I was seven, and my Spanish teacher told me I was squinting at the board. I was happy enough being nearsighted; as long as I could read at night, it was all good. I can’t do that anymore. I inch notes closer and closer to my nose until it hits the sweet spot between where…
I finally understood why I felt ashamed to sit in my father’s Cadillac. The reason for my shame and for the revolution is the same: the difference between social classes.” -Marjane Satrapi, Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood Synopsis: Marjane Satrapi grew up in Iran during the Islamic Revolution, and this graphic memoir details what she…
As a sophomore in high school, English class was one of my favorites, but I disliked most of our reading assignments. I found The Odyssey extremely slow and A Tale of Two Cities wasn’t easy to relate to. After a few failed reading quizzes, I realized I couldn’t breeze through the class like I had the year before. So…
I was born with ten fingers and ten toes and a stubbornness that will never die. I was born with a tiny beige birthmark on my leg that I hated immensely until I learned to love myself. I was born with a name that people struggle to make catchy nicknames out of. I was born…
I remember the hydrangea bush in the backyard, a source for many pretend-wedding bouquets. I remember the sleeve of stale saltines. I remember choking on irony and tragedy as the vet told me she’d finally feel relief right before she died. I remember the ungodly amounts of scotch tape my grandmother used to adhere red…
What it is: Fun Home by Alison Bechdel is a graphic memoir that examines Bechdel’s childhood, especially her relationship with her father and her discovery and exploration of her sexuality. Almost everything in the graphic memoir, from people in Bechdel’s life to to the literature she reads, seems to parallel elements of her personality, making…
I remember weekly poker nights that lasted long into the night, fueled by sparkling cider and laughter. I remember how unashamedly I lay my head down and power napped in the library before starting the essay that seemed impossible. I remember choking on irony and tragedy as the vet told me she’d finally feel relief…
I remember looking under the dining room table and finding a pastel basket filled with ten dimes, a handful of jellybeans, and a package of Peeps. I remember taking a wrong turn and preparing to fend for myself on the freeway on-ramp. I remember being his manic pixie dream girl. I remember silent tears dripping…
Victim to Charm 