Expert answer:Regionalism and Naturalism

Solved by verified expert:WEEK 3 FORUM: REGIONALISM AND NATURALISM For each part, focus on a different assigned reading from the course syllabus and quote passages to illustrate your observations. PART I: Review the Week 3 lecture in Lessons, then compose a paragraph that applies a Marxist reading to one of the stories from this week. Be sure to ask yourself (and answer) the kinds of questions discussed in this week’s lecture. Jack London “To Build a Fire” Document is in attachments Citation/ London, Jack. To Build a Fire. Generic NL Freebook Publisher, n.d. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=nlebk&AN=1086146&site=ehost-live&scope=site. PART II: Discuss a character from this week you felt sympathy for. Why? Were there any characters you did not sympathize with? Why? PART III: In “The Open Boat,” lines of philosophy about man’s fate and his reward for trying hard are repeated throughout. Quote a line of this story that stands out to you as expressing something philosophical about life. Do you agree with the statement? Why or why not? Link to “The Open Boat”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8935QYVkKU SUBMISSION INSTRUCTIONS: SEE FORUM RUBRIC FOR DEADLINES AND DETAILS INITIAL POST must meet the 200-word minimum requirement. For each part, include quotes from the assigned readings with MLA in-page and bibliographical citations. Balance answers: give each part equal attention.
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Combat Arms BBS
P.O. Box 913
Portland, Oregon 97207­0913
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Fido 1:105/68
February 20, 1993
To Build a Fire
by Jack London
“He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances.”
DAY HAD BROKEN cold and gray, exceedingly cold and gray, when the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail and climbed the high earth­bank, where a dim
and little­travelled trail led eastward through the fat spruce timberland. It was a steep bank, and he paused for breath at the top, excusing the act to himself by looking
at his watch. It was nine o’clock. There was no sun nor hind of sun, though there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a clear day, and yet there seemed an intangible pall
over the face of things, a subtle gloom that made the day dark, and that was due to the absence of sun. This fact did not worry the man. He was used to the lack of
sun. It had been days since he had seen the sun, and he knew that a few more days must pass before that cheerful orb, due south, would just peep above the sky line
and dip immediately from view.
The man flung a look back along the way he had come. The Yukon lay a mile wide and hidden under three feet of ice. On top of this ice were as many feet of snow. It
was all pure white, rolling in gentle undulations where the ice jams of the freeze­up had formed. North and south, as far as his eye could see, it was unbroken white,
save for a dark hairline that curved and twisted from around the spruce­covered island to the south, and that curved and twisted away into the north, where it
disappeared behind another spruce­covered island. This dark hairline was the trail­­­the main trail­­that led south five hundred miles to the Chilcoot Pass, Dyea, and
salt water; and that led north seventy miles to Dawson, and still on to the north a thousand miles to Nulato, and finally to St. Michael, on Bearing Sea, a thousand miles
and half a thousand more.
But all this­­­the mysterious, far­reaching hairline trail, the absence of sun from the sky, the tremendous cold, and the strangeness and weirdness of it all­­made no
impression on the man. It was not because he was long used to it. He was a newcomer in the land, a “chechaquo”, and this was his first winter. The trouble with him
was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances. Fifty degrees below zero meant
eighty odd degrees of frost. Such fact impressed him as being cold and uncomfortable, and that was all. It did not lead him to meditate upon his frailty in general, able
only to live within certain narrow limits of heat and cold; and from there on it did not lead him to the conjectural field of immortality and man’s place in the universe.
Fifty degrees below zero stood for a bite of frost that hurt and that must be guarded against by the use of mittens, ear flaps, warm moccasins, and thick socks. Fifty
degrees below zero was to him just precisely fifty degrees below zero. That there should be anything more to it than that was a thought that never entered his head.
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Page 2
As he turned to go, he spat speculatively. There was a sharp, explosive crackle that startled him. He spat again. And again, in the air, before it could fall to the snow,
the spittle crackled. He knew that at fifty below spittle crackled on the snow, but this spittle had crackled in the air. Undoubtedly it was colder than fifty below­­how
much colder he did not know. But the temperature did not matter. He was bound for the old claim on the left fork of Henderson Creek, where the boys were already.
They had come over across the divide from the Indian Creek country, while he had come the roundabout way to take a look at the possibility of getting out logs in the
spring from the islands in the Yukon. He would be in to camp by six o’clock; a bit after dark, it ws true, but the boys would be there, a fire would be going, and a hot
supper would be ready. As for lunch, he pressed his hand against the protruding bundle under his jacket. It was also under his shirt, wrapped up in a handkerchief and
lying against the naked skin. It was the only way to keep the biscuits from freezing. He smiled agreeably to himself as he thought of those biscuits, each cut open and
sopped in bacon grease, and each enclosing a generous slice of fried bacon.
He plunged in among the big spruce trees. The trail was faint. A foot of snow had fallen since the last sled had passed over, and he was glad he was without a sled,
travelling light. In fact, he carried nothing but the lunch wrapped in the handkerchief. He was surprised, however, at the cold. It certainly was cold, he concluded, as he
rubbed his numb nose and cheekbones with his mittened hand. He was a warm­whiskered man, but the hair on his face did not protect the high cheekbones and the
eager nose that thrust itself aggressively into the frosty air.
At the man’s heels trotted a dog, a big native husky, the proper wolf dog, gray­coated and without any visible or temperamental difference from its brother, the wild
wolf. The animal was depressed by the tremendous cold. It knew that it was no time for travelling. Its instinct told it a truer tale than was told to the man by the man’s
judgement. In reality, it was not merely colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty below, than seventy below. It was seventy­five below zero. Since the
freezing point is thirty­two above zero, it meant that one hundred and seven degrees of frost obtained. The dog did not know anything about thermometers. Possibly in
its brain there was no sharp consciousness of a condition of very cold such as was in the man’s brain. But the brute had its instinct. It experienced a vague but
menacing apprehension that subdued it and made it slink along at the man’s heels, and that made it question eagerly every unwonted movement of the man as if
expecting him to go into camp or to seek shelter somewhere and build a fire. The dog had learned fire and it wanted fire, or else to burrow under the snow and cuddle
its warmth away from the air
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Page 3
The frozen moisture of its (i.e. the dog’s) breathing had settled on its fur in a fine powder of frost, and especially were its jowls, muzzle, and eyelashes whitened by its
crystalled breath. The man’s red beard and mustache were likewise frosted, but more solidly, the deposit taking the form of ice and increasing with every warm, moist
breath he exhaled. Also, the man was chewing tobacco and the muzzle of ice held his lips so rigidly that he was unable to clear his chin when he expelled the juice. The
result was that a crystal beard of the color and solidity of amber was increasing its length on his chin. If he fell down it would shatter itself, like glass, into brittle
fragments. But he did not mind the appendage. It was the penalty all tobacco chewers paid in that country, and he had been out before in two cold snaps. they had not
been so cold as this, he knew, but by the spirit thermometer at Sixty Mile he knew they had registered at fifty below and at fifty­five.
He held on through the level stretch of woods for several miles, crossed a wide flat of nigger heads, and dropped down a bank to the frozen bed of a small stream.
This was Henderson Creek, and he knew he was ten miles from the forks. He looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock. He was making four miles an hour, and he
calculated that he would arrive at the forks at half­past twelve. He decided to celebrate that event by eating his lunch there.
The dog dropped in again at his heels, with a tail drooping discouragement, as the man sung along the creek bed. The furrow of the old sled trail was plainly visible, but
a dozen inches of snow covered the marks of the last runners. In a month no man had come up or down that silent creek. The man held steadily on. He was not much
given to thinking, and just then particularly he had nothing to think about save that he would eat lunch at the forks and that at six o’clock he would be in camp with the
boys. There was nobody to talk to; and, had there been, speech would have been impossible because of the ice muzzle on his mouth. so he continued monotonously to
chew tobacco and to increase the length of his amber beard.
Once in a while the thought reiterated itself that it was very cold and that he had never experienced such cold. As he walked along he rubbed his cheekbones and nose
with the back of his mittened hand. He did this automatically, now and again changing hands. But, rub as he would, the instant he stopped his cheekbones went numb,
and the following instant the end of his nose went numb. He was sure to frost his cheeks; he knew that, and experienced a pang of regret that he had not devised a
nose strap of the sort Bud wore in cold snaps. Such a strap passed across the cheeks, as well, and saved them. But it didn’t matter much, after all. What were frosted
cheeks? a bit painful, that was all; they were never serious.
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Page 4
Empty as the man’s mind was of thoughts, he was keenly observant, and he noticed the changes in the creek, the curves and bends and timber jams, and always he
sharply noted where he placed his feet. Once, coming around a bend, he shied abruptly, like a startled horse, curved away from the place where he had been walking,
and retreated several paces back along the trail. The creek he knew was frozen clear to the bottom­­­no creek could contain water in that arctic winter­­but he knew
also that there were springs that bubbled out from the hillsides and ran along under the snow and on top the ice of the creek. He knew that the coldest snaps never
froze these springs, and he knew likewise their danger. They were traps. They hid pools of water under the snow that might be three inches deep, or three feet.
Sometimes a skin of ice half an inch thick covered them, and in turn was covered by the snow. Sometimes there were alternate layers of water and ice skin, so that
when one broke through he kept on breaking through for a while, sometimes wetting himself to the waist.
That was why he had shied in such panic. He had felt the give under his feet and heard the crackle of a snow­hidden ice skin. And to get his feet wet in such a
temperature meant trouble and danger. At the very least it meant delay, for he would be forced to stop and build a fire, and under its protection to bare his feet while
he dried his socks and moccasins. He stood and studied the creek bed and its banks, and decided that the flow of water came from the right. He reflected awhile,
rubbing his nose and cheeks, then skirted to the left, stepping gingerly and testing the footing for each step. Once clear of the danger, he took a fresh chew of tobacco
and swung along at his four­mile gait. Continuing with Jack London’s “To Build A Fire”. the danger of falling through the ice has become a factor.
In the course of the next two hours he came upon several similar traps. Usually the snow above the hidden pools had a sunken, candied appearance that advertised the
danger. Once again, however, he had a close call; and once, suspecting danger, he compelled the dog to go on in front. The dog did not want to go. It hung back until
the man shoved it forward, and then it went quickly across the white, unbroken surface. Suddenly it broke through, floundered to one side, and got away to firmer
footing. It had wet its forefeet and legs, and almost immediately the water that clung to it turned to ice. It made quick efforts to lick the ice off its legs, then dropped
down in the snow and began to bite out the ice that had formed between the toes. This was a matter of instinct. To permit the ice to remain would mean sore feet. It
did not know this. It merely obeyed the mysterious prompting that arose from the deep crypts of its being. But the man knew, having achieved a judgement on the
subject, and he removed the mitten from his right hand and helped tear out the ice particles. He did not expose his fingers more than a minute, and was astonished at
the swift numbness that smote them. It certainly was cold. He pulled on the mitten hastily, and beat the hand savagely across his chest.
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AN: 1086146 ; London, Jack.; To Build a Fire
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Copyright © . Generic NL Freebook Publisher. All rights reserved. May not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except fair uses permitted under U.S. or applicable
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Page 5
At twelve o’clock the day was at its brightest. Yet the sun was too far south on its winter journey to clear the horizon. The bulge of the earth intervened between it and
Henderson Creek, where the man walked under a clear sky at noon and cast no shadow. At half­past twelve, to the minute, he arrived at the forks of the creek. He
was pleased at the speed he had made. If he kept it up, he would certainly be with the boys by six. He unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and drew forth his lunch. The
action consumed no more than a quarter of a minute, yet in that brief moment the numbness laid hold of his exposed fingers. He did not put the mitten on, but, instead,
struck the fingers a dozen sharp smashes against his leg. Then he sat down on a snow­ covered log to eat. The sting that followed upon the striking of his fingers
against his leg ceased so quickly that he was startled. He had had no chance to take a bit of biscuit. He struck the fingers repeatedly and returned them to the mitten,
baring the other hand for the purpose of eating. He tried to take a mouthful, but the ice muzzle prevented. He had forgotten to build a fire and thaw out. He chuckled at
his foolishness, and as he chuckled he noted that the stinging which had first come to his toes when he sat down was already passing away. He wondered whether the
toes were warm or numb. He moved them inside the moccasins and decided that they were numb.
He pulled the mitten on hurriedly and stood up. He was a bit frightened. He stamped up and down until the stinging returned to his feet. It certainly was cold, was his
thought. That man from Sulpher Creek had spoken the truth when telling how cold it sometimes got in the country. And he had laughed at him at the time! That showed
one must not be too sure of things. There was no mistake about it, it *was* cold. He strode up and down, stamping his feet and threshing his arms, until reassured by
the returning warmth. Then he got out matches and proceeded to make a fire. >From the undergrowth, where high water of the previous spring had lodged a supply of
seasoned twigs, he got his firewood. Working carefully from a small beginning, he soon had a roaring fire, over which he thawed the ice from his face and in the
protection of which he ate his biscuits. For the moment the cold of space was outwitted. The dog took satisfaction in the fire, stretching out close enough for warmth
and far enough away to escape being singed.
When the man had finished, he filled his pipe and took his comfortable time over a smoke. Then he pulled on his mittens, settled the ear flaps of his cap firmly about
his ears, and took the creek trail up the left fork. The dog was disappointed and yearned back toward the fire. The man did not know cold. Possibly all the generations
of his ancestry had been ignorant of cold, of real cold, of cold one hundred and seven degrees below freezing point. But the dog knew; all its ancestry knew, and it had
inherited the knowledge. And it knew that it was not good to walk abroad in such fearful cold. It was the time to lie snug in a hole in the snow and wait for a curtain of
cloud to be drawn across the face of outer space whence this cold came. On the other hand, there was no keen intimacy between the dog and the man. The one was
the toil slave of the other, and the only caresses it had ever received were the caresses of the whip lash and of harsh and menacing throat sounds that threatened the
whip lash. So the dog made no effort to communicate its apprehension to the man. It was not concerned in the welfare of the man; it was for its own sake that it
yearned back toward the fire. But the man whistled, and spoke to it with the sound of whip lashes, and the dog swung in at the man’s heels and followed after.
EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) – printed on 10/16/2017 11:30 AM via AMERICAN PUBLIC UNIV SYSTEM
AN: 1086146 ; London, Jack.; To Build a Fire
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Copyright © . Generic NL Freebook Publisher. All rights reserved. May not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except fair uses permitted under U.S. or applicable
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Page 6
The man took a chew of tobacco and proceeded to start a new amber beard. Also, his moist breath quickly powdered with white his mustache, eyebrows, and lashes.
There did not seem to be so many springs on the left fork of the Henderson, and for half an hour the man saw no signs of any. And then it happened. At a place where
there were no signs, where the soft, unbroken snow seemed to advertise solidity beneath, the man broke through. It was not deep. He wet himself halfway to the
knees before he floundered out to the firm crust.
He was angry, and cursed his luck aloud. He had hoped to get into camp with the boys at six o’clock, and this would delay him an hour, for he would have to build a
fire and dry out his footgear. This was imperative at that low temperature­­for he knew that much; and he turned aside to the bank, which he climbed. On top, tangled
in the underbrush about the trunks of several small spruce trees, was a high water deposit of dry firewood­­sticks and twigs, principally, but also larger portions of
seasoned branches and fine, dry, last year’s grasses. He threw down several large pieces on top of the snow. This served for a foundation and prevented the young
flame from drowning itself in the snow it otherwise would melt. The flame he got by touching a match to a small shred of birch bark that he took from his pocket. This
burned even more readily than paper. Placing it on the foundation, he fed the young flame with wisps of dry grass and with the tiniest dry twigs.
He worked slowly and carefully, keenly aware of his danger. Gradually, as the flame grew stronger, he increased the size of the twigs with which he fed it. He
squatted in the snow, pulling the twigs out from their entanglement in the brush and feeding directly to the flame. He k …
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