments have taken societys freedom away and all that remains are the memories of what life wasRead MoreMargaret Atwood s The Handmaid s Tale1544 Words   |  7 Pageswith feminist themes is Margaret Atwood. Her work is clearly influenced by the movement and many literary critics, as well as Atwood herself, have identified her as a feminist writer. However, one of Atwood s most successful books, The Handmaid s Tale, stands in stark contrast to the ideas of feminism. In fact, the female characters in the novel are portrayed in such a way that they directly conflict with the idea of women s empowerment. On the surface, The Handmaid s Tale appears to be feministRead MoreOrwell s 1984 And Huxley s Brave New World1821 Words   |  8 PagesHuxley’s Brave New World, the oppressed are mollified and manipulated by propaganda, indoctrination and betrayal in 1984 and by excessive drug use in A Brave New World, and in both novels the oppressed seem to be complicit in their oppression. This pattern is also compellingly reflected in the tale of persecution presented by Margaret Atwood in The Handmaids Tale and the dystopian society of Gilead. Unlike other dystopian novels and actual historical events, however, Atwood introduces a new persecutedRead MoreAnalysis Of Margaret Atwood s The Handmaid s Tale Essay1623 Words   |  7 Pagesthe id, ego, and superego. When examined using this theory, Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, a dystopian novel about a patriarchal totalitarian government that has replaced the United States of America, is particularly interesting. The story’s protagonist and narrator is a woman referred to as Offred, who lives in the fairly new Republic of Gilead which has taken the place of the United States. She is what is known as a Handmaid; alarmingly low reproductive rates led to young women whomRead MoreWhat Analysis of the Female Role Does Atwood Offer in The Handmaids Tale?2016 Words   |  9 Pages The Handmaids Tale is set in the early twentieth century in the futuristic Republic of Gilead, formerly the United States of America. The Republic has been founded by a Christian response to declining birthrates. The government rules using biblical teachings that have been distorted to justify the inhumane practices. In Gilead, women are categorized by their age, marital status and fertility. Men are categorised by their age. Women all have separate roles in society, and although these rolesRead MoreRelationship Between Men and Women: Jane Eyre and The Handmaids Tale1775 Words   |  8 Pagesthe vantage point of her position as governess much like Jane’s. Margaret Atwood’s novel was written during a period of conservative revival in the West partly fueled by a strong, well-organized movement of religious conservatives who criticized ‘the excesses of the sexual revolution.’ Where Brontà «Ã¢â‚¬â„¢s Jane Eyre is a clear depiction of the subjugation of women by men in nineteenth-century Western culture, Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale explores the consequences of a reversal of women’s rights by menRead MoreDystopian Novels901 Words   |  4 PagesJulia give in to Big Brother, the leader of the Party, and comply with the government once again. Winston and Julia were lucky; they kept their lives, just not their beliefs. In Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, society has become dehumanized and focuses solely on human pleasure and stability with the help of science. A new technique called the Bokanovsky process creates children within test tubes and conditions them to fill a certain role within the community. This process removes the need for sex

Comparison Petrarchan and Shakespearean Sonnets - 1188 Words

Through the form of sonnet, Shakespeare and Petrarch both address the subject of love, yet there are key contrasts in their style, structure, and in the manner, each approaches their subjects. Moreover, in Sonnet 130, Shakespeare, in fact, parodies Petrarchs style and thoughts as his storyteller describes his mistress, whose eyes are in no way as the sun (Shakespeare 1918). Through his English poem, Shakespeare seems to mock the exaggerated descriptions expanded throughout Petrarch’s work by portraying the speaker’s love in terms that are characteristic of a flawed woman not a goddess. On the other hand, upon a review of Sonnet 292 from the Canzoniere, through â€Å"Introduction to Literature and Arts,† one quickly perceives that†¦show more content†¦With no discernible connection to different works by the creator, it is evident that this sonnet remains solitary, with no qualifications hinting at its circumstance. In his contention, Shakespeares narrato r symbolically paints a blemished picture of his companion. Shakespeares dialect in this piece is precise and factual, in opposition with Petrarchs, which romanticizes his subject and places her on a platform. The portrayal of the fancy woman is severe to the degree of slightly offensive. His style is comparative to Petrarchs, and Shakespeare appears to reflect that same custom of proclamation, contrasting his womans characteristics with the opulence of nature. Their likenesses part, however, in their method of portraying their subjects. Shakespeares story voice is exceptionally repressed and matter-of-fact. Shakespeare, in every line, reveals that every aspect of his companion fails to meet the excellence discovered in his characteristic correlations. Shakespeares storyteller deliberately works through the contention utilizing dialect to reflect Petrarchs style while giving a much less romanticized perspective of his subject. Until the viewer achieves the determination of Sonnet 130, it might not appear that this is an affection poem whatsoever. It is through the narrator’s pronunciation of his adoration for the woman during the determination that we uncover the speakerShow MoreRelatedShakespeares My Mistress Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun Essay697 Words   |  3 PagesShakespeares My Mistress Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun Many authors compose sonnets about women whom they loved. Most of these authors embellish their womens physical characteristics by comparing them to natural wonders that we, as humans, find beautiful. Shakespeares My Mistress Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun contradicts this idea, by stating that his mistress lacks most of the qualities other men wrongly praise their women for possessing. Shakespeare presentsRead MoreA Critical Comparison of Shakespeares Sonnet 130 and Elizabeth Barrett-Brownings Sonnet 141342 Words   |  6 PagesPetrarchan sonnets are like all the other typical sonnets in the early sixteenth which consist of 14 verses in the poem and 10 syllables per line. In comparison, they all instigate the traditional theme of love where women were admired and sometimes worshipped in order to express deep love that emissaries her beauty. However, Petrarchan sonnet could not said be too congruent to sixteenth style of writing sonnets. Nevertheless, they share identical theme in the sonnets which is the traditionalRead MoreThe Love Of Another Is Not An Original Subject For Poetry1603 Words   |  7 Pagesanother is not an original subject for poetry. However, this age-old theme is expressed through the style of Petrarchan love in the poems Love, that doth reign and live within my thought and Astrophil and Stella 1. Love, that doth reign and live within my thought, was written by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey in the mid-sixteenth century (Greenblatt and Logan 386). Sidney wrote his series of sonnets entitled Astrophil and Stella in 1580, describing his relationship with Penelope Devereux (Greenblatt andRead MoreSonnets By Billy Collins : The Antihero Of Sonnet1770 Words   |  8 PagesIn 2010 Billy Collins writes Sonnet, a piece of literary work I consider to be the antihero of sonnets. Collins ironically follows neit her the constructs of a Shakespearean nor Petrarchan Sonnet throughout. He also creatively breathes new life into a strict art form while rejecting the historical rules a sonnet must follow in this work. Upon further review of Sonnet, it becomes clear that this deliberate rule breaking is a skilled nod side-step to historic norms and a promotion of a new age ofRead MoreAnalysis of Anthem for Doomed Youth1382 Words   |  6 Pagesloved ones they leave behind. The following essay will show that in the anti-war poem, â€Å"Anthem for Doomed Youth†, Owen uses sensational description to evoke the anger that he feels within his readers. â€Å"Anthem for Doomed Youth† is a Petrarchan sonnet, with an octave and a sestet written mostly in Iambic Pentameter. Owen does include variations in this form, such as line 1 which has eleven syllables and line 3 which contains Trochee and is not pure Iamb. These variations in the form workRead MoreCritical Analysis of Shakespeares Sonnet 1301111 Words   |  5 PagesCritical analysis of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 compares the speaker’s lover to a number of other beauties—and never in the lover’s favor. Her eyes are â€Å"nothing like the sun,† her lips are less red than coral; compared to white snow, her breasts are dun-colored, and her hairs are like black wires on her head. In the second quatrain, the speaker says he has seen roses separated by color (â€Å"damasked†) into red and white, but he sees no such roses in his mistress’s cheeks; andRead MoreDescription of Different Feelings in Sonnets Essay1532 Words   |  7 PagesDescription of Different Feelings in Sonnets In this essay, I am going to look in detail at three sonnets showing very different feelings. I will show all the main features and try to explain what the writers were trying to show and underline in there sonnets. Each of the three sonnets I have chosen are by different writers and also from different centuries, I have decided to look at ‘God’s Grandeur’ by G.M Hopkins, ‘Death be Not Proud’ by John Donne and also ‘ShallRead MoreAspects of Poetry931 Words   |  4 Pagesand a sonnet, and will make it easier to absorb all of the components involved. First we will start with a sonnet. Let’s start by talking about just what a sonnet is. â€Å"Before Shakespeare’s day, the word â€Å"sonnet† meant simply â€Å"little song,† i.e., a short lyric poem† (poetry.about.com, 2010). By the 1200’s, the sonnet had come to be known as a form of poetry that is comprised of 14 lines. The first type of sonnet was the Italian version, also known as the Petrarchan sonnet. The Italian sonnet is separatedRead More Sonnet 721044 Words   |  5 Pages William Shakespeare Sonnet 18 Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? amp;#9;amp;#9;a Thou art more lovely and more temperate:amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;b Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;a And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;b Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shinesamp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;c And often is his gold complexion dimmed,amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;amp;#9;dRead MoreAnalysis Of The Poem Gold Hair And Black Wires 1583 Words   |  7 PagesGold Hair and Black Wires: Uses of Poetic Convention in Petrarca and Shakespeare While specifics within the sonnet genre have changed across time and traditions, the sonnet remains the most popular poetic form used in love poetry. The conventions of sonnets vary widely within the two most predominant traditions, the Italian and the Elizabethan, but are utilized by the love poem genre to play with similar themes of perfected love and beauty. Both styles are fourteen line poems which follow a strict

Streams of Silver 3. Night Life Free Essays

The Cutlass grew busier as the night wore on. Merchant sailors crowded in from their ships and the locals were quick into position to feed upon them. Regis and Wulfgar remained at the side table, the barbarian wide-eyed with curiosity at the sights around him, and the halfling intent on cautious observation. We will write a custom essay sample on Streams of Silver 3. Night Life or any similar topic only for you Order Now Regis recognized trouble in the form of a woman sauntering toward them. Not a young woman, and with the haggard appearance all too familiar on the dockside, but her gown, quite revealing in every place that a lady’s gown should not be, hid all her physical flaws behind a barrage of suggestions. The look on Wulfgar’s face, his chin nearly level with the table, Regis thought, confirmed the halfling’s fears. â€Å"Well met, big man,† the woman purred, slipping comfortably into the chair next to the barbarian. Wulfgar looked at Regis and nearly laughed out loud in disbelief and embarrassment. â€Å"You are not from Luskan,† the woman went on. â€Å"Nor do you bear the appearance of any merchants now docked in port. Where are you from?† â€Å"The north,† Wulfgar stammered. â€Å"The dale†¦Icewind.† Regis hadn’t seen such boldness in a woman since his years in Calimport, and he felt that he should intervene. There was something wicked about such women, a perversion of pleasure that was too extraordinary. Forbidden fruit made easy. Regis suddenly found himself homesick for Calimport. Wulfgar would be no match for the wiles of this creature. â€Å"We are poor travelers,† Regis explained, emphasizing the â€Å"poor† in an effort to protect his friend. â€Å"Not a coin left, but with many miles to go.† Wulfgar looked curiously at his companion, not quite understanding the motive behind the lie. The woman scrutinized Wulfgar once again and smacked her lips. â€Å"A pity,† she groaned, and then asked Regis, â€Å"Not a coin?† Regis shrugged helplessly. â€Å"A pity it is,† the woman repeated, and she rose to leave. Wulfgar’s face blushed a deep red as he began to comprehend the true motives behind the meeting. Something stirred in Regis, as well. A longing for the old days, running in Calimport’s bowery, tugged at his heart beyond his strength to resist. As the woman started past him, he grabbed her elbow. â€Å"Not a coin,† he explained to her inquiring face, â€Å"but this.† He pulled the ruby pendant out from under his coat and set it dangling at the end of its chain. The sparkles caught the woman’s greedy eye at once and the magical gemstone sucked her into its hypnotic entrancement. She sat down again, this time in the chair closest to Regis, her eyes never leaving the depths of the wondrous, spinning ruby. Only confusion prevented Wulfgar from erupting in outrage at the betrayal, the blur of thoughts and emotions in his mind showing themselves as no more than a blank stare. Regis caught the barbarian’s look, but shrugged it away with his typical penchant for dismissing negative emotions, such as guilt. Let the morrow’s dawn expose his ploy for what it was; the conclusion did not diminish his ability to enjoy this night. â€Å"Luskan’s night bears a chill wind,† he said to the woman. She put a hand on his arm. â€Å"We’ll find you a warm bed, have no fear.† The halfling’s smile nearly took in his ears. Wulfgar had to catch himself from falling off of his chair. * * * Bruenor regained his composure quickly, not wanting to insult Whisper, or to let her know that his surprise in finding a woman gave her a bit of an advantage over him. She knew the truth, though, and her smile left Bruenor even more flustered. Selling information in a setting as dangerous as Luskan’s dockside meant a constant dealing with murderers and thieves, and even within the structure of an intricate support network it was a job that demanded a hardened hide. Few who sought Whisper’s services could hide their obvious surprise at finding a young and alluring woman practising such a trade. Bruenor’s respect for the informant did not diminish, though, despite his surprise, for the reputation Whisper had earned had come to him across hundreds of miles. She was still alive, and that fact alone told the dwarf that she was formidable. Drizzt was considerably less taken aback by the discovery. In the dark cities of the drow elves, females normally held higher stations than males, and were often more deadly. Drizzt understood the advantage Whisper carried over male clients who tended to underestimate her in the male-dominated societies of the dangerous northland. Anxious to get this business finished and get back on the road, the dwarf came straight to the purpose of the meeting. â€Å"I be needing a map,† he said, â€Å"and been told that yerself was the one to get it.† â€Å"I possess many maps,† the woman replied coolly. â€Å"One of the north,† Bruenor explained. â€Å"From the sea to the desert, and rightly naming the places in the ways o’ what races live there!† Whisper nodded. â€Å"The price shall be high, good dwarf,† she said, her eyes glinting at the mere notion of gold. Bruenor tossed her a small pouch of gems. â€Å"This should pay for yer trouble,† he growled, never pleased to be relieved of money. Whisper emptied the contents into her hand and scrutinized the rough stones. She nodded as she slipped them back into the pouch, aware of their considerable value. â€Å"Hold!† Bruenor squawked as she began to tie the pouch to her belt. â€Å"Ye’ll be taking none o’ me stones till I be seeing the map!† â€Å"Of course,† the woman replied with a disarming smile. â€Å"Wait here. I shall return in a short while with the map you desire.† She tossed the pouch back to Bruenor and spun about suddenly, her cloak snapping up and carrying a gust of the fog with it. In the flurry, there came a sudden flash, and the woman was gone. Bruenor jumped back and grabbed at his axe handle. â€Å"What sorcerous treachery is this?† he cried. Drizzt, unimpressed, put a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. â€Å"Calm, mighty dwarf,† he said. â€Å"A minor trick and no more, masking her escape in the fog and the flash.† He pointed toward a small pile of boards. â€Å"Into that sewer drain.† Bruenor followed the line of the drow’s arm and relaxed. The lip of an open hole was barely visible, its grate leaning against the warehouse wall a few feet farther down the alley. â€Å"Ye know these kind better than meself, elf,† the dwarf stated, flustered at his lack of experience in handling the rogues of a city street. â€Å"Does she mean to bargain fair, or do we sit here, set up for her thievin’ dogs to plunder?† â€Å"No to both,† answered Drizzt. â€Å"Whisper would not be alive if she collared clients for thieves. But I would hardly expect any arrangement she might strike with us to be a fair bargain.† Bruenor took note that Drizzt had slipped one of his scimitars free of its sheath as he spoke. â€Å"Not a trap, eh?† the dwarf asked again, indicating the readied weapon. â€Å"By her people, no,† Drizzt replied. â€Å"But the shadows conceal many other eyes.† * * * More eyes than just Wulfgar’s had fallen upon the halfling and the woman. The hardy rogues of Luskan’s dockside often took great sport in tormenting creatures of less physical stature, and halflings were among their favorite targets. This particular evening, a huge, overstuffed man with furry eyebrows and beard bristles that caught the foam from his ever-full mug dominated the conversation at the bar, boasting of impossible feats of strength and threatening everybody around him with a beating if the flow of ale slowed in the least. All of the men gathered around him at the bar, men who knew him, or of him, nodded their heads in enthusiastic agreement with his every word, propping him up on a pedestal of compliments to dispel their own fears of him. But the fat man’s ego needed further sport, a new victim to cow, and as his gaze floated around the perimeter of the tavern, it naturally fell upon Regis and his large, but obviously young friend. The spectacle of a halfling wooing the highest priced lady at the Cutlass presented an opportunity too tempting for the fat man to ignore. â€Å"Here now, pretty lady,† he slobbered, ale spouting with every word. â€Å"Think the likes of a half-a-man’ll make the night for ye?† The crowd around the bar, anxious to keep in the fat man’s high regard, exploded into overzealous laughter. The woman had dealt with this man before and she had seen others fall painfully before him. She tossed him a concerned look, but remained firmly tied to the pull of the ruby pendant. Regis, though, immediately looked away from the fat man, turning his attention to where he suspected the trouble most likely would begin – to the other side of the table and Wulfgar. He found his worries justified. The proud barbarian’s knuckles whitened from the grasp he had on the table, and the seething look in his eye told Regis that he was on the verge of exploding. â€Å"Let the taunts pass!† Regis insisted. â€Å"This is not worth a moment of your time!† Wulfgar didn’t relax a bit, his glare never releasing his adversary. He could brush away the fat man’s insults, even those cutting at Regis and the woman. But Wulfgar understood the motivation behind those insults. Through exploitation of his less-able friends, Wulfgar was being challenged by the bully. How many others had fallen victim to this hulking slob? he wondered. Perhaps it was time for the fat man to learn some humility. Recognizing some potential for excitement, the grotesque bully came a few steps closer. â€Å"There, move a bit, half-a-man,† he demanded, waving Regis aside. Regis took a quick inventory of the tavern’s patrons. Surely there were many, in here who might jump in for his cause against the fat man and his obnoxious cronies. There was even a member of the official city guard, a group held in high respect in every section of Luskan. Regis interrupted his scan for a moment and looked at the soldier. How out of place the man seemed in a dog-infested spittoon like the Cutlass. More curious still, Regis knew the man as Jierdan, the soldier at the gate who had recognized Drizzt and had arranged for them to pass into the city just a couple of hours earlier. The fat man came a step closer, and Regis didn’t have time to ponder the implications. Hands on hips, the huge blob stared down at him. Regis felt his heart pumping, the blood coursing through his veins, as it always did in this type of on-the-edge confrontation that had marked his days in Calimport. And now, like then, he had every intention of finding a way to run away. But his confidence dissipated when he remembered his companion. Less experienced, and Regis would be quick to say, â€Å"less wise!† Wulfgar would not let the challenge go unanswered. One spring of his long legs easily carried him over the table and placed him squarely between the fat man and Regis. He returned the fat man’s ominous glare with equal intensity. The fat man glanced to his friends at the bar, fully aware that his proud young opponent’s distorted sense of honor would prevent a first strike. â€Å"Well, look ye here,† he laughed, his lips turned back in drooling anticipation, â€Å"seems the young one has a thing to say.† He started slowly to turn back on Wulfgar, then lunged suddenly for the barbarian’s throat, expecting that his change in tempo would catch Wulfgar by surprise. But although he was inexperienced in the ways of taverns, Wulfgar understood battle. He had trained with Drizzt Do’Urden, an ever-alert warrior, and had toned his muscles to their sharpest fighting edge. Before the fat man’s hands ever came near his throat, Wulfgar had snapped one of his own huge paws over his opponent’s face and had driven the other into the fat man’s groin. His stunned opponent found himself rising into the air. For a moment, onlookers were too amazed to react at all, except for Regis, who slapped a hand across his own disbelieving face and inconspicuously slid under the table. The fat man outweighed three average men, but the barbarian brought him up easily over the top of his seven-foot frame, and even higher, to the full extension of his arms. Howling in helpless rage, the fat man, ordered his supporters to attack. Wulfgar watched patiently for the first move against him. The whole crowd seemed to jump at once. Keeping his calm, the trained warrior searched out the tightest concentration, three men, and launched the human missile, noting their horrified expressions just before the waves of blubber rolled over them, blasting them backward. Then their combined momentum smashed an entire section of the bar from its supports, knocking the unfortunate innkeeper away and sending him crashing into the racks holding his finest wines. Wulfgar’s amusement was short-lived, for other ruffians were quickly upon him. He dug his heels in where he was, determined to keep his footing, and lashed out with his great fists, swatting his enemies aside, one by one, and sending them sprawling into the far corners of the room. Fighting erupted all around the tavern. Men who could not have been spurred to action if a murder had been committed at their feet sprang upon each other with unbridled rage at the horrifying sight of spilled booze and a broken bar. Few of the fat man’s supporters were deterred by the general row, though. They rolled in on Wulfgar, wave after wave. He held his ground well, for none could delay him long enough for their reinforcements to get in. Still, the barbarian was being hit as often as he was connecting with his own blows. He took the punches stoically, blocking out the pain through sheer pride and his fighting tenacity that simply would not allow him to lose. From his new seat under the table, Regis watched the action and sipped his drink. Even the barmaids were into it now, riding around on some unfortunate combatants’ backs, using their nails to etch intricate designs into the men’s faces. In fact, Regis soon discerned that the only other person in the tavern who wasn’t in the fight, other than those who were already unconscious, was Jierdan. The soldier sat quietly in his chair, unconcerned with the brawling beside him and interested only, it seemed, in watching and measuring Wulfgar’s prowess. This, too, disturbed the halfling, but once again he found that he didn’t have time to contemplate the soldier’s unusual actions. Regis had known from the start that he would have to pull his giant friend out of this, and now his alert eyes had caught the expected flash of steel. A rogue in the line directly behind Wulfgar’s latest opponents had drawn a blade. â€Å"Damn!† Regis muttered, setting down his drink and pulling his mace from a fold in his cloak. Such business always left a foul taste in his mouth. Wulfgar threw his two opponents aside, opening a path for the man with the knife. He charged forward, his eyes up and staring into those of the tall barbarian. He didn’t even notice Regis dart out from between Wulfgar’s long legs, the little mace poised to strike. It slammed into the man’s knee, shattering the kneecap, and sent him sprawling forward, blade exposed, toward Wulfgar. Wulfgar side-stepped the lunge at the last moment and clasped his hand over the hand of his assailant. Rolling with the momentum, the barbarian knocked aside the table and slammed into the wall. One squeeze crushed the assailant’s fingers on the knife hilt, while at the same time Wulfgar engulfed the man’s face with his free hand and hoisted him from the ground. Crying out to Tempus, the god of battle, the barbarian, enraged at the appearance of a weapon, slammed the man’s head through the wooden planks of the wall and left him dangling, his feet fully a foot from the floor. An impressive move, but it cost Wulfgar time. When he turned back toward the bar, he was buried under a flurry of fists and kicks from several attackers. * * * â€Å"Here she comes,† Bruenor whispered to Drizzt when he saw Whisper returning, though the drow’s heightened senses had told him of her coming long before the dwarf was aware of it. Whisper had only been gone a half-hour or so, but it seemed much longer to the two friends in the alley, dangerously open to the sights of the crossbowmen and other thugs they knew were nearby. Whisper sauntered confidently up to them. â€Å"Here is the map you desire,† she said to Bruenor, holding up a rolled parchment. â€Å"A look, then,† the dwarf demanded, starting forward. The woman recoiled and dropped the parchment to her side. â€Å"The price is higher,† she stated flatly. â€Å"Ten times what you have already offered.† Bruenor’s dangerous glare did not deter her. â€Å"No choice is left to you,† she hissed. â€Å"You shall find no other who can deliver this unto you. Pay the price and be done with it!† â€Å"A moment,† Bruenor said with sudden calm. â€Å"Me friend has a say in this.† He and Drizzt moved a step away. â€Å"She has discovered who we are,† the drow explained, though Bruenor had already come to the same conclusion. â€Å"And how much we can pay.† â€Å"Be it the map?† Bruenor asked. Drizzt nodded. â€Å"She would have no reason to believe that she is in any danger, not down here. Have you the money?† â€Å"Aye,† said the dwarf, â€Å"but our road is long yet, and I fear we’ll be needing what I’ve got and more.† â€Å"It is settled then,† Drizzt replied. Bruenor recognized the fiery gleam that flared up in the drow’s lavender eyes. â€Å"When first we met this woman, we struck a fair deal,† he went on. â€Å"A deal we shall honor.† Bruenor understood and approved. He felt the tingle of anticipation start in his blood. He turned back on the woman and noticed at once that she now held a dagger at her side instead of the parchment. Apparently she understood the nature of the two adventurers she was dealing with. Drizzt, also noticing the metallic glint, stepped back from Bruenor, trying to appear unmenacing to Whisper, though in reality, he wanted to get a better angle on some suspicious cracks that he had noticed in the wall – cracks that might be the edgings of a secret door. Bruenor approached the woman with his empty arms outstretched. â€Å"If that be the price,† he grumbled, â€Å"then we have no choice but to pay. But I’ll be seein’ the map first!† Confident that she could put her dagger into the dwarf’s eye before either of his hands could get back to his belt for a weapon, Whisper relaxed and moved her empty hand to the parchment under her cloak. But she underestimated her opponent. Bruenor’s stubby legs twitched, launching him up high enough to slam his helmet into the woman’s face, splattering her nose and knocking her head into the wall. He went for the map, dropping the original purse of gems onto Whisper’s limp form and muttering, â€Å"As we agreed.† Drizzt, too, had sprung into motion. As soon as the dwarf flinched, he had called upon the innate magic of his heritage to conjure a globe of darkness in front of the window harboring the crossbowmen. No bolts came through, but the angered shouts of the two archers echoed throughout the alley. Then the cracks in the wall split open, as Drizzt had anticipated, and Whisper’s second line of defense came rushing through. The drow was prepared, scimitars already in his hands. The blades flashed, blunt sides only, but with enough precision to disarm the burly rogue that stepped out. Then they came in again, slapping the man’s face, and in the same fluidity of motion, Drizzt reversed the angle, slamming one pommel, and then the other, into the man’s temples. By the time Bruenor had turned around with the map, the way was clear before them. Bruenor examined the drow’s handiwork with true admiration. Then a crossbow quarrel ticked into the wall just an inch from his head. â€Å"Time to go,† Drizzt observed. â€Å"The end’ll be blocked, or I’m a bearded gnome,† Bruenor said as they neared the exit to the alley. A growling roar in the building beside them, followed by terrified screams, brought them some comfort. â€Å"Guenhwyvar,† Drizzt stated, as two cloaked men burst out into the street before them and fled without looking back. â€Å"Sure that I’d forgotten all about that cat!† cried Bruenor. â€Å"Be glad that Guenhwyvar’s memory is greater than your own,† laughed Drizzt, and Bruenor, despite his feelings for the cat, laughed with him. They halted at the end of the alley and scouted the street. There were no signs of any trouble, though the heavy fog provided good cover for a possible ambush. â€Å"Take it slow,† Bruenor offered. â€Å"We’ll draw less attention.† Drizzt would have agreed, but then a second quarrel, launched from somewhere down the alley, knocked into a wooden beam between them. â€Å"Time to go!† Drizzt stated more decisively, though Bruenor needed no further encouragement, his little legs already pumping wildly as he sped off into the fog. They made their way through the twists and turns of Luskan’s rat maze, Drizzt gracefully gliding over any rubble barriers and Bruenor simply crashing through them. Presently, they grew confident that there was no pursuit, and they changed their pace to an easy glide. The white of a smile showed through the dwarf’s red beard as he kept a satisfied eye cocked over his shoulder. But when he turned back to view the road before him, he suddenly dove down to the side, scrambling to find his axe. He had come face up with the magical cat. Drizzt couldn’t contain his laughter. â€Å"Put the thing away!† Bruenor demanded. â€Å"Manners, good dwarf,† the drow shot back. â€Å"Remember that, Guenhwyvar cleared our escape trail.† â€Å"Put it away!† Bruenor declared again, his axe swinging at the ready. Drizzt stroked the powerful cat’s muscled neck. â€Å"Do not heed his words, friend,† he said to the cat. â€Å"He is a dwarf, and cannot appreciate the finer magics!† â€Å"Bah!† Bruenor snarled, though he breathed a bit easier as Drizzt dismissed the cat and replaced the onyx statue in his pouch. The two came upon Half-Moon Street a short while later, stopping in a final alley to look for any signs of ambush. They knew at once that there had been trouble, for several injured men stumbled, or were carried, past the alley’s entrance. Then they saw the Cutlass, and two familiar forms sitting on the street out in front. â€Å"What’re ye doin’ out here?† Bruenor asked as they approached. â€Å"Seems our big friend answers insults with punches,† said Regis, who hadn’t been touched in the fray. Wulfgar’s face, though, was puffy and bruised, and he could barely open one eye. Dried blood, some of it his own, caked his fists and clothes. Drizzt and Bruenor looked at each other, not too surprised. â€Å"And our rooms?† Bruenor grumbled. Regis shook his head. â€Å"I doubt it.† â€Å"And my coins?† Again the halfling shook his head. â€Å"Bah!† snorted Bruenor, and he stamped off toward the door of the Cutlass. â€Å"I wouldn’t†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Regis started, but then he shrugged and decided to let Bruenor find out for himself. Bruenor’s shock was complete when he opened the tavern door. Tables, glass, and unconscious patrons lay broken all about the floor. The innkeeper slumped over one part of the shattered bar, a barmaid wrapping his bloodied head in bandages. The man Wulfgar had implanted into the wall still hung limply by the back of his head, groaning softly, and Bruenor couldn’t help but chuckle at the handiwork of the mighty barbarian. Every now and then, one of the barmaids, passing by the man as she cleaned, gave him a little push, taking amusement at his swaying. â€Å"Good coins wasted,† Bruenor surmised, and he walked back out the door before the innkeeper noticed him and set the barmaids upon him. â€Å"Hell of a row!† he told Drizzt when he returned to his companions. â€Å"Everyone in on it?† â€Å"All but one,† Regis answered. â€Å"A soldier.† â€Å"A soldier of Luskan, down here?† asked Drizzt, surprised by the obvious inconsistency. Regis nodded. â€Å"And even more curious,† he continued, â€Å"it was the same guard, Jierdan, that let us into the city.† Drizzt and Bruenor exchanged concerned looks. â€Å"We’ve killers at our backs, a busted inn before us, and a soldier paying us more mind than he should,† said Bruenor. â€Å"Time to go,† Drizzt responded for the third time. Wulfgar looked at him incredulously. â€Å"How many men did you down tonight?† Drizzt asked him, putting the logical assumption of danger right out before him. â€Å"And how many of them would drool at the opportunity to put a blade in your back?† â€Å"Besides,† added Regis before Wulfgar could answer, â€Å"I’ve no desire to share a bed in an alley with a host of rats!† â€Å"Then to the gate,† said Bruenor. Drizzt shook his head. â€Å"Not with a guard so interested in us. Over the wall, and let none know of our passing.† * * * An hour later, they were trotting easily across the open grass, feeling the wind again beyond the break of Luskan’s wall. Regis summed up their thoughts, saying, â€Å"Our first night in our first city, and we’ve betrayed killers, fought down a host of ruffians, and caught the attention of the city guard. An auspicious beginning to our journey!† â€Å"Aye, but we’ve got this!† cried Bruenor, fairly bursting with anticipation of finding his homeland now that the first obstacle, the map, had been overcome. Little did he or his friends know, however, that the map he clutched so dearly detailed several deadly regions, one in particular that would test the four friends to their limits – and beyond. How to cite Streams of Silver 3. Night Life, Essay examples

Narayans Swami and Friends free essay sample

A novelist of all humanity R. K. Narayan’s novels are like a box of Indian sweets: a highly-coloured container conceals a range of delectable treats, all di? erent in a subtle way, but each one clearly from the same place. There are fourteen novels in the oeuvre – enough to create a world. Enthusiasts of his work will read them all and return to them time and again. The busy, or the less committed, may open the box and take out one at random – it does not really matter which order one reads them in. But be warned: the consumption of one leads to a strong craving for more. Narayan’s life spanned the twentieth century, which meant that he belonged both to an old world and a new. At the time of his birth in , the British Raj, that astonishing imperial conceit, was ? rmly in place, as were those iron-clad notions of caste that were to prove so di? cult to shrug o?. The British presence in India had brought with it a large civil service, an educational system, and railways – to all of which institutions the people of the subcontinent took with enthusiasm. But it had also brought with it a language, and the literature which that language created, and it is this which proved a most productive legacy. The British took English to India and the Indians gave back a literary tradition which continues to delight and enrich us to this day. Contemporary writers such as Vikram Seth, Rohinton Mistry, or Anita Desai, whose novels have given such pleasure to readers in Europe and North America, stand rooted in a tradition which R. K. Narayan, as one of the earlier Indian novelists to write in English, did a great deal to establish. Although Narayan did not draw attention to his personal life, he did write a memoir, My Days, which tells us a great deal about his boyhood years and the inception and development of his literary career. His childhood was fairly typical of that of a middle-class boy of the time. His father was the headmaster vii R. K. NARAYAN of a school, a somewhat stern ? gure in his professional life, and this connection with the world of education is very much apparent in the earlier novels, where schools, colleges, and the whole business of becoming educated play a major role. His father’s job required mobility, and Narayan spent a number of childhood years living with his grandmother in Madras. Eventually, though, he joined his parents in Mysore, where he attended the school presided over by his father. He became a voracious reader, wading through the books and magazines which arrived on his father’s desk for the school library. As he wrote in My Days: My father did not mind our taking away whatever we wanted to read – provided we put them back on his desk without spoiling them, as they had to be placed on the school’s reading-room table on Monday morning. So our week-end reading was full and varied. We could dream over the advertisement pages in the Boys’ Own Paper or the Strand Magazine. Through the Strand we made the acquaintance of all English writers: Conan Doyle, Wodehouse, W. W. Jacobs, Arnold Bennett, and every English ? ction writer worth the name . . . Through Harper’s and the Atlantic, and American Mercury we attained glimpses of the New World and its writers. This sense of distance, of being a participant in a culture and yet not being of it, is a familiar feature of the literature of what is now the British Commonwealth and it is vividly portrayed in Narayan’s novels. Colonialism hurt and damaged those subjected to it, but it would be inaccurate to portray the process as being a simple matter of subjugation and humiliation; it was far more complex than that. The writer in the colonized country tended to soak up the culture of the colonial power and feel a familiarity and some a? ection for it, even though the experience of colonialism may have demoralized and destabilized his own colonized culture. This damage, although it may later be seen for what it is, is passed over: in his mind he is a member-in-waiting of a broader community of letters. His aspirations, though, are likely to be dashed; his yearning unful? lled. Although he may not realize it, the metropolitan culture is largely indi? erent to him and his world: the literary circles after which he yearns are distant, impossibly out of reach. Of course, the conquest is feasible, and literary doors viii INTRODUCTION may open. Narayan himself made it, as did others, although some did so by leaving the culture in which they had been brought up. Narayan remained in India – an Indian writer who was happy to be read by those outside India but who remained ? rmly within the world into which he had been born. The young Narayan was not a great scholar. Having failed his university entrance examinations, he spent a year reading and writing before he eventually succeeded in being admitted to the BA course at Maharaja’s College. During this year he acquired a copy of a book called How to Sell your Manuscripts and started to send his literary e? orts o? to magazines in London. He met with no success, encountering for the ? rst time those pieces of paper so familiar, and yet so devastating, to the aspiring writer – the printed rejection slip. In due course he completed his studies and graduated as a Bachelor of Arts. There then followed various attempts by his father and others to secure him a position. These were mostly unsuccessful, although they eventually bore fruit in the shape of a teaching post where he was immediately required to teach Tennyson’s Morte d’Arthur to a class of burly and uncooperative boys who had no interest in poetry. His teaching career was a dismal failure and shortly afterwards he walked out of the school and returned home. That was that: he would become a writer. How many have made that decision, and how many have failed. And how many aspiring writers have written their ? rst novel in the belief that it is ?  ction, only to discover that it is really about them, and, quite commonly, about their childhood. Swami and Friends, Narayan’s ? rst novel, is a novel of boyhood which draws heavily on his own experiences. Narayan sent the typescript to a series of publishers in London and became accustomed to having it returned at regular intervals. He expe rienced similar rejection with the short stories which he was now writing, although he eventually succeeded in his ambition to get into print abroad when a piece he wrote for Punch magazine in London was accepted and produced a handsome fee of six guineas. Narayan was to use this small measure of success to persuade his future father-in-law that the ?nancial prospects of a writer were not entirely gloomy. But he needed more than this: the ix R. K. NARAYAN unsuitability of his horoscope was seen by his intended bride’s family as being a major drawback to a possible match, and it was only after lengthy discussions that the marriage was able to go ahead. Narayan’s personal experience of the vagaries of matrimonial astrology was later re? ected in the highly amusing account of astrological discussions in his second novel, The Bachelor of Arts. Now married, Narayan began to earn a living as a journalist. Swami and Friends was still doing the rounds in London, with no success, and in desperation he wrote to a friend in Oxford, advising him that if the manuscript were to be returned to him from the publisher who was then considering it, he should weigh it down with a stone and throw it in the Thames. Fortunately the friend ignored this instruction and continued to show the manuscript to prospective publishers. Eventually he showed it to Graham Greene, who was then living in Oxford, and asked him to read it. It sat on Greene’s desk for some weeks and then eventually, in one of those moments of great good fortune which occur from time to time in literary history, Greene was su? ciently excited by the book to recommend and secure its publication in October . The publication of a ? rst novel is one thing, security in the literary world is another. Swami and Friends was well-reviewed, but was not a commercial success. In the years that followed, Narayan had to seek a variety of di? erent publishers, and it was to be some time before his reputation was secured amongst a wide international audience. His personal circumstances were also sometimes di? cult. In his wife, Rajam, died of typhoid. Narayan was devastated. In My Days he wrote: I have described this part of my experience of her sickness and death in The English Teacher so fully that I do not, and perhaps cannot, go over it again. More than any other book, The English Teacher is autobiographical in content, very little part of it being ? ction . . . The toll that typhoid took and all the desolation that followed, with a child to look after, and the psychic adjustments, are based on my own experience. After the publication of his fourth novel, The English Teacher, in , Narayan’s writing entered a period of greater maturity x INTRODUCTION and con? dence. The autobiographical element which had been so obvious in his earlier writing became less prominent, allowing him to develop his characters more freely. With the growing critical success of his novels in the West, he began to lead the life of the successful literary ? gure both in India and abroad. He travelled widely and, in time, was showered with honours. He did not leave his accustomed milieu, though, which was Mysore, where he built himself a house, went for rambling and talkative walks, and savoured the quotidian pursuits of life, including agriculture, which he studied with interest. In he was appointed to membership of the Rajya Sabha, the Upper House of the Indian Parliament. His inaugural speech there was on the subject of Indian children. Children, he said, were being deprived of time to play or to look at birds and trees. In he died. His mind was clear to the end, and on his death-bed he spoke of his desire to write another novel. This was the man who had confessed to friends: ‘I have become lazy since I entered my nineties. ’ Narayan’s novels are sometimes described as simple. The prose is indeed limpid, the descriptions clear, and the emphasis is on direct and intelligible storytelling, invoking a cast of vivid characters. To the modern reader, accustomed to arti? ce and allusion, this may give the books a slightly dated feel, and yet it is this quality of simplicity and directness which makes them such ? ne works of art. Narayan is a storyteller ?  rst and foremost, a characteristic which puts him in the company of the great nineteenth-century novelists as well as those twentiethcentury writers, such as Somerset Maugham, who believed that the novelist’s business is to narrate. His storytelling, though, sometimes has a somewhat rambling ? avour, with plots that can wander and which sometimes betray an absence of resolution. But this is not necessarily a ? aw: real lives are often aimless and unresolved, and when we read of such lives in literature we are quick to recognize their authenticity. There is nothing false in the world which Narayan creates – quite the opposite, in fact: these novels convey the taste and texture of India with a vividness which strikes the reader as utterly true. Even those who have no ? rst-hand experience of India will xi R. K. NARAYAN feel that what they experience in reading these books is a taste of the real place. The favoured setting of Narayan’s novels is Malgudi, an imaginary town which he describes as having ‘swum into view’ when he sat down to write Swami and Friends. Malgudi provides the strong sense of place which su? uses these books. This is India distilled – an urban India, but one in which a hinterland of jungle, of small villages, of wide plains is still present. When we read about Malgudi we feel we are there, and this powerful impression is created not by detailed descriptions of the countryside or buildings, but by the characters themselves and the suggestive nature of their thought and their speech. It is the voice which is distinctive here. It is a voice which is rooted in a world-view quite di? erent from that which we will encounter in, say, a modern novel located in North America or Western Europe. This voice is sensitive to a distinctive tradition in which the accumulated beliefs and social practices of centuries inform the smallest act. It is a wholly di? erent way of looking at the world. The four novels in this volume form the ? rst phase of Narayan’s career as a novelist. In them we see the author working through a number of concerns which, as a young man, were very much on his mind. These include boyhood (Swami and Friends), education and the ? nding of a role in life (The Bachelor of Arts), and marriage (The Dark Room and The English Teacher). In these early novels, we also see the development of Narayan as a writer, as he makes his way to the more mature and con? dent vision of the later novels. Swami and Friends is episodic in nature, which is exactly what the life of a young boy tends to be. Boys on the whole do not to have a long-term plan; they live for the moment, act on impulse, they pursue new enthusiasms and abandon old. Boyhood friendships, though, can persist, even if they may be tempestuous and competitive. The portrayal of Swami’s relationship with Rajam, the son of a senior police o?  cer, reveals how posturing and social embarrassment can loom large in the dealings a boy has with his friends. So many of us can remember the strength of that childhood feeling that our friends have more impressive xii INTRODUCTION parents, houses, cars, than we do. Narayan paints a deft picture of that particular anxiety. In Swami and Friends we are given an early sight of the humour which runs through Narayan’s novels. One of the features of British colonialism was the export of cricket, a game which strikes North Americans as being opaque and slowmoving. But at the time that Swami was written, cricket was more than just a sport – it stood, quite absurdly, for the whole ethos of an empire. Thus although we see Swami raised to heights of indignation by a political orator who laments the passivity of his countrymen which has allowed them to be dominated by an alien power, when it comes to cricket the boy is su? ciently enthusiastic to spend some time trying to explain what the game is all about to his aged grandmother. This comic scene, like so much of Narayan’s humour, has a strong poignancy to it. The grandmother represents the old India, a world in which cricket is not played. Her ignorance of the rules is a vivid metaphor for the extent to which the old and the new India are di? erent worlds. The cricket episode also allows Narayan to portray the naive aspirations of the boys. This is a familiar theme in many of his works, where so many of the characters are striving for something which is often just beyond their grasp. Narayan’s second novel, The Bachelor of Arts, again contains autobiographical elements but is much more satisfying in its structure than Swami. Chandran, the protagonist of this novel, is a typical Narayan hero – he is modest, slightly at odds with his surroundings, and engaged in a search. The search in this case is for freedom, and it takes place in the face of all the constraints which the Hindu family and wider Indian society can place in the way of a young man eager to ? nd himself. It is in this novel that we see one of Narayan’s main preoccupations come to the fore. This is marriage, and the complexities that Indian marriage involved and, indeed, still involves. Contemporary Westerners are sometimes astounded by the sheer fuss involved in an Indian marriage. In particular, the elaborate negotiations and the very large sums of money spent on celebrations impress outsiders, especially those who are accustomed to relatively informal weddings. The traditional xiii R. K. NARAYAN Hindu marriage, however, is an altogether di? erent thing from the typical arrangements of a Western couple: it involves the families on both sides, who are strongly interested in the suitability of the other side for a union. This means that the young man or young woman who nurtures hopes of a love-match, detached from considerations of social position or caste, may be heading for a major confrontation with family members who have very di? erent ideas. The Bachelor of Arts tells of a young man whose views of life, including marriage, are more ‘modern’ than those of his family. His relatives are immersed in the traditional beliefs of their religion: marriage is not a matter of personal choice, but something that is divinely ordained. As Chandran’s mother points out to her son: ‘It is all a matter of fate . You can marry only the person whom you are destined to marry and at the appointed time. When the time comes, let her be the ugliest girl, she willlook all right to the destined eye. ’ And in a letter which he writes to Chandran’s father, the intended bride’s own father says: ‘. . . we can only propose. He on the Thirupathi Hills alone knows what is best for us. ’ When Chandran’s horoscope is found to involve incompatibilities with that of the girl whom he wishes to marry, the full force of this fatalistic view of human a? airs comes home to him. What can a young man do in such circumstances other than give in or defy the convictions of everybody about him? And the prospect of revolt defeats Chandran, who is ultimately drawn back into the world of family and tradition, even although he does succeed in negotiating for himself a certain freedom. This process of selfexploration, challenge, and ? nally reconciliation is a familiar theme in Narayan’s ? ction. In a sense it mirrors Narayan’s own life as a man whose vision and understanding transported him beyond the rigid beliefs and practices of his society but never took him away from that society. And that central message – that we can be ourselves to an extent but that we all need to be anchored in society – is really a very attractive feature of these novels. Ultimately we feel comfortable and secure in reading Narayan because we detect in his work a resolution, an acceptance that we ourselves need in our own lives. If there is a great deal of light and freedom in these two xiv INTRODUCTION charming early novels, then in his third novel, The Dark Room, we enter graver, more disturbing territory. The portrait of this domestic tyrant is a compelling one, and we are also appalled, but fascinated, by the coquettish Shanta Bai, with whom he starts an a? air. The conduct of this a? air is beautifully described as Narayan directs his gaze at the shoddiness and deception of the o? ce romance. At the end of the day the patient Savitri, driven to an attempt at suicide as the only way out of her intolerable situation, returns to the matrimonial home and her unapologetic husband, defeated by centuries of custom. Hers is an awful fate, and although the position of women in traditional societies has improved, we might leave this book remembering that there are many women for whom this story would still ring very true. Marriage again plays a central role in The English Teacher. Narayan lost his wife to typhoid, and that is what happens to the central character, Krishna, in this novel. It is very sad, and very painful – just as it must have been for him in real life. The grief here is described with great tenderness, in passages that are quite haunting in their simplicity. The prose is like a funeral bell: solemn and resonant. As in the earlier novels, the idea of acceptance looms large: ultimately the hero, Krishna, has to accept the fact of the loss of his wife and the loneliness that follows. He has fought against this brute fact by attempting to communicate with her through paranormal means, but this leads nowhere, in the same way as all the smoke and mirrors of the various mystic ? gures who parade through Malgudi seem ultimately to lead nowhere. R. K. Narayan is a much beloved novelist, and for very good reason. Although the books in this volume were all written more than half a century ago, they are the freshest, the xv R. K. NARAYAN  most sparkling of gems. The struggle of the characters against social restrictions, their struggle to be something other than that which social destiny appears to be forcing them to be, are struggles with which we can all identify to a greater or lesser extent. As Samuel Johnson observed, many people waste part of their lives trying to be something they are not. Even tually, of course, they may come to realize what they really are, and if that happens to be a citizen of a small town, rather like Narayan’s Malgudi, bound up with neighbours and their concerns, sewn into a family and a nation, then there are very much worse fates than that. Alexander McCall Smith A M? C S is a professor of medical law at Edinburgh University. He was born in what is now known as Zimbabwe and taught law at the University of Botswana. He is the author of over ? fty books on a wide range of subjects, including the internationally bestselling novels of the No. ? Ladies Detective Agency series and the Sunday Philosophy Club series. He lives in Scotland. xvi