Anne Frank Blog

After finishing Part III of Beloved, I couldn't stop thinking about how difficult it is for people to let go of the past. The characters struggle with traumatic memories throughout the entire book, but in Part III they are forced to confront them. The scene where the local women visited Sethe's home and Beloved vanished caught my attention the most. Because it demonstrated that occasionally people require assistance from others to overcome their difficulties, it felt like a turning moment.

Sethe was one character who kept coming to mind. She loves her kids, but her life is essentially controlled by the guilt she has from her past. She seems to have lost how to live for herself at the book's end because she has been focusing on her mistakes for so long. This got me to thinking about how simple it is for people to become mired in their own mistakes. Everyone makes poor choices occasionally, but focusing solely on those errors can prevent you from progressing.

I also enjoyed how much Denver had grown. She relied on Sethe for nearly everything in the start of the book and appeared afraid of the outer world. She starts to take charge of her own destiny and grows considerably more self-reliant in Part III. One of the most encouraging aspects of the book, in my opinion, was her development. It shows that despite coming from challenging circumstances, people can still develop and change. Denver's personality got me to thinking about how it might be frightening to venture outside of your comfort zone, but it can also make you stronger.

Paul D tells Sethe, "You your best thing, Sethe. You are." This is one of the most significant lines in the book, in my opinion, because Sethe spends so much time defining herself by her trauma and shame. Paul D is attempting to reassure her that she is more than the most awful thing that has ever happened to her. Many people evaluate themselves too harshly and forget that they are more than their faults, which makes that message seem meaningful.

To be honest, reading chapters 20–23 made me feel a little stuck. Not because they were dull, but instead because everything seemed so heavy and intense. I believe Morrison intended for readers to feel uneasy as they watched Sethe and Beloved's interaction during these chapters.

I was most struck by how much Sethe offers Beloved. It almost makes sense at first. Sethe has spent years carrying the guilt of what happened, and now she has this chance to be with her daughter again. However, the more I read, the more Sethe seemed to be disappearing. She starts to give up everything else and focuses entirely on Beloved. Morrison's statement that "Beloved ate up her life, took it, swelled up with it, grew taller on it" struck a nerve with me since it seemed to be more than just a description of Beloved. It seemed to be a description of guilt itself.

I believe that's the reason these chapters upset me. Even if it's nothing compared to what Sethe endured, most individuals regret something. Sometimes people replay what they have done wrong again in their minds, believing that if they punish themselves sufficiently, they will somehow turn things around. However, these chapters made me consider how that isn't really beneficial. Sethe is not recovering. Her suffering is only getting worse.

Something else I kept thinking about was how the past works within this book. People frequently say phrases like "move on" or "leave the past behind," but Morrison makes it seem impossible. The past doesn't simply vanish because you wish it to. These chapters also show what occurs when your life is entirely dominated by the past. Sethe is unable to truly live in the moment because she is so preoccupied about making amends with Beloved.

I also thought about how people generally cope with trauma after reading these chapters. There isn't a magical moment when someone simply moves past a horrible experience. Their self-perception may be shaped by the impacts, which may linger for years. I find Sethe to be a really tragic figure because of this. Not only is she upset by what happened, but she believes she will always have to pay for it.

I thought a lot about how trauma does not go away, despite people's best wishes, after reading the beginning of Beloved. Morrison gives the impression that a different figure is haunting the house and its occupants. The thing that most struck me was how Sethe cannot just "move on" from slavery because it has influenced every aspect of her life. Painful memories disrupt even situations that should to feel natural or consoling. Morrison states early in the book that "124 was spiteful. Full of a baby’s venom.” The house instantly became less like a home after hearing that line and more like a tangible symbol of sorrow and remorse. In addition to being supernatural, the haunting has an emotional quality. The previous events have locked everyone in the house.

I also couldn't stop thinking about the book's portrayal of parenthood. Although Sethe's decisions are at first hard to comprehend, Morrison compels the reader to think about how slavery affected the concept of parenthood. I was more affected by Sethe's recollection that "they took my milk" than by other of the book's more graphic scenes. It shows how slavery violated deeply personal and human rights in addition to controlling work. The significance of motherhood to Sethe's identity is demonstrated by the fact that she is more angry about her milk being stolen than about being abused. Morrison helps readers understand how slavery impacted family, love, and dignity in addition to bodies.

The physical torture was not even the most unsettling aspect of Part 3 of 1984. It was witnessing Winston slowly lose faith in his own reasoning. Winston at least thought there was some sort of truth at the start of the book. By the end, the belief is totally disproved by the Party. The part where O'Brien informs Winston that reality only exists in the Party's imagination is the one that most resonated with me. To be honest, that thought scared me more than Room 101. Winston eventually comes to peace with O'Brien's repeated statements, such as "2 + 2 = 5." Pain and dread take place over reason, not because he initially believes it. It got me to thinking about how dangerous it is for those in positions of power to have such total control over information that people lose faith in themselves.

The thing that really affected me was how Orwell shows psychological control in addition to physical control. Winston wants freedom, privacy, love, and the truth at the beginning of the book. All of those things are gone by the end. The moment in Room 101 where Winston betrays Julia was tragic because it demonstrated that the Party had discovered the one fear that could destroy him. Winston and Julia's relationship felt rebellious earlier in the book. It was broken and disorganized, but it was human. Winston then yells in Room 101 that Julia should be the victim of the rats rather than him. Their relationship feels completely hollow after that. Neither of them even genuinely cared when they later cross paths again. The Party eliminated emotional ties in addition to forcing compliance.

That, in my opinion, explains why the conclusion is so bleak. Winston neither privately holds rebellion within himself or dies battling the Party. Winston finally "loved Big Brother," according to Orwell, and in some ways, that's worse. Because they fully transform his inner self, the Party triumphs. It got me to thinking about how much of who we are is based on our memory, the truth, and our capacity for independent thought. What remains of a person if they are able to maintain control over those things for a long period of time?

The fact that some aspects of 1984 no longer seem impossible is another thing that makes it frightening. The continuous surveillance, misinformation, and demand to follow specific stories on the internet reminded me of how simple it can be for people to accept things without questioning them. Even though our reality is obviously very different from 1948, Orwell's observations about manipulation and terror still seem to be relevant. People sometimes find it simpler to ignore difficult facts than to face them, especially if everyone else is saying the same thing.

Reading Part One of 1984 by George Orwell honestly made me feel nervous in a way I wasn’t expecting. The thing that stuck with me the most was how natural everything would feel to the people there, even though I knew it would be dark and about control.

Winston's description of the continuous surveillance, especially the telescreens that constantly watch and listen, strikes something with me. He says, “You had to live—did live, from habit that became instinct—in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard.” It didn't feel like fiction at all. It got me to thinking about how much of our lives are already sort of observed. It's not exactly the same, of course, but with phones, social media, GPS monitoring, and cameras everywhere, it's not that far off. What's the strangest part? We've also become used to it.

I think that’s what made me a bit uncomfortable. Not only does Winston's world lack freedom, but people no longer even question it. It got me thinking, would we even notice if something similar happened progressively in real life? Or would it simply normalize with time, just as it did for them?

I also couldn't stop thinking about Winston. He's quiet and uncertain, and he's not some heroic rebel, but there's something incredibly human about the fact that he senses something is off even though he can't quite put his finger on it. That caught my focus because it shows the Party's strength, they manipulate people's ideas of reality in addition to controlling behavior. The whole idea of rewriting history really shocked me too. You can essentially control what people think is true if you have power over the past.

That part made me think about fake news today. Not in the dramatic sense of "we're living in 1984," but more in the sense of how we can truly know what is true. People can distort facts or dismiss them entirely due to the large amount of conflicting information available on the internet. Although it's not the same as the Party editing newspapers, it still occasionally gives the impression that the truth is delicate.

The entries from January 1943 to April 1944 seem to give me a whole new feeling about Anne.

The thing that really struck me was how much Anne grew as a person in just those fifteen months, rather than just the awful fear of the Gestapo or the food shortages. She still feels a little like a child managing family conflict at the beginning of 1943. However, by the spring of 1944, she has developed into this extremely intelligent, almost painfully self-aware girl. Her diary entry on January 2, 1944, was the event that really stopped me still. She is genuinely embarrassed by her old self as she spends the entire day going over her earlier 1942 journal entries. She writes:

"I was quite shocked, and asked myself: “Anne, is it really you who mentioned hate? Oh, Anne, how could you!”" (pg. 113)

I spent ten minutes, I think sitting with that. Everyone has felt the "cringe" feeling when they look back at old pictures or postings from a year ago on social media, but Anne is experiencing that feeling when she is actually trapped to a few small rooms. She is unable to reinvent herself by "moving on" to a new school or a getting new group of friends. Every day, she must mentally recreate herself while looking at the same five people and four walls.

I became aware of how little we value our own space as a result. When I’m annoyed with my family or just feeling "stuck" in everyday life, I can go for a drive, or even simply sit in a different room. Anne is unable to. It's sad to watch her change from "Anne the bratty daughter" to "Anne the romantic/philosopher" who is falling for Peter and challenging the evil of the world.

These entries made me feel kind of protective of her. Especially when she talks about her friendship with Peter. Instead of just being "the kid" of the group, you can see her looking out for any human connection that feels new and personal. Yes, it's a survival strategy, but it's also really human.

The "meaning" I think I'm taking away from this week is that progress happens even when life is put on hold. The human brain (and heart) continues to move, evolve, and seek pleasure even under the most scary and frozen situations. I wonder what kind of person I would "grow" into if I lost my phone, my independence, and my privacy. Would I be as honest with myself as she was?