Part II—All the Colorful, Useless Peafowl [Read part I here]
In part two of O’Connor’s story, Mrs. Shortley has left the farm and Mrs. McIntyre is left with the displaced Pole and her black workers. We’re given more insight into her character through her conversations with the older farmhand, Astor. While Astor remembers well her husband, the Judge, Mrs. McIntyre is haunted by her late husband. Astor has noticed two things: The decline of the peacocks and the incline of Mrs. McIntyre’s greed. Continue reading →
For fans of Flannery O’Connor, “The Displaced Person” is a a short story that occupies a special place, not only because it exhibits her love for peacocks, but because of its more overt religious themes. The story takes place on a farm, the inciting incident being the hiring of a “displaced person” (or refugee) from Poland. O’Connor, a devout Catholic, is one of America’s most famous writers, known for her southern stories of grotesque people encountering beautiful grace.
Chain mail has been around for a long time. You may have been first introduced to them when you first received an email telling you that if you didn’t forward it to at least 5 people, something bad would happen. Or if you did forward it to at least 50 people, something good would happen. The more gullible people were, the more viral the email. Continue reading →
“If he runs, he ends, and if he ends he has ended. The other him is safe at home, his uniform is being washed, and he is complacent at the table, returning to the plate again and again and again. While the shirtless children chase the wingless birds that cannot fly.”
Our first Christmas together as a couple my wife gave me Irish poet Seamus Heaney’s collection of poems, The Haw Lantern. Reading the title poem, I was drawn by the imagery of fruit and dying light in winter, and and I thought of Christmas tree lights, but knew that the reference to Diogenes meant something else was going on than a cute comparison of two plants. Years later, I open the book again and turn to the poem, drawing a light on how the poem has grown on me, what fruit it now bears. Continue reading →