“You are a mystery, my dear,” her mother said, and Grady, gazing across the table through a centerpiece of roses and fern, smiled indulgently: yes, I am a mystery, and it pleased her to think so. But Apple, eight years older, married, far from mysterious, said: “Grady is only foolish; I wish I were going with you. Imagine, Mama, this time next week youll be having breakfast in Paris! George keeps promising that well go . . . I dont know, though.” She paused and looked at her sister. “Grady, why on earth do you want to stay in New York in the dead of summer?” Grady wished they would leave her alone; still this harping, and here now was the very morning the boat sailed: what was there to say beyond what shed said? After that there was only the truth, and the truth she did not entirely intend to tell. “Ive never spent a summer here,” she said, escaping their eyes and looking out the window: the dazzle of traffic heightened the June morning quiet of Central Park, and the sun, full of first summer, that dries the green crust of spring, plunged through the trees fronting the Plaza, where they were breakfasting. “Im perverse; have it your own way.” She realized with a smile it was perhaps a mistake to have said that: her family did come rather near thinking her perverse; and once when she was fourteen shed had a terrible and quite acute insight: her mother, she saw, loved her without really liking her; she had thought at first that this was because her mother considered her plainer, more obstinate, less playful than Apple, but later, when it was apparent, and painfully so to Apple, that Grady was finer looking by far, then she gave up reasoning about her mothers viewpoint: the answer of course, and at last she saw this too, was simply that in an inactive sort of way, shed never, not even as a very small girl, much liked her mother. Yet there was little flamboyancy in either attitude; indeed, the house of their hostility was modestly furnished with affection, which Mrs. McNeil now expressed by closing her daughters hand in her own and saying: “We will worry about you, darling. We cant help that. I dont know. I dont know. Im not sure its safe. Seventeen isnt very old, and youve never been really alone before.”
Mr. McNeil, who whenever he spoke sounded as though he was bidding in a poker game, but who seldom spoke in any event, partly because his wife did not like to be interrupted and partly because he was a very tired man, dunked out a cigar in his coffee cup, causing both Apple and Mrs. McNeil to wince, and said: “When I was eighteen, why hell, Id been out in California three years.”
“But after all, Lamont . . . youre a man.”
“Whats the difference?” he grunted. “There has been no difference between men and women for some while. You say so yourself.”
As though the conversation had taken an unpleasant turn, Mrs. McNeil cleared her throat. “It remains, Lamont, that I am very uneasy in leaving”
Rising inside Grady was an ungovernable laughter, a joyous agitation which made the white summer stretching before her seem like an unrolling canvas on which she might draw those first rude pure strokes that are free. Then, too, and with a straight face, she was laughing because there was so little they suspected, nothing. The light quivering against the table silver seemed to at once encourage her excitement and to flash a warning signal: careful, dear. But elsewhere something said Grady, be proud, you are tall so fly your pennant high above and in the wind. What could have spoken, the rose? Roses speak, they are the hearts of wisdom, shed read so somewhere. She looked out the window again; the laughter was flowing up, it was flooding on her lips: what a sparkling sun-slapped day for Grady McNeil and roses that speak!
“Why is that so funny, Grady?” Apple did not have a pleasant voice; it suggested the subvocal prattlings of an ill-natured baby. “Mother asks a simple question, and you laugh as though she were an idiot.”
“Grady doesnt think me an idiot, surely not,” said Mrs. McNeil, but a tone of weak conviction indicated doubt, and her eyes, webbed by the spidery hat-veil she now lowered over her face, were dimly confused with the sting she always felt when confronted by what she considered Gradys contempt. It was all very well that between them there should be only the thinnest contact: there was no real sympathy, she knew that; still, that Grady by her remoteness could suggest herself superior was unendurable: in such moments Mrs.
McNeils hands twitched. Once, but this had been a great many years ago and when Grady was still a tomboy with chopped hair and scaly knees, she had not been able to control them, her hands, and on that occasion, which of course was during that period which is the most nervously trying of a womans life, she had, provoked by Gradys inconsiderate aloofness, slapped her daughter fiercely. Whenever shed known afterwards similar impulses she steadied her hands on some solid surface, for, at the time of her previous unrestraint, Grady, whose green estimating eyes were like scraps of sea, had stared her down, had stared through her and turned a searchlight on the spoiled mirror of her vanities: because she was a limited woman, it was her first experience with a will-power harder than her own. “Surely not,” she said, twinkling with artificial humor.
“Im sorry,” said Grady. “Did you ask a question? I never seem to hear anymore.” She intended the last not so much as an apology as a serious confession.
“Really,” twittered Apple, “one would think you were in love.”
There was a knocking at her heart, a sense of danger, the silver shook momentously, and a lemon-wheel, half-squeezed in Gradys finger, paused still: she glanced swiftly into her sisters eyes to see if anything were there that was more shrewd than stupid. Satisfied, she finished squeezing the lemon into her tea and heard her mother say: “It is about the dress, dear. I think I may as well have it made in Paris: Dior or Fath, someone like that. It might even be less expensive in the long run. A soft leaf green would be heaven, especially with your coloring and hairthough I must say I wish you wouldnt cut it so short: it seems unsuitable and notnot quite feminine. A pity debutantes cant wear green. Now I think something in white watered silk”
Grady interrupted her with a frown. “If this is the party dress, I dont want it. I dont want a party, and I dont intend to go to any, not those kind at any rate. I will not be made a fool.”
Of all the things that fatigued her, this tried and annoyed Mrs. McNeil most: she trembled as if unnatural vibrations jarred the sane and stable precincts of the Plaza dining-room. Nor do I mean to be made a fool, she might have said, for, in contemplating the promotion of Gradys debut year, shed done already a great lot of work, maneuvering: there was even some idea of hiring a secretary. Furthermore, and in a self-righteous vein, she could have gone even so far as to say that the whole of her social life, every drab luncheon and tiresome tea (as in this light she would describe them), had been suffered only in order that her daughters receive a dazzling acceptance in the years of their dance. Lucy McNeils own debut had been a famous and sentimental affair: her grandmother, a rightfully celebrated New Orleans beauty who had married South Carolinas Senator LaTrotta, presented Lucy and her two sisters en masse at a Camellia ball in Charleston in April of 1920; it was a presentation truly, for the three LaTrotta sisters were no more than schoolgirls whose social adventures had been heretofore conducted within the shackles of a church; so hungrily had Lucy whirled that night her feet for days had worn the bruises of this entrance into living, so hungrily had she kissed the Governors son that her cheeks had flamed a month in remorseful shame, for her sistersspinsters then and spinsters stillclaimed kissing made babies: no, her grandmother said, hearing her teary confession, kissing does not make babiesneither does it make ladies. Relieved, she continued through to a year of triumph; it was a triumph because she was pleasant to look at, not unbearable to listen to: vast advantages when you remember that this was the meager season when the junior assembly had only such deplorable persimmons to choose among as Hazel Veere Numland or the Lincoln girls. Then, too, during the winter holidays, her mothers family, they were the Fairmonts from New York, had given in her honor, and in this very hotel, the Plaza, a distinguished dance; even though she sat now so near the scene, and was trying to recall, there was little about it she could remember, except that it was all gold and white, that shed worn her mothers pearls, and, oh yes, shed met Lamont McNeil, an unremarkable event: she danced with him once and thought nothing of it. Her mother, however, was more impressed, for Lamont McNeil, while socially unknown, and though still in his late twenties, cast over Wall Street an ever enlarging shadow, and so was considered a catch, if not in the circle of angels, then by those of a but slightly lower stratum. He was asked to dinner. Lucys father invited him to South Carolina for the duck-shoot. Manly, old grand Mrs. LaTrotta commented, and, as this was her criterion, she gave him the golden seal. Seven months later Lamont McNeil, pitching his poker voice to its tenderest tremor, spoke his piece, and Lucy, having received only two other proposals, one absurd and the second a jest, said oh Lamont Im the happiest girl in the world. She was nineteen when she had her first child: Apple, so named, amusingly enough, because during her pregnancy Lucy McNeil had eaten them by the barrel, but her grandmother, appearing at the christening, thought it a shocking bit of frivolityjazz and the twenties, she said, had gone to Lucys head. But this choice of name was the last gay exclamation point to a protracted childhood, for a year later she lost her second baby; stillborn, it was a son, and she called him Grady in memory of her brother killed in the war. She brooded a long while, Lamont hired a yacht and they cruised the Mediterranean; at every bright pastel port, from St. Tropez to Taormina, she gave on board sad weeping ice-cream parties for gangs of embarrassed native boys the steward shanghaied from ashore. But on their return to America, this tearful mist abruptly lifted: she discovered the Red Cross, Harlem, the two-demand bid, she took a professional interest in Trinity Church, the Cosmopolitan, the Republican Party, there was nothing she would not sponsor, contribute to, connive for: some said she was admirable, others said brave, a few despised her. They made a spirited clique, however, these few, and over the years their combined strength had sabotaged a dozen of her ambitions. Lucy had waited; she had waited for Apple: the mother of a topflight debutante has at her hands a social version of atomic revenge; but then she was cheated out of it, for there was the new war, and the poor taste of a debut in wartime would have been excessive: they had instead given an ambulance to England. And now Grady was trying to cheat her, too. Her hands twitted on the table, flew to the lapel of her suit, plucked at a brooch of cinnamon diamonds: it was too much, Grady had tried always to cheat her, just simply by not having been born a boy. Shed named her Grady anyway, and poor Mrs. LaTrotta, then in the last exasperated year of her life, had roused herself sufficiently to declare Lucy morbid. But Grady had never been Grady, not the child she wanted. And it was not that in this matter Grady wanted to be ideal: Apple, with her pretty playful ways and aided by Lucys sense of style, would have been an assured success, but Grady, who, for one thing, seemed not popular with young people, was a gambling chance. If she refused to cooperate, failure was certain. “There will be a debut, Grady McNeil,” she said, stretching her gloves. “You will wear white silk and carry a bouquet of green orchids: it will catch a little the color of your eyes and your red hair. And we will have that orchestra the Bells had for Harriet. I warn you now, Grady, if you behave rottenly about this I shall never speak to you again. Lamont, will you ask for the check, please?”
Grady was silent some moments; she knew the others were not as calm as they seemed: they were waiting again for her to act up, which proved with what inaccuracy they observed her, how unaware they were of her recent nature. A month ago, two months ago, if she had felt her dignity so intruded upon, she would have rushed out and roared her car onto the port road with the pedal flat on the floor; she would have found Peter Bell and cut the mischief in some highway tavern; she would have made them worry. But what she felt now was a genuine disinvolvement. And to some extent a sympathy with Lucys ambitions. It was so far off, a summer away; there was no reason to believe it would ever happen, a white silk dress, and the orchestra the Bells had had for Harriet. While Mr. McNeil paid the check, and as they crossed the dining-room, she held Lucys arm and with a coltish awkwardness gave her cheek a delicate spontaneous peck. It was a gesture that had the sudden effect of unifying them all; they were a family: Lucy glowed, her husband, her daughters, she was a proud woman, and Grady, for all her stubborn oddness was, let anyone say whatever they would, a wonderful child, a real person. “Darling,” Lucy said, “Im going to miss you.”
Apple, who was walking ahead, turned around. “Did you drive your car in this morning, Grady?”
Grady was slow in answering; lately everything Apple said seemed suspicious; why care, really? What if Apple did know? Still, she did not want her to. “I took the train from Greenwich.”
“Then you left the car at home?”
“Why, does it make any difference?”
“No; well, yes. And you neednt bark at me. I only thought you could drive me out on the Island. I promised George Id stop by the apartment and pick up his encyclopediasuch a heavy thing. Id hate to carry it on the train. If we got there early enough you could go swimming.”
Directed by the man who brought you Edward Scissorhands, film director-genius Tim Burton, comes a flourishing adventure set in the imaginative land of Wonderland. Thirteen years after Alice's first visit to Wonderland, she returns to this magical world and needs to fight the Red Queen's Jaberwocky who is threatening the rule of the peace abiding White Queen. There are fantastic sets and wondrous costumes to keep your eyes busy and the charisma of all of the characters just flows effortlessly into a wonderfully produced piece. With an iconic cast including Helena Bonham Carter, Johnny Depp and Anne Hathaway, this film is a great fantasy adventure which will have you on the edge of your seats rapt up in adventure and intrigue.
I was browsing online just randomly at news.com.au and I came across this strange but interesting segment of news stories that are the perfect combination of Weird, True and Freaky with articles from 'World's oldest dog: a pub regular' to 'Stab victim didn't notice knife in neck'. As you can probably tell, it already seems quite light hearted and comical but very true! Here is the link so you can have a look at the stories for yourself:
Here is a quick list of the movies I am dying to watch...
Written by Jodi Picoult, author of the International bestseller, My Sister's Keeper, comes a new novel exposing aspects of love, soul mates and murder. Here is the blurb for your interest:
All lessons held on the 14th of February 2010 are cancelled due to Chinese New Year. I hope you have a lovely short break and wish you lots of luck, health, happiness and prosperity comes your way. I apologise for any inconvenience for the short notice.
I've come across a few essay writing related links which will assist and further your understanding of essay writing and analytical pieces. Please have a read of these in your spare time as they will greatly help you if you have difficulties in grasping the written technique.
Reminder that our lessons resume on the 23rd and 24th of January 2010 (according to whether or not your lessons are on Saturday or Sunday-obviously). Our lessons will begin at the same times until further notice. Let's hope the (rainy) weather gets better by then and you are all ready to get some work done. I have already planned a few of my lessons so be prepared to work hard. That is all.
With the festive season ALMOST over, it only makes sense that now is the time you should be writing and reading a lot especially before Term one begins. It is a good time to tackle the tasks which you need to complete along with any revision which will assist you in 2010. Please remember that my email inbox is always open for work and marking so you should really get sending if you want feedback before lessons resume. I expect at least two written pieces of work by everyone especially if you would like to start 2010 on a good note, if not, well I hope you have a good and very guilty holiday break. Which I know you will have anyways.
Just want to say a very quick and late Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Huge thanks to everyone for being such wonderful students and for making my lessons extremely enjoyable! Stay safe throughout the holiday season and get reading and writing before school resumes! Feel free to email me or call me if you have any questions or need some help with study preparation for 2010!
Everyone (including myself) all have a wonderful long summer break ahead of us. Some people may have schedules which are just bursting at the brim, whilst others are struggling to find a cheap and simple holiday thrill. I like to think of myself as just in the middle of the two. Here is a list of some cheap (and chic) things to do in the holidays:
If you have an interest or will be studying the 19th Century in the near future, a site that may be of good reference to you would be Victoria Web. I used this site when I studied my Extension English core unit "Individual and Society" in the 19th century and it is extremely helpful contextually. It features an overview of the many events, significant values and individuals of the time which may be of some interest to you. This is the link: http://www.victorianweb.org/
Here is an abbreviated way to revise and remember the basic form of an essay. It is called the 'STAR' method.
I assume that the many students who won't be hosting a Christmas Eve, Christmas or New Years lunch or dinner at their place would perhaps instead be dining out, and this information has inspired me to create a list of the top five restaurants to splurge at for the festive season.
PS: I need all of my students to email me with their birthday dates ASAP. If you want presents, let me know when your birthday is. The earlier, the better. Cheers.
With holidays literally just around the corner, I am just reminding you all that if I have lent you any books, films etc. to borrow, read and/or watch, if I could please get these items returned to me before the Summer holidays officially take place. It'll just help avoiding further confusion and misplacement of items in the New Year. I appreciate your efforts. Hope the texts I lent you helped you felt inspired.
Let's end the year happily with a randomly lovely last survey.
Just a reminder that the payment for the next two English lessons (12th of Dec and 19th of Dec) are due next week (12th Dec). I forgot to remind you in class so I'm hoping you can please have this ready by our lesson. Also, Kris Kringle gifts are due and must be brought in appropriately. Please make sure these are packaged neatly with a card, just out of courtesy. Thanks so much.
According to the Telegraph UK, this is a great list of 50 fabulous holiday novels for reading this Summer break:
The Summer Holidays are the longest and perhaps the best time of the year to get productive although it might not feel like it. I mean, how often will you get a good two months or so school free? Other than having a good break and relaxing, this is my best time to get some work done ready for the beginning of 2010. Here are my HSC friendly study tips!
With a mix of IQ, logic and computer skills, the World's hardest game is really one to remember. I've only had a peek at it but it seems rather intense, let me know how you guys go with the levels. Here's the link for your reference.
If you are a current year eight student, you might be interested in joining our newest English Class program ready in early 2010. Following the astounding success of the year nine 2009 classes, we've decided to extend this warm welcome to the year nine students of 2010 with the introduction of Saturday morning English classes. In these English classes, you will learn in a focused yet fun environment, perfect for discussions and development of new ideas in a more social surrounding. We will explore different genres, texts, writing styles, literature pieces and many more. If you are interested for more information, please feel free to contact me or email me. I will be releasing more information regarding these lessons soon, so please keep your eyes peeled for more updates.
So the Kris Kringle names are out and it's obviously time to start checking out cheap and chic gifts. Here are my favourite online sites which will have Christmas presents and cheaper than chips Kris Kringle sorted almost instantly!
Sorry for being so random with the whole XMAS craziness, I just can't help it...and know that you all secretly love it. Anyways, to all of my lovely female students who had no idea what to put on their Christmas wishlists or just any wishlist, in general, let me introduce you to the fabulous world of luxury heels. You can stop reading as of now, if it really seems like a bore. 
So here's my story: I was just browsing the sites for some new things to buy (actually let's call it 'online window shopping') and I came across these magnifique heels which I think some of my girly year nine students will absolutely adore. They are the cutest little heels ever and (if you do get them) it will be your first taste of the high life to come! I'm not sure if you know the designer Vivienne Westwood? Well, Vivienne Westwood is like one of Britain's most ahhhh-mazing eccetric designers who has dressed absolutely everyone (that needs to be dressed) and she's collaborated with Aussie shoe label, Melissa, in a creating the ultimate pair of girly chic heels which come at an affordable yet luxe price! These heels are so Alice in Wonderland-whimsical and timeless and I'm pretty sure your parents will let you get away with it! And if your parents don't let you get them, try saving your cash up. Seriously, a good $20 something a week saved, is money you can further spend later (on these shoes, of course!) My favourite is the Melissa/Vivienne Westwood 'Lady Dragon' heels in fuschia. 
These will seriously be the best thing you'll ever buy to end 2009 and will take you from the Summer Christmas season to the parties, weekends, weddings, dinners and New Years instantly. Such an affordable investment piece. Anyhow, I have finished my ranting and hope you all heart the heels even if they didn't directly tickle your fancy...or you are in denial.
Examples of topics may include:
Perhaps you once asked yourself, 'What exactly is Hamlet trying to tell me? Why must he mince his words, muse in lyricism and, in short, whack about the shrub?' No doubt such troubling questions would have been swiftly resolved were the Prince of Denmark a registered user on Twitter.com. This, in essence, is Twitterature.
Here you will find seventy-five of the greatest works of western literature – from Beowulf to Bronte, from Kafka to Kerouac, and from Dostoevsky to Dickens– each distilled through the voice of Twitter to its purest, pithiest essence. Including a full glossary of online acronyms and Twitterary terms to aid the amateur, Twitterature provides everything you need to master the literature of the civilised world, while relieving you of the burdensome task of reading it.
From Hamlet: WTF IS POLONIUS DOING BEHIND THE CURTAIN???
From Dante's Inferno: I'm havin a midlife crisis. Lost in the woods. Shoulda brought my iPhone.
From Oedipus: PARTY IN THEBES!!! Nobody cares I killed that old dude, plus this woman is all over me. Total MILF.
From Paradise Lost: OH MY GOD I'M IN HELL.
'The classics are so last century' Guardian
Would you be ready to answer these?
Some film titles I noticed which are worth getting:
Blurb:
By Motoko Rich for the New York Times. Published: October 7, 2009
