Third Reflection on THE ENGLISH PATIENT

           As I reach deeper into the book, I realize that the personalities and behaviors of the characters appear rather unfamiliar to me. Above all, they are going through the brutality of war, while I can only imagine the hardship of living under gunfire. The characters in the novel are somehow more cautious, calm, and tough-minded.

Hana, a young nurse who takes care of a critically burned English patient, appears to me as the most complex character so far. She does not reveal much about herself. Her stubborn and altruistic nature is exposed as she refuses to leave the dangerous war zone and insists to look after the burned patient. Most importantly, she never seems to be expecting anything in return. Just like the old saying has stated: to give without any reward has a special quality of its own. Suddenly, a new inquiry comes to me: how many people in today’s society are willing to sacrifice themselves to help others like Hana does?

The English patient has been a young, honorable soldier, but is now all damaged by the inhumane war. His life is entirely changed. Without the nurse, he is nothing more than a feeble, helpless, and disabled man. However, I believe that he is unlucky and lucky at the same time. It is his good fortune to meet such an altruistic nurse, who is willing to take care of a severely burnt soldier without anything in return.

          

So far in the story, there is almost no dialogue, not even many words exchanged between the two characters. However, through subtle actions and gestures, a solid level of trust is shown between them. Maybe this is another gist of the novel—communication does not always present in a well-developed relationship.  

All in all, the author keeps on leaving massive space for the readers to imagine and explore what should be grasped through the novel. 

Second Reflection on THE ENGLISH PATIENT

In the novel “The English Patient”, a wartime story is depicted by Anthony Minghella’s use of a complex narrative system. The settings are directly conveyed to the readers from the points of view of several different characters. In addition, the deficiency of dialogue provides the readers ample room for imagination. Even though, I have only read through the beginning of the novel, I am already overwhelmed with incessant imageries delivered by the author’s elaborated language.

The uneasiness of wartime atmosphere is directly delivered to me by the description of the villa and the dessert, which suddenly reminds me of isolation. Moreover, the lack of conversation and the barrenness of land successfully demonstrate the grief, uncertainty, and insecurity brought by a drastic war. It is surprising how an emotionally intricate story, which depicts a combination of hatred and love, could be carried out in such placid and phlegmatic language.

All in all, just by reading the first few pages, I am already encircled by the typical oppressive war atmosphere. Certainly, I cannot wait to get back to the novel and explore further more into the story. 

First Reflection on THE ENGLISH PATIENT

The novel that I have elaborately chosen to read is called The English Patient. It is a 1992 novel by Sri Lankan-Canadian novelist Michael Ondaatje. After a brief research, I surprisingly found myself determined to read this Canadian novel not only because that it has won the Canadian Governor Generals Award and the Booker Prize for fiction, but also because that it was adapted into an award-winning film of the same name in 1996. Moreover, since I am very engaged in the historical events of the Second World War, which have been introduced to me in Social Studies, I am eagerly seeking for more stories that take place during that era. Through reading this novel, I hope to get a better sense of the WWII. Last but not least, at this very moment, my inquiry question is how love cures a man, who is both physically and mentally damaged by a brutal war.

The Ordeal

The Ordeal

It was March 27^th. The spring’s zephyr finally came to replace the piercing wind of the dreary winter. Flower stalks began to push through the soil and birds started to sing. But unfortunately, the warm sunny outside air failed to reach inside the enormous brick and marble hospital.

In the hospital ward, everyone was dressed in black, as if a funeral was expected. Old Harry was lying in the bed, sensing every vulnerable beating of his heart before it could come to a full stop. His skin was soft and withered, bent into a thousand tiny creases that clung gently to the bone underneath. Although, his life was slipping away with each tick at the clock, he was not miserable, yet, contented. The family was finally united as he had always hoped. Under his sparse eyelashes, his old brown eyes scrutinized everyone’s countenance for one last time, wishing to remember them all. The family encircled him tightly and silently accompanied him through his final moments. They did not cry even though tears had been gushing to their eyes for a long time. With feeble strength, the corners of his mouth lifted into the last smile. And froze. The smile disappeared in a sudden and he could not refrain his eyes from closing… Those eyelids would never separate from each other again.

Waking up in a frenzy of fear, Sasha found herself nowhere but on the familiar hard wooden floor beside her bed. Slowly, she pushed the silk quilt back on to her chaotic bed and stood up. She felt exhausted, moreover, desperate. She could still feel the remaining drops of sweat on her forehead as she dragged herself to the nearest mirror and saw her swollen eyes. Another nightmare. It was another replay of her dearest father passing away in the hospital.

It had been three months since the funeral. Ninety days was way to short to erase from her mind the memory of all the pain she had been going through. Nothing happened in the past three months was exciting enough to revitalize her. She missed Harry.

After gulping back the third cup of tea, Sasha made up her mind to visit Harry’s grave in the afternoon. She knew she wasn’t ready for that, but she just had a strong feeling, which was unceasingly telling her that her beloved father was waiting to hear her stories in the past several months, which he had to miss.

A sharp pain swirled up from Sasha’s heart as she slowly dropped to her knees in front of her father’s gravestone. She could not refrain the scene happened in the hospital from coming back to her. She was sad, hopeless, and exhausted.

“Why me? Why did God choose me to suffer from the grief of losing my father so soon that I hadn't even spent enough time with him? It’s not fair!” Her own words pinched her heart the way a tiny stone in a shoe pinches a foot. She was right, it was unfair and there was no choice involved. Harry couldn't choose to defeat the tumor and his daughter couldn't choose him to live. God had successfully proved that he decides everyone’s fate for the millionth time. “He was only sixty. He was too young to lie deep down there in a claustrophobic casket. He should be fishing, embellishing our garden, and lying in the sun. He should be with us…” Those grieving thoughts had her eyes glued on her father’s name, which was neatly curved into the cold marble. Staring into her own tearful reflection in the marble gravestone, it was obvious that she was quietly descending into a breakdown.

She continued to assemble the memories of her father until a preponderant grief was knotting her stomach and pulling at her heart. Pins and needles ran up the back of her neck and a lump in her throat threatened to choke her.

She had to leave. She wanted to go home.

Sasha managed to drive home without causing any car accidents. Before getting out of her Buick, she dried her watery eyes and took a deep breath, “No more crying.” she promised herself.

As soon as she unlocked the door, the overwhelming air of loneliness made her breathless. Apart from the low hum of the fridge and the occasional moaning of the pipes, the house was quiet.

It was already six-thirty. She was hungry. When was the last time she had a proper meal? She couldn't bear the pain of cooking for herself and eating by herself in this cold, empty, and gloomy living room, where she had celebrated her father’s birthdays, played chess with her father, and had myriad wonderful memories with him. She grabbed the last granola bar on the kitchen counter and swallowed it in three bites, chasing it down with milk straight from carton. Eating became nothing more than a mandatory task of keeping her alive.

She was tired from all the crying. Apart from that, she was also exhausted from recalling the unforgettable, yet heartbreaking recollections of her father. She pulled herself to the bed and snuggled under the covers. However, guilt had her eyes glued on the ceiling. She could no longer fall asleep.

It was the first time she ever visited Harry’s grave since the funeral. She wanted to tell her father everything, to tell him all the unbearable pain she had to go through because of his departure. But she couldn't. She couldn't enunciate a single word as she was crying so hard in front of the grave, where her father lied beneath, soundless, senseless, and lifeless. That visit only divulged how fragile she was. Her father must be very disappointed. He wanted to see a tough and independent woman, not a crying little girl. She felt sorry that she left without saying goodbye to him. She knew that she eventually had to overcome herself and get back to a normal life. She should stop missing meals, clean up her house and garden, and start to hang out with friends. Above all, she must accept Harry’s death.

The rest of the week flashed in a blur. She was not yet strong enough to plan another visit to the grave, although she had lots and lots to share with Harry. Sliding into Harry’s antique sofa, she once again started to savor all those joyful memories. Suddenly, a phone call interrupted her from daydreaming.

“Hello. Sasha speaking.” She answered impatiently.

“Hey! It’s Tina. It’s been a really long time since we’ve talked last time. Well, I am just wondering if you could come to my father’s 60^th birthday on Saturday.” Tina’s enthusiastic voice made Sasha sounds even more lackadaisical. 

“Um…” Of course, Sasha had no intention to go. Who would go to a friend’s father’s birthday party when her own father is still warm in the coffin?

“You should definitely come. I’ve invited lots of our friends. They are all coming! It’s gonna be fun!” It seemed like she was not informed the demise of Sasha’s father.

Panic took over. Sasha couldn’t utter a sound. Her phone was still clutched in her hand, plastic heating in her grip. It reminded her of Harry’s 60^th birthday when they spent the whole day fishing and chatting. She did not know whether she should go or reject her friend’s earnest request. On the other hand, she considered that the birthday party might be a great opportunity to meet all her friends after such a long while without any phone calls or visits. She really needed to talk to people after three months of monologue. Moreover, she thought it could be a chance of helping her getting back to real life from daydreaming.

“Hello?? Are you listening??” Tina’s worried voice finally dragged Sasha back to their conversation.

“Sorry... Um… Yes! I would love to come.”

Certainly, Tina was delighted by her response. They continued chatting about how exciting the party was going to be. However, Tina never knew how difficult it was for Sasha.

The phone call was such a calamity. It brought all the panic back to Sasha. As soon as she got off the phone, salty tears tickled down her face and she wrapped her arms around her body to comfort herself. Soon, she began to cry as hard as she could right after she got off the phone. Bile rose in her throat and she ran to the bathroom, where she collapsed to her knees before the toilet. Suddenly, the walls of the washroom felt like they were closing in on her, heads of sweat formed on her forehead. She was frail. Maybe the notion of getting over the grief was only a hypothesis, which would hardly become a fact. All of a sudden, going to the party became an impossible mission to complete. But she did not want to disappoint her friend, who still remembered to invite her even though Sasha ignored her for months. After realizing the pain of losing someone she loved the most, she knew that she could never afford losing another person she cared about and loved.

* * *

In the Saturday evening, Sasha stepped out of her house in her favorite dress. She paused, took a deep breath, and confidently walked towards her car. At this very moment, she managed to convince herself that she was ready to conquer the “impossible mission”, embrace a great party, and spend a fulfilling night. 

LOVE

Love,

A complex feeling;

An inevitable experience;

An unforgettable memory.

Difficult to obtain,

Yet east to lose.

It can be as simple as a hug,

Yet as addictive as a drug.

On is loved because one is loved;

No reason is needed for loving.

Love,

A trick,

A magic,

A legend that illumines the world.

Its depth is never known until the hour of separation;

And the only true love is embedded deep inside your heart.

If we just open our eyes wide,

Love has no place to hide.

If we just open our arms wide, 

We will embrace our true love soon.