Moravian Pauline’s Destruction of Their Love Story Please write ✍ ✍️ Easy and simple words and make mistakes in the writing not to be Professional.

Moravian Pauline’s Destruction of Their Love Story Please write ✍ ✍️ Easy and simple words and make mistakes in the writing not to be Professional.

Discuss “Cholly and Pauline, A Love Story”. What causes the destruction of their love story?

The reading should be monster in the book the bluest eye

Any of the Study Guide Questions for Morrison’s The Bluest Eye is a good focus for a close reading of the novel. You may also create a question of your own.

Your essay will be a built upon a close reading of the text.

Close reading is important because it is the building block for larger analysis. Your thoughts evolve not from someone else’s truth about the reading, but from your own observations. The more closely you can observe, the more original and exact your ideas will be. To begin your close reading, ask yourself several specific questions about the passage. When you arrive at some answers, you are ready to organize and write. You should organize your close reading like any other type of essay, paragraph by paragraph, but you can arrange it any way you like.

As you select your topic, keep in mind important ideas we have discussed: point of view; character; structure of the novel; and the cultural and historical context of the novel.

Thesis Statement: Your thesis statement is the answer to the question you are asking. It should appear at the end of your introductory paragraph. Use the introductory paragraph to introduce Morrison’s novel and the idea you will explore.

Topic Sentences: Each paragraph in the body of the essay will have a topic sentence. It says what the paragraph will be about. It relates back to the thesis statement.

Transitions: Each paragraph, beginning with the second body paragraph, will contain a transition in the topic sentence. It may be a word or phrase repeated from the previous paragraph, connecting the ideas.

References to the text: Since you are only using The Bluest Eye, you may include page references in the text as follows: p. 47 (for one page), or pp, 47-48 (for more than one page). If you use Morrison’s speech as a source, include “Speech” along with the page number or numbers. The Bluest Eye
the evening to the railroad tracks where we fill burlap
sacks with the tiny pieces of coal lying about. Later we
walk home, glancing back to see the great carloads of
slag being dumped, red hot and smoking, into the ravine
that skirts the steel mill. The dying fire lights the sky
with a dull orange glow. Frieda and I lag behind, staring
at the patch of color surrounded by black. It is
impossible not to feel a shiver when our feet leave the
gravel path and sink into the dead grass in the field.
Our house is old, cold, and green. At night a kerosene
lamp lights one large room. The others are braced in
Harkness, peopled by roaches and mice. Adults do not
alk to us—they give us directions. They issue orders
without providing information. When we trip and fall
down they glance at us; if we cut or bruise ourselves,
hey ask us are we crazy. When we catch colds, they
hake their heads in disgust at our lack of consideration.
How, they ask us, do you expect anybody to get anything
one if you all are sick? We cannot answer them. Our
Iness is treated with contempt, foul Black Draught, and
astor oil that blunts our minds.
When, on a day after a trip to collect coal, I cough
nce, loudly, through bronchial tubes already packed
ght with phlegm, my mother frowns. “Great Jesus. Get
n in that bed. How many times do I have to tell
rear something on your head? You must be the biggest
pol in this town. Frieda? Get some rags and stuff that
Frieda restuffs the window. I trudge off to bed, full of
uilt and self-pity. I lie down in my underwear, the metal
my black garters hurts my legs, but I do not take them
ff, for it is too cold to lie stockingless. It takes a long
time for my body to heat its place in the bed. Once I
have generated a silhouette of warmth, I dare not move,
for there is a cold place one-half inch in any direction.
No one speaks to me or asks how I feel. In an hour or
two my mother comes. Her hands are large and rough,
and when she rubs the Vicks salve on my chest, I am
rigid with pain. She takes two fingers’ full of it at a time,
and massages my chest until I am faint. Just when I think
I will tip over into a scream, she scoops out a little of the
salve on her forefinger and puts it in my mouth, telling
me to swallow. A hot flannel is wrapped about my neck
and chest. I am covered up with heavy quilts and ordered
to sweat, which I do-promptly.
Later I throw up, and my mother says, “What did you
puke on the bed clothes for? Don’t you have sense
enough to hold your head out the bed? Now, look what
you did. You think I got time for nothing but washing up
your puke?”
The puke swaddles down the pillow onto the
sheet-green-gray, with flecks of orange. It moves like the
insides of an uncooked egg. Stubbornly clinging to its
own mass, refusing to break up and be removed. How, I
wonder, can it be so neat and nasty at the same time?
My mother’s voice drones on. She is not talking to m
She is talking to the puke, but she is calling it my name
Claudia. She wipes it up as best she can and puts a
scratchy towel over the large wet place. I lie down agai
The rags have fallen from the window crack, and the a
is cold. I dare not call her back and am reluctant to le
my warmth. My mother’s anger humiliates me; her we
my cheeks, and I am crying. I do not know that
is not angry at me, but at my sickness. I believe she
you to
The Bluest Eye
the living shit out of you, you get up at
five-thirty in the
morning like I do and see that old hag floating by in that
bonnet. Have mercy!”
They laugh.
Frieda and I are washing Mason jars. We do not hear
“It will. How much you charging?”
“Five dollars every two weeks.
“That’ll be a big help to you.
“I’ll say.
their words, but with grown-ups we listen to and watch
out for their voices.
“Well, I hope don’t nobody let me roam around like
that when I get senile. It’s a shame.
“What they going to do about Della? Don’t she have
no people?”
“A sister’s coming up from North Carolina to look
after her. I expect she wants to get aholt of Della’s
“Oh, come on. That’s a evil thought, if ever I heard
“What you want to bet? Henry Washington said that
sister ain’t seen Della in fifteen years.
“I kind of thought Henry would marry her one of
these days.”
“That old woman?”
“Well, Henry ain’t no chicken.’
“No, but he ain’t no buzzard, either.
“He ever been married to anybody?”
Their conversation is like a gently wicked dance: sound
meets sound, curtsies, shimmies, and retires. Another
sound enters but is upstaged by still another: the two
circle each other and stop. Sometimes their words move
in lofty spirals; other times they take strident leaps, and
all of it is punctuated with warm-pulsed laughter-like
the throb of a heart made of jelly. The edge, the curl, the
thrust of their emotions is always clear to Frieda and me
We do not, cannot, know the meanings of all their
words, for we are nine and ten years old. So we watch
their faces, their hands, their feet, and listen for truth in
So when Mr. Henry arrived on a Saturday night, we
smelled him. He smelled wonderful. Like trees and lemo
vanishing cream, and Nu Nile Hair Oil and flecks of
He smiled a lot, showing small even teeth with a
friendly gap in the middle. Frieda and I were not
introduced to him-merely pointed out. Like, here is th
bathroom; the clothes closet is here; and these are my
kids, Frieda and Claudia; watch out for this window; it
We looked sideways at him, saying nothing and
expecting him to say nothing. Just to nod, as he had
done at the clothes closet, acknowledging our existence
To our surprise, he spoke to us.
“How come? Somebody cut it off?”
“He’s just picky.”
“He ain’t picky. You see anything around here you’d
.. no.”
all the way.
“He’s just sensible. A steady worker with quiet ways. I
hope it works out all right.”

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