A Ride To Kipling

[AMERICONORMAN]

A RIDE TO KIPLING

By Jose Gainza

The train pushed him westward across Toronto. The train sped forth and rattled, periodically swaying playfully from side to side … and stopping at and leaving Broadview … leaving Yonge … leaving Bathurst. A man, approaching thirty, sat on a pair of seats facing west, earnestly reading a book of scholarly essays on subjects related to his favorite novel. He looked some years younger than he actually was with a pretty, Southern European face, and long brown hair tied in a ponytail underneath a black tuque. A long black leather coat hugged his body. His head bowed down as he read and the ideas entering his mind from the book on his lap were very entertaining to him—thus he did not notice how many people exited or boarded his car, or what they looked like.

Spontaneously, he happened to look up just as the train was leaving Bathurst station. A young man, likely in his early twenties, sat at a pair of seats facing east. He wore a pair of black archaic basketball high-tops, and along his legs hung a pair of comfortably fitting, faded, black denim trousers, in the punk rock style (except that they were not too tight). He wore a black hooded sweat top, with its hood serving as a halo for his very pretty face, which shot his face into relief it seemed. The older fellow dropped his book. Its thud caused the younger one to stare at him with a subtle smile. The elder stared at him too.

The youngster’s eyes were penetrating, like that of some religious fanatic, or even those of some psychopath—but this is how he looked at people and he lived with a benevolent spirit—and they captivated the elder, holding him almost frozen. They were light eyes, perhaps hazel. And so, they stared at each other for a long moment. Soon the youngster’s eyes widened as if to demand, “What do you want?”

“I can’t let you go,” answered the elder.

The youngster’s narrow eyes narrowed further, “What do you mean?”

“You’re tremendously beautiful.” He said it simply.

“It’s a big city; there are many.”

“But in this moment I am deciding to talk to you. I don’t want you to walk off this train without me ensuring that you are aware of my existence. It feels right now like a metaphysical commandment.”

The youngster allowed himself a wide grin, lips slightly curling at the sides, his upper body suddenly loose as if floating—and then he stiffened up again and wore the face of a military cadet standing on guard. “That’s nice,” he said it simply and looked away out the window right next to him on his right, into the darkness of the underground walls, periodic lights flashing by.

After a few minutes of silence, the elder asked, “Are you a student? What are you all about?”

“That’s a very personal question.”

“I bet you’re an artist; a painter or an animator.”

“How did you guess that?”

“Your fingers have pencil stains.”

“Observant.”

“What’s the latest thing you have drawn?”

“I really shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“That’s painful.”

“You’ll cope.”

“Will you forbid me to draw you? I need to keep you in some way.” The elder asked this instantaneously.

“Uh … uh … no … as long as we don’t have to talk and I don’t have to look at you.”

“It’ll have to do.”

The youngster looked away out the same window. The elder put away his book of essays in his bag, and then pulled out a small notebook from his coat pocket and began drawing with a black gel pen. He had to settle for sketching mostly the youngster’s profile.

The elder captured a symmetrical nose and the long, thin framing, curved brow around his eye. He captured the long thin upper lip and the plump lower one, which was emphasized by the lump of skin around his teeth. He captured the pronounced chin that did not, however, extend much past his lips, and the dimple that was trying to hide as he looked out the window. The youngster would not dare to look at the elder, or to move his face, and the elder did not know whether the immobility was due to discomfort, or the responsibility and desire of posing as a muse. Time flew and soon they had reached the end of the line, Kipling station.

As the youngster rose from his seat, he darted his eyes a few times at the elder as if in disbelief that he had actually gone through with sketching him. He then exited the car and the elder followed. Both knew that the elder would follow him for a time and attempt to talk again. The youngster began to walk quickly along the platform and so did the elder in response.

Suddenly the youngster turned around to face his pursuer.

They stood facing each other, the elder smirking, and the youngster with eyes narrow seeming in reproach.

“Let me see it.” asked the youngster.

“I rather not.” said the elder.

“Don’t I have a right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you want to impress me?”

“Very much.”

“Let me see it.”

“I don’t want you to see it.”

“Is it amateurish? Is that why?”

“Yes.”

“Let me see it!”

“No!”

The youngster grasped at the notebook still in the elder’s hand—but it was pulled away quickly. He reached for it a few times and then it shot upwards over the elder’s head, as the elder taunted him in this way.

“Let me see it!”

“No!”

Suddenly the impatient youngster overtook the elder with an unexpected strength and agility, and pinned him against a pillar. Their faces were an inch a way and the youngster grunted in a mock menace, “Let me see it.” And then he snatched the notebook from the other with his left hand, as his right forearm on the other’s throat held him immobile. Still in this position, and after looking at the drawing for a moment, he looked at the elder and the elder looked at him—though still in this submissive position—

with confidence in the upcoming verdict. The elder enjoyed being pinned this way by this particular man; a part of him wanted it to last forever.

“It’s good. It’s beautiful,” said the youngster.

“I see.”

“Thank—,” and the youngster gave the elder a peck on his lips, “—you.”

When the youngster removed his forearm from the elder’s throat, the elder, in his liberty, embraced the youngster himself in return, and engaged with him in a long passionate kiss.

THE END

[Myself]

“I can’t let you go,” answered the elder.

The youngster’s narrow eyes narrowed further, “What do you mean?”

“You’re tremendously beautiful.” He said it simply.

“It’s a big city; there are many.”

“But in this moment I am deciding to talk to you. I don’t want you to walk off this train without me ensuring that you are aware of my existence. It feels right now like a metaphysical commandment.”

This is some god-awful dialogue. There's no subtlety, no wit, no subtext. "Metaphysical commandment"? Really?

I'm not sure what the point of this exercise was. It's not a story, so you're not practicing plot structure. It's barely a vignette. It can't be for the dialogue. It isn't for descriptive style, because there aren't any real descriptions. Take for instance, your description of the "youngster" :

The youngster’s eyes were penetrating, like that of some religious fanatic, or even those of some psychopath—but this is how he looked at people and he lived with a benevolent spirit—and they captivated the elder, holding him almost frozen. They were light eyes, perhaps hazel.

That doesn't tell me anything about the character except for what you try to narrate through your assesment of his eyes. It isn't even grammatical.

Also, your choice not to name your characters was disconcerting. Putting somone called "Elder" in a romantic encounter with someone named "Youngster" is just creepy.

I noticed that you weren't really getting any feedback for the stuff you post here, so I thought I'd take a moment to tell you what I think. Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't really like anything you've shared with the Forum so far. At times, some of your writing reads like English isn't your native language. Also, I can tell you've been influenced by Rand and try to inject some of her directness into your exercises. Unfortunately it isn't working, and I would suggest you try to find your own voice rather than try and assimilate hers. If you like writing, I hope you continue with it, but I think you need to try a different approach.

[AMERICONORMAN]

So why "don't take this the wrong way ..."? Either you're right or I'm wrong, either you have a better understanding of my piece or you don't understand it, either it's good or it's bad, either your reaction is objective or subjective. Don't worry about my feelings. If I have the courage to post my stuff on a public forum then I'm ready for what ever comes in terms of evalutions. I do, however, thank you for saying so much. I'll have to look into it, therefore.

Just because I chose not to name my characters and used words that draw emphasis to their age difference (which is really not that much, a matter of 5 years or so), should not make it creepy. That, however, can be taken as insulting if you are suggesting something criminal or perverted. So, the use of "elder" and "youngster" is humorous in how I use it, because as your comment illustrates, it suggests a very wide age gap. And yet, 5 years can be a huge age gap, intellectually, and yet some men in their early twenties are much more wise than some men in their thirties or their sixties.

In my mind, though I don't say it, the elder and the youngster are perfect for each other.

Why can't his lines work, why can't his act work, in real life to attract the youngster? Why do they have to lead to a negative outcome? And why can't you just tell some stranger what they make you feel, why can't you just compliment their beauty, and why do they have to ironically have a cesspool as a soul? So needless to say, I thought the dialogue was good.

Something personal. I have had romantic interests in men of all ages over the last ten years. Men older than me are disappointing, men my same age too, younger men of course. But some young ones have proven extremely enticing due to their precociousness and their seriousness for ideas. Some men of all ages, have shown signs of romantic interest, but still fear the world. Few men are blunt enough for me. I am a very blunt person, and I think most people should be. My dialogue does have a bluntness to it. But I can be subtle, though that was far from my intention here.

So Myself, thanks for you bluntness, and for allowing me to express myself further.

The story does rely on an element of "love at first sight" and if you don't believe it in their dialogue and the action that occurs in a fifteen to twenty-five minute train ride, then you won't fall for the ending. But in such a short piece you can't really establish much. So call it its weakness if you will. But I wasn't going to write twenty pages on this one event. That wasn't my intention.

Now I must speak about "metaphysical commandment". Yes, that is exactly what the elder felt; and that is what men are capable of feeling. I understand what that phrase means and so I used it. The beauty is such that it is as if he has no choice to speak the way he does, as if he were commanded by something cosmically powerful. That would be the needs of his own soul--which turn out to be right in the end.

On My Voice. I'm quite proud of my voice. It has improved substantially over the years. It is a first hand voice, for the most part. (I don't think, Myself, you like my voice. Perhaps one day you will). I must say however, that, stylistically, I would like to improve much. It's true, I'm not completely satisfied. But improvement is easy.

The remark about English not being my Native language, I've heard before. I don't really know what to say to that. I speak English and always have, and I use it as best I know how. What does Native English look like? What are the grammatic rules to follow, what are some? Where am I being a complete Spaniard, or illiterate?

Please someone tell me the rules of writing a good short story. I would really like to know.

For the record, I understand Objectivism quite well. I know what I'm doing in my long-term learning of it. I know what I need to do for myself.

I am conscious of not using phrases I don't understand. I try not to. There is not one in this story that I do not understand.

(I think my defense is longer than the actual story in question).

No, plot is not the intention of this tale. It can't be. I don't think I've read a short story with a good plot. Good characterization, I've seen--but never plot. Style, yes, of course! In other words, you can't do much with a short story; you're better off writing a novel (if the characters, ideas, and course of actions are that important to you).

So the point of my story, how it was born, from whence it germinated: was the last action, the youngster pinning the elder against the pillar ... and then kissing him: fulfilling the elder's rightful desire. That was it. I succeeded. I thought that was quite clever. A violent action transforming into the height of benevolence, and a style of praise that is conventionally seen as "creepy" turning out to be seductive. That's my world.

About the "psychotic" eyes of the youngster. I apologize, and I will admit, that THAT was subjective and code to someone real. I had a certain vision in my mind. There is someone who exists in this world that expresses his eyes that way sometimes. He is tremendously beautiful, and so when he does this it can be frightening or disturbing, but they make him more beautiful if that's possible. This action of his eyes is one of his great physical idiosyncrasies, that make him unique in the realm that is relevant to him. So that explains that. That the elder received that sort of look is important, because in that moment he saw his "muse" that more beautiful, just like that, just that quickly, and they are telling of this youngster's character (well at least to me). But I explain this already. So this part of the story, objectively speaking, is merely a description of how the guy looks, and that's it, so that you can see with me. Anything else--I already apologized--is my own private Idaho.

To the general audience:

Now lastly, I must address the issue of homosexuality, which straight men have to experience in what I write. I empathize with that. I understand very well what a straight man must feel when my men are romantic--it goes against something very deep. And you are right in feeling that--because you are straight and women are metaphsyically awesome (as are straight men). You can only assuage that by focusing primarily on the literary merits of my work. But I do believe and hope that it is possible for a great majority of men to experience how touching and beautiful it is when my type of men do unite. I cannot see how a straight gay writer can escape including homosexual situations in his writing--at this point I would see it as denying himself at the deepest and most important level, denying the realm from which his art necessarily has to originate. He would have to do it at least sometimes. I don't know of any homosexual Objectivist who's a Romantic writer, who is strong enough to exclude it totally in a work. If he exits, I would like to know how he succeeded.

So, I hope I have defended my work successfully in all your eyes, and I look forward to "meeting" someone who is willing to evaluate me in a positive light.

Thanks,

Jose Gainza.

Edited October 28, 2008 by AMERICONORMAN

[adrock3215]

I don't have a great deal of time right now, but I can return later and add to my comments.

I agree with Myself when he says that you should try to find your own voice. The style and form of prose is not very good, and there are some obvious traces of Rand in there (i.e., the em dash). But I am thinking in particular how Hugo, Hawthorne, Hemingway, Faulkner, Twain, Dickens, etc all wrote with peculiarly individualistic styles.

Moreover, I too think that your dialogue feels a bit contrived (see Austen for great dialogue). Your vocabulary is weak. The metaphorical elements are weak, i.e. the religious fanatic and the psychopath, although I enjoyed the military cadet more.

A criticism I generally find myself repeating in regard to writers influenced by Rand is the idea of "formula fiction", as if there is a certain formula regarding theme and literary elements that has to be followed in order to write Romantic work. I think that these notions stifle creativity and suppress the development of a writer's personal style. I have no doubt about the former for you, it's just the latter I am hung up on. Now, with that said, I do applaud you for your writing and efforts and wish you great success. I have never tried to write serious fiction, and I commend anyone who does.

[AMERICONORMAN]

Thanks Adrock for your comments.

A few things:

1. Now that I explained the origin of the description of the eyes, how else would you describe those eyes? What's a more original way or use of language?

2. I would like to know what indicates that my vocabulary is poor. Did I use too many words, and so I am unfamiliar with words that would allow me to use less? What?

I will admit that describing faces is hard for me, so maybe when I described the elder's drawing?

3. Please elaborate on what style and form I should have used or not used.

4. My "contrived" dialogue suggests that real people wouldn't talk like that. The appropriateness of that evaluation depends on that. Or "contrived" can mean that it didn't come naturally to me--well, it did.

5. So what is it exactly? My creativity is stifled because I'm following some thematic formula that I got from Ayn Rand? Really? Explain that. My story is thematically formulaic because the characters are happy, daring, and they achieve their values at the end, i.e., fall in love?

Where have you ever seen such a situation in fiction, by the way?

Well, thanks for reading my piece.

[MissMal]

Jose,

I read this piece as well as Marshall's Face Book Crime. I liked this because I identified with the situation, I have seen beautiful faces in passing and felt compelled to say something, though I personally refrained. I think the feeling you attempt to portray is very interesting, but I am left with not enough details to feel the whole scope of it. I realize that you are presenting the bare essentials, however, I think more elaboration on scenery, character descriptions, and descriptions of eternal states would assist the audience in feeling immersed in the story. Even if you are to use short simple sentence structures, there are ways to impart a feeling of depth and elegance, I suggest looking at Hemingway (if you haven't already that is). I think it is a lack of these things that makes some of your sentences appear rather one dimensional and not quite capable of portraying the depth your subject matter requires.