How it must have felt to read Lolita in Tehran

I guess the chunk of work that I'm the most proud of (my favorite) would be from the independent reading project. I read Reading Lolita in Tehran, and it really touched me. When we had to do the author immitation, I didn't even have a clue as to how I would be able to emulate the style of such an amazing writer, but I knew what I wanted to write about. At the time, we were reading The Stranger so I thought it would be interesting to write about the characters reading The Stranger in Tehran. I did my best, so here it is:





After completing Gatsby’s trial, I thought I would give my students another novel that would challenge their beliefs, their philosophies on life, and their sheer will to understand a new perspective. I chose Albert Camus’ The Stranger for a few reasons. Camus was considered an existentialist writer by some, but is classified as an absurdist. Existentialists believe that each person has the power to create his own purpose in life, a concept completely foreign to my piously religious students. I wanted them to open their minds, but I was treading on thin ice; the infidelity in Gatsby was one thing, but a complete disregard for the existence of gods? Gatsby was put on trial, but as I waited for my class to enter that chilly January morning, I foresaw The Stranger receiving a slightly more lethal punishment.

I told them that this novel was written in France in 1942 by a man named Albert Camus. I went on to explain a little about Camus’ background, with the hope that they would relate to him. When he was young, I told them, he did not lead a very happy life. His father died in the First World War, and he lived in poverty until he went to University. He took part in the political turmoil in his native Algeria as well as in France. However, after being kicked out of the French Communist Party, he became a pacifist during the Second World War, and he worked around the world for human rights. His novel, The Stranger, will be your assignment for the next week, I said. It is short, I responded as they looked incredulously at the small book I placed in front of them, but there is much for you to comprehend.

I did not receive any comments throughout the week, so when the following Monday rolled around, I was unsure what to expect from my students. As the last few stragglers trickled in, I was about to ask them if they had any questions, comments, or observations, when Mr. Bahri shot his hand up. I looked around the room, hoping another student would want to comment, but the room remained silent and I had no choice but to call on him. Yes Mr. Bahri, I said, what would you like to say?
Professor, he began calmly, I would like to know what your intentions are in reading this novel. He paused briefly, and I asked him to clarify his question. Please, Professor, can you tell me what purpose this book serves? I could not find one single message within its pages. Meursault is a cruel man, and he received a punishment fitting of his crime. What else could there possibly be? He defies religion, takes an Arabian man’s life. Do you condemn men killing other men who come from very similar heritage to us?

Well Mr. Bahri, I started just as calmly, this seems to be my point. As I told you all a week ago, Camus was an existentialist. Meursault had no purpose, no point in existing, until the instance where he was faced with his impending death. He is completely unemotional during his mother’s funeral and he has no sympathy toward Raymond’s girlfriend or the Arabian man that he shoots. Does anyone have any suggestions as to the moment when this all changes?

A shy hand from the back of the room slowly made its way into the air. The moment he confronts the priest in his jail cell? she asked in a small voice. Exactly! I said. The split second he is faced with his own mortality, he lashes out. But why would he push away religion? interjected Mr. Bahri. Religion is truth, it is what humans live by. I looked around the room. Does anyone want to answer Mr. Bahri’s question?
Because religion is not always the truth, it is an interpretation of how we should live, said the same small voice from the back of the classroom. Meursault lets life pass him by, feeling completely indifferent to emotion. So when emotion finally comes upon him, he does not know how to respond. Camus wants us to find our own purpose in life, not just let religion dictate it to us. Mr. Bahri’s mouth dropped. The class was silent. A loud bell sounded, marking the end of the class. I was astonished by what I had just heard. The words were caught in my throat. We will finish this discussion next time, everyone be prepared, I stuttered as the room emptied quickly.

I knew I had to have her in my Thursday class. A day or two passed, and she was not at the next meeting of the class. I asked if anyone knew where she was. No one did. This continued for two weeks, but I knew in my heart what must have happened. Mr. Bahri was not in class for a few days either, and because of the pull he had with the many student organizations on campus, something terrible must have happened to her. It was not until a year later that I found out that she had been jailed, tortured, and killed for daring to speak out against religion. They called her a “source of corruption and rebellion.” From that day on, no matter what happened, I had to continue working with my girls, giving everything I had to education, in memory of her.

Let's Start at the Beginning...

So, to start off this collection of my work from senior year, I figured I should start from the beginning. I was so nervous about applying to college that I started my college essay over the summer. After months of changing things around and editing countless times, this is the final draft that I submitted to colleges with my applications. Feedback is welcome! As for the picture, I took it of a painting I saw when I visited the Museum of Fine Arts over the summer. There's only one section where they allow you to take pictures, so I was glad I could capture this one.

“Hurry up!” I called to my family as we made our way across the field. I couldn’t miss this. As we took our seats, the music echoed around me. Pomp and Circumstance. As the Newmarket High School Class of 2007 paraded onto the football field and up to the stage, my heart swelled.

“Joshua Letourneau-Desmond!” echoed the principal. Tears welled in my eyes as he paraded across the stage, shook hands with the administrators, smiled at his parents, and triumphantly held his diploma over his head. That single instant was the culmination of deep resolve and immense faith. I beamed as he approached us, gave me a giant hug. Surprised, he said that he could not believe we had come 75 miles to be part of his graduation. I told him I would not have missed it for the world. And I meant it.

Ten years ago, doctors and family were skeptical that my cousin Josh would survive his operation to remove a brain tumor. But there he sat, smiling proudly in the direction of his parents and his sisters. He hadn’t seen me yet, but I could see him clearly; his illuminating smile outshined all of his peers.

As an infant, Josh had multiple seizures, but their cause remained undetermined until he was almost eight years old. At that time, the doctors found the tumor. He was referred to Children’s Hospital in Boston for the surgery, and he and his family stayed at my house. Traveling from New Hampshire to Boston without any help would have been taxing on them. We held our breath as we waited for news.

With a bandaged head but a positive outlook, Josh returned home to New Hampshire, hoping that his tumor would not return. As time passed, I would see him occasionally, maybe a few times a year, but the memories of what he endured lingered in my heart. Despite what he had been through, I cannot remember one instance during those visits that he was not smiling. Even at a young age, his bravery, courage, and zest for life astonished me.

As time passed, as it does in most families, we saw each other less often. Josh became part of my childhood memories. Then, one day during the spring of my junior year, my mother handed me an envelope. Inside, I found a letter from Josh. In his own simple but perfect grammar, he asked about my life and proceeded to explain the last four years of his life. He was excited about being a senior, his upcoming graduation, and his future plans to attend a vocational community college in the fall. It took me aback. I was amazed at my cousin’s accomplishments. I wrote him back a few days later, explaining my hopes and aspirations with just as much intensity as he had. But as I placed the stamp on the envelope and mailed it off, a feeling of guilt panged at my chest. Although I am proud of my own achievements, this letter from Josh truly gave me pause and a new perspective. Had I taken my extremely “normal” life for granted? Without encountering major challenges like Josh’s, were my accomplishments as remarkable?

I continued to dwell on this uneasy feeling until the following week, when to my surprise, another envelope arrived, addressed to my family, from Josh. I found inside another letter from Josh, in which he praised me for all I had told him in my letter, along with an invitation to his graduation. It was at that moment that I realized we shared a mutual pride in each other’s accomplishments. Neither was better than the other. We weren’t as different as I originally thought.

At his house after the ceremony was over, Josh told me about his girlfriend, his prom, and the cruise he and his classmates were taking that evening. As I listened, mesmerized, I realized that success can take many forms. I always viewed success as performing well in school, graduating from college, finding a job, and having a family. It was a very narrow definition. For Josh, success was persevering and overcoming traumatic brain surgery. This was his high school graduation, the pinnacle of all that he had worked for. It made me think that success is always when people strive for their personal best. Josh and I each had our own type of success. We truly weren’t that different after all.

Unfortunately, as my senior year progresses, I will inevitably continue to stress about the pressures of school, college acceptances, and my grades, but fortunately, Josh will always be in the back of my mind, keeping me in perspective.