Book Review of “Tucked Inn” by Nadine AuCoin

The story takes place in Nova Scotia, Canada. All is not what it seems at first glance. First things first. This is a story about succession. This is not a story to send to your Sunday school teacher. Intrepid Lucy is a Banisher, and she has visions. She comes from a family of Banishers. Lucy gets into trouble as she happens upon Tucked Inn. She thinks she’ll get help here after her car breaks down on a deserted road, but unbeknownst to her she stumbles very quickly upon hellish terrain in a nutshell.

You get to grips almost immediately with the daring writing of the innovative Nadine AuCoin. Her characters find themselves in drama and conflict. Lucy is by far in over her head right from the beginning. She wants to escape the underworld realm and sinister atmosphere she finds herself in, and searches for ways to find an exit out. Her parents are loving towards each other, and she has wonderful memories of a grandfather. The characters are quirky but you fall in love with Lucy’s unique heart, mind and spirit.

The writing style moves the novella along at a rhythmic pace. It’s sensational writing at its core. It is never frivolous. Drama and suspense builds tension, and the element of anxiety and violence is used to create an atmosphere of fear and horror, keeping the reader glued to the edge of their seat. The story also has the element of the macabre. What makes this book an example of good horror writing is the aspects of the suspense, the overly dramatic, the combination of the mundane and ordinary tapping into the grotesque.

The story, I would say, goes so far as to use fear and anxiety to make an emotional connection with the audience. It plays tricks on the reader as well as being a thrilling psychological mind game. The book will also evoke a sense of disgust and shock in the reader. Horror can be difficult to write, and to read; but if you have an insatiable appetite for it, this book is for you. Horror is more than just a scary story; it’s about fear.

With suspense. There is both the expectation and anticipation of fear. Nadine AuCoin certainly has a flair for this kind of writing. I might just read the next installment. I am toying with that idea. There are creepy, crawly things, a spooky house with locked doors, long hallways and hidden walls, the dark and the familiar made strange.

It most certainly taps into the reader’s darkest fears. Lucy seems extraordinary at times with the reality of her situation quickly dawning on her. She is brave, bold in her forward-thinking, thinks fast and on her feet, letting nothing get her down. On the surface of things, Allister seems to be her match, but he does not have her powers. He can read her mind, and as the attraction grows between forthright and independent Lucy and Allister, the reader can sense their growing chemistry. 

Keep up. The spooky story begins on a foggy dirt road that seems to lead to nowhere. Of course that road is found next to a forest. It paves the way to Lucy’s nightmare world filled with crazies, sex-crazed savages,  the devil, a hell made of underworld realms of hidden caves, exorcisms and back. The only horror stories I used to read were Stephen King’s in high school. Now mind you, this novella certainly has aspects of horror in it as well as lusty passion, and the supernatural. I promise you it won’t be a waste of your time if that’s what you’re looking for.

The story has a sound beginning, middle and end. It flows, it has racy in parts if you demand that from your storytelling, and will keep you guessing at what will happen next. There are chapters where what goes bump in the night threatens to overwhelm you at every turn of the page. The writer keeps you captivated at every turn and twist of the story.

Horror leaps at you from off the page as well as Lucy’s ingenuity and her enthralling romance with the handsome and well-dressed gentlemanly mama’s boy Allister. Drake and Darko are the stuff nightmares are made of and are the complete opposite of their older brother. This is a book to sink your teeth into on a sultry autumn day with a mug of tea at hand under a duvet. Once you get into it, though, you want the story to end with Lucy and Allister falling in love and getting the fairy tale ending. 

One can only hope that good triumphs in the end. I kept guessing until the very end at what would happen to everyone in the book, even the bad guy. What a delightful page turner of a book this was, although it did make me cringe in certain parts. You can read this novella easily in one sitting as I did on a sunny Saturday afternoon with warm sunlight streaming into a cozy bedroom in a coastal town in South Africa. 

Although there is a great deal of adversity to overcome before the end, Lucy takes it in her stride and finally accepts her role in the world as a force for good. Lucy is a survivor. She comes from a centuries-old family of survivors. Evil threatens to overwhelm but peace eventually reigns in the end.

This book review was published on the website Modern Diplomacy on the 21^st October 2023.

Sixth Grade Schmaltz

Fall

The 25 newly-minted 6th grade students waited, a little on edge, for their new teacher to appear in the classroom. The 30 desks were arrayed in 5 rows of 6, and all were occupied save for the foremost desk in each row. Nobody, it appeared, wanted to be under the close scrutiny of their new instructor.
Into the room strode a short, portly man in his late twenties, with a burr haircut, thick eyeglasses and a cheap suit. “My name,” began the man, reaching the front of the classroom, “is Mr. Shipley,” and he turned facing the blackboard and sketched his name in large block letters. “Now, who are you?” he asked a pretty blonde girl sitting near the front.
“My name,” replied the girl, straightfaced, “is Miss Johnson.”

Several in the class laughed, but then wilted under the glare of Shipley.
“Do you have a first name, Miss Johnson?” inquired the teacher, who already knew full well who she was.
“It’s Jane,” she said. “Do you have a first name, Mr. Shipley?” asked Jane in the same sardonic tone.

“Indeed I do,” answered Shipley. “My full name is Marvin Allen Shipley,” he said.
Jane burst out laughing. “You mean, like ‘Ma’ Shipley?” she asked, rocking back and forth like an old woman. She laughed and was again joined in her merriment by other students. A withering glance from their 6th grade instructor soon brought them to heel.
“Enough!” rumbled Shipley in a deep baritone, and everyone, at his invitation, in turn introduced herself.
Casual, getting-to-know-you chit-chat prevailed for the first couple of hours. The late August heat permeated the tall windows in the classroom. A spinning ceiling fan kept the temperature bearable. There was no air conditioning in public elementary schools in the American Midwest in 1965. Shipley asked about the interests and backgrounds of his pupils and he, in turn, opened himself up to questions from the students.

“Were you ever in the Army, Mr. Shipley?” asked Ruth, a pretty brown haired girl whose own brother had recently been drafted into the Army for service in the rapidly escalating Vietnam war.
“No,” said Shipley, “I was contacted by the government and when I explained that I had a wife and a little boy, I was told that I needn’t bother.” He smiled benignly.
“My older brother has a wife and kid too,” Ruth said pointedly, “but that didn’t get him out of going to ‘Nam.”
Shipley just smiled weakly and shrugged. Turning to a large, thick-shouldered young man by the name of Butch, he asked, “And what do you like to do in your time off from school?”
Butch blinked in surprise and then said in a hoarse voice, “I like to kiss the girls and make them cry!”

The other students groaned and Shipley rolled his eyes, prompting Butch to laugh like a braying donkey. Shipley shook his head. Turning next to a student whom he knew had been held back in school for a year, he asked, “Robert, what are your interests, son?”
“My name’s Rob, and I’m not your son!” said the boy in a dull voice.
“Duly noted,” murmured Shipley, turning to the next student, who turned out to be a small, red haired boy named Willy. “Willy, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A baseball player,” he replied at once. The teacher shook his head, thinking that the small frail boy had as much chance of being a professional athlete as Shipley did of becoming CEO of Ford Motor Co., a local employer of prominence.

“Do you have a second choice?” asked Shipley.
“A cartoonist,” said Willy. Before him on his desk was an open notebook in which he had crudely sketched myriad animal figures.
Shipley craned his neck to observe the artwork, then said, “Keep playing baseball is my advice.”
Several students laughed and Willy shot daggers at his new nemesis.
– – –
At recess two weeks later, Jane was chastised by a special education teacher for chasing and making fun of a student enrolled in the special ed. program. “Get out of here, you dirty Mongoloid,” shouted Jane, tossing stones after the child. Jane laughed shrilly. The teacher, monitoring the playground, reported the incident to Mr. Shipley.
“Jane means well,” said Shipley, running into the special ed. teacher in the teachers’ lounge.
“Well, I don’t know, Mr. Shipley,” said Mrs. Baxter.
“Besides,” said Shipley. “Special ed. isn’t really a part of Burbank School, now is it? You only use our spaces twice a week and then go onto other district facilities the rest of the week, am I right?” He smiled cunningly.
The other teacher twisted her lips wryly. Shipley was right: special ed., still experimental in this school district, couldn’t afford to be too demanding with respect to their hosts’ behavior.
“I’d like to speak to Jane for a moment if I may,” she said.

Shipley acquiesced and later that afternoon, during recess, Jane and her teacher trooped into the cafeteria, which was used by the special ed. classes when lunch was not in session. Shipley introduced the two.
“I just wanted to speak with you for a moment, Jane,” said Mrs. Baxter. She went on to briefly explain the mission of special ed. and to enlist Jane’s support for her efforts. Drawing her narrative to a conclusion, Baxter said, “You understand, don’t you, Jane? I want us all to just get along.” Baxter leaned forward in earnest. She had to tread cautiously here. Roger Johnson, Jane’s father, was a member of the Board of Education.
Jane, who had been fighting back against laughing in the teacher’s face, finally gave up the struggle and said, “Alright, just so long as I don’t have to touch one of those Mongoloids!”
Baxter sighed and came back to her full height. She’d tried. She looked over at Shipley, but all he did was shrug. Throughout her school years, Jane seemed to harbor a particular resentment for such children until, almost 10 years later, she gave birth to the first of her own two children with Down’s Syndrome.
– – –
“How old is this new teacher of yours?” asked Cynthia, Ruth’s mom, one evening at supper.
“27,” Ruth replied.
“So he’s already been in the Army?” asked Cynthia.
Ruth shook her head. “No,” she said. “He said he doesn’t have to go. He has a wife and a little boy.”
“Humph!” said her mom. “That won’t keep you out of the Service nowadays. He probably knows someone on the local Draft Board! The fix is in,” said Cynthia, who was a big proponent of conspiracy theories.

Ruth shrugged.
“I saw old man Shipley’s photo in last year’s yearbook,” said Melanie, Ruth’s sister, older by 4 years. “He got out of the draft because he’s so fat. He must weigh nearly 300 pounds!” She hooted.
“What are you going to be studying this year?” asked Cynthia next.
Ruth pulled a sheet of paper from her bookbag. “All this,” she said.
Cynthia accepted the document and read, nodding her head. “Math, spelling, social studies, science, art…”
“Mr. Shipley has a degree in Chemistry,” remarked Ruth. “He says he wants to get a job at the high school teaching that.”
“What sort of a man is he?” asked Cynthia.
Ruth shrugged again. “I don’t know. He seems to like to tease people, make fun of them.”
“Well, you just do what you’re told,” advised her mother. “Next year you’ll be in junior high; won’t that be fun?”
Ruth and her sister both rolled their eyes.
– – –
A few weeks later Butch made an enemy of another student. That student, an 8th grader named Boxey, repeatedly called Butch “stupid” and “retardo” and stole his lunch. Finally Butch caved to his tormentor’s badgering and agreed to fight him after school one day. Boxey, who was tall and meaty and decidedly mean, was still not as large as Butch. He came armed with a retinue of supporters, who urged him to do unspeakable things to the underclassman.
Then the fight proceeded. Boxey peppered Butch’s face with short, sharp jabs, emulating his hero, Cassius Clay. He even chanted, “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” But he did little damage. Butch threw just one punch, to Boxey’s ribs, likely facturing one. Boxey, impaired by the damaged rib, tried to strike Butch in the crotch, but Butch easily deflected the blow. Boxey cried out in pain, grabbed at his injured wrist. He sank to one knee.
“Go ahead, Butch,” called out Rob, his sole booster, “finish him off. Beat the hell out of him. He’d do it to you!”
Butch shook his head and dropped his fists to his side. “He’s hurt,” he murmured, picking his jacket off the ground. “It wouldn’t be right. Let’s go,” he said, and led his one friend away.
– – –
“Pamela and I are getting a divorce, Rob,” said his father Aaron Braden bluntly. “She moved out this morning.”
Rob frowned. Things had been so shaky in the Braden household recently, indeed, for as long as Rob could recall, that he had long suspected that it would end like this. “When?” he asked.
“As soon as she can get the lawyer she’s sleeping with to file the motion,” replied Aaron harshly. He went on to levy bitter criticism against his wife of 14 years. Rob was the couple’s only child.
“What happens to me?” asked Rob, cutting to the chase.
“Well, Pamela doesn’t want you,” said Aaron coldly. “You’d just cramp her style. I guess I’m stuck with you.”

Rob swallowed, nodded and turned away. He’d found out all he needed to know. Rob never saw his mother again.

Winter

Three children, selected by lot the day before, accompanied their teacher on a trip downtown during the school’s extended holiday lunch period. Though they would forgo ice cream and roasted turkey served in the cafeteria, they would be given treats by their teacher nonetheless; plus, they got an off-campus excursion. Their mission: to purchase for their class a Christmas tree.
After they’d all piled into Shipley’s “groovy” new Mustang, they debated over where to obtain the tree. “I think Lentzburger’s has a tree lot again this year,” noted Ruth. Levi Lentzburger was her mother’s brother.
“And what,” asked Jane scornfully, “get us a Jew Christmas tree? That’s an oxy-moron.”
Ruth, a member of a non-observant Jewish family, stared at her blankly. “What do you mean?” she asked, although she recognized Jane’s remark as part of the same subtle prejudice she’d felt almost since she’d become self-aware.

“Never mind,” said Shipley gruffly, slipping the car into gear. “We’ll just go by Kroger’s.”
“Gimme a hatchet,” offered Jane, “and I’ll cut one down in the city park.” She grinned woflishly.
Minutes later, the children and their teacher were in the parking lot at the grocery, inspecting the meager selection of trees. The children gravitated to the prettier, more expensive trees: magnificent specimens of Douglas fir, priced at $3, $4 and one exquisite specimen at an other-worldy $7.
“I like this one, Mr. Shipley,” purred Jane with cunning, holding up the $7 tree.
“Put it back,” said Shipley, grasping a sparse, practically denuded specimen of balsam from the $1 pile. He shook the tree and needles rained down copiously onto the paved lot.
The children stared at the beleaguered specimen with sad eyes.
“It’s missing a few branches,” remarked Ruth, running her fingers through the blank spaces.
“It’ll be fine,” Shipley assured them. “Besides, we’re on a tight budget. C’mon, let’s check out.”

The little group drifted toward the outdoor cashier, paid for their purchase and were soon on their way, the small, thin tree stuffed unceremoniously into the Mustang’s trunk.
“I’m getting hungry,” complained Jane, running her hand over her tummy by way of demonstration. “When do we eat? You promised us food, Mr. Shipley,” she whined melodramatically.
“Oh, here, Mr. Shipley,” said Ruth, handing over a $5 bill. “I told my mom that you were taking us out today to get a tree and lunch, and she said it wasn’t right that you spend your own money.”
Shipley accepted the bill gratefully. “Tell your mother thanks, Ruth,” he said. Second-year grade school teachers didn’t earn a great deal of money.

Arriving at a small diner, the four found spots in a booth with a formica top and faux-leather seats. An ageless waitress arrived promptly and took their order. The next thing that Shipley did, under the watchful gaze of his students, was to turn up a pack of cigarettes, shake one out and light up. This was extraordinary. Smoking was something that parents did, or a renegade older brother or toughs on TV, not an elementary school teacher. They watched, morbidly fascinated, as their teacher greedily sucked smoke from the coffin nail and then expelled the fetid fumes in their immediate vicinity.
Shipley had budgeted $3 for lunch, thinking 4 hamburgers and 4 Pepsis and then stiffing the waitress on the tip. The tree had been paid for by conscripting a nickel from each student who could afford it, and not everyone could. But now, with the 5-spot in his pocket, the cash-strapped teacher could afford to live a little. The payments on the new car were murder.
As they sat at the table, watching Shipley smoke, the students took stock of their surroundings. “What’s that?” asked Ruth, indicating an elaborate, multi-colored metal and glass device sitting on the edge of the table next to the wall. Shipley recognized it as a rather bizarre looking napkin dispenser, but before he could answer, Rob spoke up.
“It’s a slot machine,” he quipped.

The other children laughed. Shipley rolled his eyes, but chuckled in spite of himself. This was the first time he’d heard Rob speak in days and Shipley was glad that he was opening up again, at least a little. The teacher had heard rumors that the Bradens were contemplating a divorce and this couldn’t be good for their son. In all the school, just a handful of students had parents who were divorced.
20 minutes and 5 cigarettes later, Shipley gathered his charges and they set out. Pausing at the cash register, he purchased 2 packs of Marboros with fifty cents from the $5 he’d gotten from Ruth’s mom. Then they piled back into the Mustang and returned to the school.
– – –
Rob had been acting out. Fits of unexplained temper and irascibility accompanied by mild aggression became common. Mr. Shipley had told him on several occasions to check his temper but, unknown to Shipley, the dissolution of the Braden marriage had been extra hard on 12-year-old Rob. Already wincing from being held back a year for indifference to his studies, he was seething with frustration at rejection by both his parents.

Jocelyn Shipley, Marvin’s sharp-tongued, aggressive wife, worked for the company that administered aptitude and intelligence tests at schools throughout the county. She reported to her husband that, of the 25 students in his class, there were but 3 that stood out as exceptional. The first was Butch, whose IQ was some 15% below average.
“He really should be in a special program,” she said. “But, I know that Burbank doesn’t have a special education teacher on faculty for students his age just now. 5 years from now, you probably will have, and Butch would be enrolled. As for now, he’ll continue to slip through the cracks.”

“Is anyone exceptional for the right reasons?” asked Marvin with a frown.
“Yes,” said Jocelyn. “2 students. Ruth Lanier and Robert Braden.”
“Rob is a miserable student,” opined Marvin. “And his attitude stinks.”
“Yet, he’s very intelligent,” said Jocelyn. “He has an IQ of 131.”
Shipley’s bushy eyebrows arced skyward. “That’s not bad,” he conceded.
“Your IQ,” his wife told him slyly, “by way of comparison, is just 118.” She flashed a mean little smile.
“And what about Ruth?” he asked.
“Ruth,” Jocelyn informed him, “is off the charts smart.”
“How smart?” he asked.
“Try 150+,” she told him.
Marvin whistled soundlessly. No wonder he hadn’t been able to get a handle on that one. She always seemed to be onto him, to see through him.
– – –
“I need that library book back, Rob,” Sheila, the class librarian, told her classmate.
“I’m not done with it yet,” he responded. “I’ll finish it over lunch and then bring it back.”
“I need it now!” she snapped truculently.
This went on for several exchanges until which point that Rob angrily flung the paperback book at the girl. It slipped through her hands and landed loudly on the floor. At that very moment, Shipley looked up, became instantly enraged.

“Enough!” he shouted, and rose to his feet, violently flinging his desk chair into the wall. Everyone froze in place. Reaching into a desk drawer, Shipley pulled out a heavy wooden paddle, walked around the desk and seized Rob by the arm. “You’ll learn,” snapped Shipley, dragging the child in his wake.
They swept out the door and up the corridor to the other 6th grade classroom, where Shipley knocked peremptorily on the closed door. Within seconds, the other teacher appeared.
“Need you to witness corporal, Duane,” said Shipley with barely contained fury.
The three proceeded to a small store room down the hall, unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“You’ve been warned before,” thundered Shipley, grabbing Rob round the waist and bending him over. He then delivered 2 tremendous swats to Rob’s backside. “Now,” snapped Shipley, still breathing heavily, “don’t lose your temper again–or else!”
Shipley marshalled Rob back to class and shoved him through the door, lingering in the hallway and conversing with the other teacher for a moment. Rob could hear some pleasantries exchanged; what sounded like laughter. Red-faced, he took his seat and avoided the others’ stares.
60 minutes later, when Shipley had calmed down and next addressed his classroom, he said that he hoped the students had learned something from the incident which had taken place an hour before.

“I learned something,” remarked Jane with an evil grin. “If you’re big enough, you can bully anyone.”
Shipley frowned darkly.
“She’s right,” said Ruth. “And if you’re in charge, you can get away with it.”
“Ruth,” intoned Shipley ominously. With Jane, he had to put up with this nonsense, but Ruth was another case entirely. Jane’s father was a bigshot, but Ruth’s father wasn’t even in the home.

“Am I wrong?” Ruth went on. “What did you teach anyone here? Not that anger and violence aren’t appropriate. Only that some people can get away with it, where others can’t. You got angrier than Rob ever has. And then you got violent, which he never has.”
Shipley silently stewed.
– – –
Tragedy was visited on Shipley’s 6th grade class in February of 1966. The first instance, unknown to the teacher and to the school-at-large, was when Rob’s mother perished, alongside her new husband, in an automobile accident near Las Vegas.
“Pamela’s dead,” Rob’s father told his son without preamble one afternoon after school.
Rob halted in his tracks. Was this another play on words, of which his father was so fond, as in, “She’s ‘dead’ to me.’?
“Wh…what?” asked Rob.

“In Nevada,” said Mr. Braden. “Hit a truck on the interstate, probably drunk, or else that sonofabitch she was with was. Don’t know yet who was driving.”
“When?” asked a stunned Rob.
“Um? When did she buy it? Hell, I don’t know exactly, probably last night or early this morning.” Rob could smell the heavy stench of alcohol coming off his father. “Don’t ever fall in love, son,” counseled Mr. Braden. “Or else make sure they croak before they take you to the cleaners…”
That was the last thing he said before Rob belted him in the mouth. The next day, Rob arrived for class sporting 2 black eyes and, if truth be known, a body festooned with deep, ugly bruises. The abuse continued. A week later, following the funeral, Rob was shaken by Aaron’s bitter weeping over his wife’s passing. Aaron’s behavior became increasingly bewildering and unsettling to the young man until, finally, he ran away from home. He didn’t see his father again for more than 20 years.

The second tragedy came out only a week later, when Mrs. Dinwiddie, the school principal, arrived at the door of the classroom and beckoned Mr. Shipley. After a whispered conversation, Shipley summoned Ruth, who intuited that something was not right. Ruth didn’t return to class for a week, following the funeral of her older brother.
Shipley told the class that Eli Lanier had been KIA–killed in action–in the war in Vietnam. Ruth, he told them, would be absent to attend the funeral and to grieve.
“Is that the same war that you got out of, Mr. Shipley?” asked Jane in a needling voice. Shipley heaved a great sigh. He hadn’t the heart to fence with her this time.

Spring

On the last day of school, the students turned in their textbooks and received their final report cards, each tucked away in a half-size manila envelope. As the children were comparing marks, Shipley said, “I was pleasantly surprised to discover that everyone passed this year, although with some of you it was close.” He smirked at Butch, whose face and neck turned crimson.
Some of the children laughed, but not Ruth. “Why’d you have to go and say that?” she said.
Shipley stared up at her in surprise.

“Butch does the best he can,” she went on. “You can’t say that about everyone, you know.”
Shipley’s own face grew a little red. “It’s not too late to change the grades,” he said threateningly.
“Go ahead and flunk me then,” she dared him. “My scores on tests and on my other report cards won’t back you up.”
Shipley knew she was correct, and he decided to cut his losses. “Butch tries,” he conceded. “Good luck in junior high, Butch, and to all of you.”

The students preened. In just three months they would be 7th graders, and whole new social vistas would open up. They were both thrilled and terrified.
“I’ve some other news for you,” said Shipley. “This is my final year here at Burbank. Next fall I’ll be teaching 7th grade general science classes at the junior/senior high school. So, I’ll be seeing all of you again next year.”

Some of the students spontaneously applauded, while others sat on their hands.
“Shit,” muttered Butch and another student in unison.
“Is there something you’d like to say?” asked Shipley sharply.
Neither boy responded.
As the hands on the clock face wound to 3pm, Shipley said, “I want to say that I have really, truly enjoyed teaching–most of you–this year. Of course,” he went on, “there’s always that one bad apple in any bag…”

As he continued, almost every student wondered if he or she was the one being focused on as a troublemaker. Ruth observed the scene before her. She would go on to earn advanced degrees in Psychology in college and then more fully understand Shipley for who and what he was. Even now she recognized the young teacher for his efforts to marginalize and misuse others. She blew out a breath and shook her head. They’d had each other’s number from the first day, she thought. From his desk, Shipley stared at her.
When the final bell on the final day rang, Shipley watched the students depart. At the last second he called out, “Ruth, would you stay a moment longer, please?”
Ruth turned and walked up to Shipley’s desk. They regarded one another warily for a moment. Then he spoke.

“Ruth,” he said in his deep voice, “I got the feeling just now, and not for the first  time, that you don’t really like me very much. Is that an accurate observation?” he asked.
“No, Mr. Shipley,” she said, “it’s not. As a matter of fact, I don’t like you at all.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “May I ask why?”
“Of course,” replied Ruth. “I just don’t trust you.”
“Explain,” he requested.

“My father, as you might know, doesn’t live with us.” Ruth stared into Shipley’s face but could discern nothing. “My mom divorced him when he sexually and emotionally abused my older sister and brother.”
Shipley’s eyes grew a little larger. He knew the father was not a part of the Lanier household, but this was news to him.
When my mom reported him to the police, he was arrested and a judge decided that if dad would divorce mom and pay child support, then he wouldn’t be sent to prison. I see in your eyes the same thing I saw in my dad’s. It’s the same thing I see in a feral animal. When you would pull Michelle onto your lap and act like you were going to spank her, I knew then you were the same kind of monster that my dad is. I talked to Michelle and when she was sprawled face down on your lap, she could feel it too.”
Shipley was deathly quiet.

“You’re lucky you never pulled me onto your lap,” she went on. “Because I would’ve told my mom and she would have got you fired.”
Shipley was sweating now. “So you really hate me that much, Ruth?” he asked bleakly.
Ruth shook her head. “I don’t hate you at all, Mr. Shipley. Like I don’t hate my dad. You’ve both got a problem and I can’t hate you for that. It’d be like hating someone for having measles. I don’t think you’re to blame for it. But, like with someone with measles, I don’t want to spend any time with you or get too close, you know?”

She turned on her heel and as she made her way to the door, the teacher called after her, “good luck in junior high, Ruth.”
“Same to you, Mr. Shipley,” she said without turning around, and passed for the final time through the door.

Aura

A silent Pitchfork, a rubble outside

I am all that i have been, not so well connected

A galactic fusion over the rimmed walls

A paycheck for the month it’s all a plaything

Poetry calls me often in the darkest night

A knowing edge surpassed me

As I went down the rabbit hole

This is the age of new thought protestants

A summer binder over at my glass

I know that butter cup lifelong simulation

Poetic engulfment is rising the aura is new

Of sub divisions and postmodern pranks

The fun we had at the treehouse jingoism

The subversion is all around my wretched watch.

When I think of ages past That have floated down the stream Of life and love and death, I feel how free it makes us To pass away.

Rabindranath Tagore

Welcome, readers, to September’s first issue: The Stream of Life, Love, and Death.

Sayani Mukherjee speaks to the weight of the world’s grief, of millions of lost loves over historical time.

Ahmed Miqdad quests for love and peace in Gaza, all in vain. Yucheng Tao bears witness to genocide in Cambodia through his evocative poem where memory and grief echo off the rocks and pages of history. In his piece, self-declared pure idealism leads only to death.

Eva Petropoulou Lianou addresses the issue of domestic violence. Christopher Bernard reflects on humanity’s continual state of conflict among different groups as Patricia Doyne excoriates tolerance for school shootings and immigration enforcement violence in the United States.

Alex Johnson speaks to the need for radical creativity as resistance to the forces of death and authoritarianism. Mary Bone captures moments of human and animal growth and creation. Jacques Fleury discusses the need for humans to coexist equitably with each other and with the wide diversity of natural creatures who share our planet.

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal speaks to energy, creativity, and the need to support young people. Xudoyqulova Shahzoda highlights Uzbekistan’s efforts to empower the young, the disabled, and women. Rayhona Sobirjonova expresses her gratitude for a caring teacher. John Sheirer’s short story depicts a boy learning a mixture of love and toughness from both a father and stepfather. Bill Tope presents the story of a mother determined to overcome obstacles and keep her family together. Muhammadjonova Muzayyana praises the love and care of her devoted mother. Judge Santiago Burdon’s video presents an ironically humorous tale of a man’s adult son coming out of the closet.

Otaboyeva Zuhra shares how education can transform a young woman’s life. Madina Furkatova highlights efforts to educate and empower young women in Uzbekistan. Muhammed Suhail reflects on the indispensable contributions of women to shaping the early days and teachings of Islam. Bhekisisa Mncube reviews Nthikeng Molele’s novel Breasts, etc, a feminist story of a group of women and a man who photographs them nude. Anna Keiko shares her determination to live out her calling as a poetess, in honor of the many female trailblazers throughout history.

Rahimova Dilfuza Abdinabiyevna shares ways to heighten students’ communication competence. Boboqulova Durdona outlines ways to engage students in active learning. Sevinch Mukhammadiyeva talks up a student leadership conference she attended, “Office of the Future.” Panoyeva Jasmina O’tkirovna highlights advantages of blended classrooms and self-study combined with instruction. Nafosat Jovliyeva discusses roles for technology in language learning. Dilshoda Jurayeva urges students to learn and adopt self-discipline as a study tool. Janna Hossam discusses the problem of burnout in gifted children.

Abigail George speaks to finding and claiming beauty and selfhood in the face of mental illness. Tursunbayeva Shohida Baxtiyor traces the history of diagnostic methods in psychiatry. Ana Petrovic speaks to the confluence of forces and emotions rising up in the human psyche. Brian Barbeito journeys through real and surreal worlds to tend and befriend the different and the marginalized. Hua Ai speaks to the wildness still inherent in our feelings and encounters with urban nature. Joan McNerney draws on elegant nature metaphors to describe love and the transitory states of life. Mark Young speaks to growth and transformation in our bodies and the natural world. Anakha S.J. compares maintaining feelings of love to tending a flower. Mahbub Alam presents a joyful couple forgetting themselves among the beauty of nature and their blossoming romance. Jerome Berglund and Christina Chin’s tan-renga present an adorable take on modern relationships. Mesfakus Salahin’s extensive nature metaphors speak to the psychology of a lover.

Brian Barbeito reflects on a random capricious day with various encounters, positive and negative, with people and nature. Chimezie Ihekuna expresses cynicism about the hypocrisy inherent in many relationships, Raisa Anan Mustakin laments people’s growing isolation and separation from each other, and Alan Catlin processes work anxiety through dreams while out in pastoral greenery. Nageh Ahmed evokes feelings of both love and loneliness under the moonlight as Wazed Abdullah finds inner peace in lunar light. Mykyta Ryzhykh evokes efforts of love in the face of the loss of innocence. Duane Vorhees speaks to the vulnerability and unpredictability inherent in love.

Vohidova Ruxshona discusses the internal composition of Saturn and the wonder of the far-off universe. Don Bormon expresses his fascination with a constantly changing cloudy sky. Abdurrahim Is’haq’s artwork of a door shrouded in shadow and sunlight evokes mystery and wonder.

Abdulboqiyev Muhammadali turns to medicine as a subject, sharing some of the warning signs of a stroke. Eshmurodova Sevinch discusses how modern financial technology can improve the functioning of global economic systems.

Mathematics is also part of our physical universe, and Mamadaliyeva Durdona shares methods for solving systems of linear equations. Mardonova Marjona finds the beauty in each season, in change, as David Sapp revels in “relentless” natural elegance. Nikhita Nithin sways with the wind during a neighborhood festival. Nilufar Mo’ydinova offers suggestions on how to live sustainably with nature, suggesting improved environmental practices for the publishing industry.

Sushant Thapa writes of finding happiness wherever he can in life as Stephen Jarrell Williams enjoys a tender moment with his wife and Mahbub Alam loses himself in the joy of nature and love. Maja Milojkovic speaks to a transcendent love, present even when the couple is apart, echoed in endless mirrorings on water’s surface. Summer Kim takes joy in transitory childhood moments and memories. Su Yun’s Chinese bilingual elementary students write joyfully about nature and play. Sharifova Saidaxon reminisces about her happy childhood as Xo’jamiyorova Gulmira remembers her elementary school days and classmates.

Dilnoza Bekmurodova reflects on how she will always hear the unmistakable call of her home. O’g’iloy Bunyodbekovna Muhammadjonova sings the praises of her radiant Uzbek homeland. Maftuna Rustamova finds comfort and peace in her heritage as Ozodbek Narzullayev joins in the reflections on Uzbekistan. Nomozaliyeva Hilolaxon analyzes how the film “Suv Yoqalab” reflects Uzbek cultural values. Maxmudjonova Begoyim considers the weight and grace of her Turkish heritage as Dr. Priyanka Neogi shares a poetically beautiful tale of the Indian flag. Eva Petropoulou interviews Greek sculptor and painter Konstantinos Fais, who is examining the myth of Hercules to revive classical civic virtue for modern Greeks.

Uzbekistan’s writers go beyond heritage to relate how the nation is currently a source of pride, as Jumaniyozova Nazokat discusses the potential for wellness tourism in Uzbekistan. Madinabonu Mamatxonova describes rapid Uzbek economic growth driven by entrepreneurship. Xurshida Abdisattorova highlights the accomplishments of an Uzbek mixed martial arts coach. Meanwhile, Shahnoza Ochildiyeva outlines what Central Asian countries, and the rest of the world, can learn from Finland.

J.J. Campbell explores different sides of memories: nostalgia, loss and mourning, and the quest to separate oneself from toxic or false aspects of the past. Brooks Lindberg laments the death of glaciers through a poem that grants nature a measure of agency even in melting. Jake Cosmos Aller reflects on historical revision at the Smithsonian Museum.

Grzegorz Wroblewski’s fresh installment of asemic poems evoke the aesthetic of language as a part of human culture. Ken Gosse’s ars poetica defends the power of rhyme and meter in a world of free verse. Graciela Noemi Villaverde celebrates the mysterious and poetic works of Jorge Luis Borges. Dr. Jernail S. Anand argues for the primacy of literature as a study and discipline to help us return to our humanity as Mirta Liliana Ramirez does something similar, depicting dance as an act of love to add beauty to life.

Michael Robinson shares, in his final piece after ten years of writing for Synchronized Chaos Magazine, the family and sanctuary he has found through his faith.

Susie Gharib draws on historical mythology to explore our place in the world and our vulnerabilities as humans. Patrick Sweeney’s tiny vignettes capture distinct moments in human life: wonder, confusion, humor, or just us pondering being alive. Taylor Dibbert relates the paradox of what happens when we care too much – or too little – about money. Santiago Burdon explores human nature in his tale of a chance encounter on an airplane.

Finally, Sarvinoz Orifova reflects on the nature of hope and the power of holding on to it during challenging times.

“ARTISTIC INTERPRETATION OF UZBEKISTAN NATIONAL VALUES AND CHARACTER” IN THE MOVIE “SUV YOQALAB”, “IMAGE CREATION SKILL”

Kokand State University

Faculty of Uzbek and Russian Philology

Scientific supervisor: Ergasheva Sugdiyona

sugdiyona619@gmail.com

Student: Nomozaliyeva Hilolaxon

nomozaliyevahilola@gmail.com

Abstract. This article examines the artistic interpretation of the Uzbek national character in the short story “Suv yoqalab” by the people’s writer of Uzbekistan, Erkin A’zam. The work analyzes how the national character is manifested psychologically, socially, and culturally, and how the characteristics of the national mentality are reflected through the main characters. Text analysis, comparison, and synthetic approaches are used in the research process. Also, as a result of the research, the writer effectively highlights the main features of the Uzbek national character: hard work, valuing family and generation, harmony with nature, and spiritual wealth, using the possibilities of the short story genre.

Keywords: artistic analysis of the short story “Suv yoqalab,” national values and mentality, national character, characteristics of characters, short story genre, psychological method.

Introduction

         There are many unique works in world literature, but each work is distinguished from the other by its ideas, characters, author’s position, and style. Of course, the era in which the author lived, the place where he grew up, and the social environment have a great influence on this. Undoubtedly, the work clearly shows which nationality the author represents. Representatives of any nationality in the world differ sharply from each other in that they have their own national and universal values. The film “Suv yoqalab” by Erkin A’zam vividly depicts the traditional values and national character of the Uzbek nation, and we will try to shed light on them through this article.

National values are a concept that reflects the unique qualities of each nation, and they represent the contribution and place of that nation in its cultural heritage, which has been formed in the process of its development. As long as a nation exists, its national values ​​also apply. National values ​​are formed and improved together with the nation. National values ​​are based on the national idea. Therefore, if a state wants to subjugate other nations, it foremost tries to deprive them of their national values. This includes the historical, cultural, religious, and spiritual heritage of the people.

         In today’s era of globalization, preserving the national idea, the ideology of independence and our spiritual values, instilling them in the minds of the younger generation are becoming one of the urgent tasks. The principles put forward by our President are also starting a new stage in this direction. “If the body of society is the economy, then its soul and spirit are spirituality. Since we have decided to build a new Uzbekistan, we will rely on two strong pillars. The first is a strong economy based on market principles. The second is a strong spirituality based on the rich heritage of our ancestors and national values,” says the head of our state. Although I. Ergashev, B. Abdullayev, M. Kakharov, D. Rakhimova, Kh. Khidirov have conducted their research in this regard, the existing studies have not sufficiently analyzed the reflection of national values in our works and the main features of the Uzbek national character. Therefore, this article is aimed at highlighting these aspects, at the manifestation of national values in the work of our writers. This analysis is based on Erkin A’zam’s short story “Suv yokalab”, which won the “Serebryanniy Vityaz” award at the “Zolotoy Vityaz” international film forum (Moscow).

Literature analysis and methodology: 

         We used the Izoh.uz website in the article. Because this dictionary served as the main theoretical source in defining the conceptual foundations of terms such as national values, spirituality, moral principles, and national character in the article. In particular, this source was the basis for providing an understanding of the spiritual roots of the concept of “national value” and how they are formed in the public consciousness. In addition, while writing our article, we also reviewed the collection of articles “The Importance of National Values and Spiritual Heritage in the Development of Society”. This collection discusses the importance of national values and spiritual heritage in the development of society, the history of national values, the socio-political views of our thinkers, modern propaganda technologies in promoting national values and spiritual heritage, issues of covering national values in the media, and the problems of propaganda methodology. Erkin A’zam’s story “Suv Yoqalab” is the main object of artistic analysis of our article. Plot analysis, image system, character coverage, symbols, and expression of national values are written directly based on this film story.

         The work was carried out using the method of text analysis, the components of the work: plot, image system were deeply analyzed. Each element of the text was considered from the point of view of the aspects in which the national character is manifested. The historical literary method was used, that is, the work was analyzed in the context of the period in which it was created, taking into account the stages of development of Uzbek literature, and, most importantly, the method of psychological analysis was used to illuminate the spiritual world of the heroes, their character traits, and their connection with the national mentality. Also, the intercultural method was used to show the national customs and traditions reflected in the work.

Analysis and result

          The term “film story” began to appear in our literature from the second half of the 20th century. Writers such as Sharof Rashidov, Jamol Kamol and Usmon Azim published some of their works under this name. In particular, as a result of the creative efforts of Erkin A’zam, works of this type began to form as a separate genre and showed their own unique characteristics.

         It is natural that in the literary process, signs characteristic of a certain type or genre are also found in other genres. However, when the theoretical foundations of a particular genre take precedence, these criteria determine its poetic essence. This situation is also clearly visible in the example of film stories in Erkin A’zam’s work. Although film stories meet the requirements of the prose genre in terms of their external structure, their internal pathos and artistic direction are combined with the characteristics characteristic of the dramatic genre.

         In particular, in the film story “Suv yoqalab”, dramatism is manifested as the main aesthetic principle. In this work, the development of the plot, the character of the characters, and the dynamics of events are built in accordance with the criteria of spectacle. This aspect, in turn, ensures the proximity of the film story to the dramatic genre. As is known, spectacle is considered the main aesthetic requirement of the dramatic genre. Therefore, this feature is increasingly becoming legitimate in the poetic structure of the film story.

          In addition, the fact that Erkin A’zam’s short stories pay special attention to the most important dramatic climaxes of events, and the concise presentation of irony and psychological analysis shows the uniqueness of his literary style. Moreover, by reflecting them in the midst of life’s trials, the writer’s artistic concept is further deepened. Thus, it shows that Erkin A’zam’s short stories are not only forming as an independent genre, but also that they are an effective example of inter-genre synthesis.

          The analyzed short story “Suv yoqalab” is a work skillfully created by the author in revealing the artistic expression of national values. The short story compositionally corresponds to the Uzbek national storytelling style. The plot of the work is formed on the basis of events occurring around the main character. This developing plot reveals various aspects of the national way of life. For example, the nature of the main character reflects the traditional approach of the Uzbek people to the natural environment. Through the images in the work, national values such as family, the institution of the family and its role in society, respect for elders, support for youth, love for the Motherland, teamwork, loyalty, honor, honesty, and justice are shown. That is, we can see that the main character of the work, Bolta Mardon, intervenes when the wives of Hasan-Husan are fighting for water, stops the fighting, and makes a fair judgment, that he does not give water to a fellow villager who once robbed the state warehouse, that he is generous to his fellow villagers, that he whips his son who has chosen a dirty path to correct him, and that he lies for the peace of a family. While describing the events of the work, we can say that Erkin A’zam used new artistic conventions with great skill through Bolta Mardon’s stubborn, stubborn, intolerant, and just character. Another skill of our creator is in choosing suitable names for each of the heroes of the work. For example, if we pay attention to the name of the main character – Bolta Mardon, we see that this name was not chosen by chance. “Axe” is a sharp, cutting, powerful weapon, and the character of the character is also in harmony with this tool. Giving him the name “Axe” refers to his character, behavior, firmness in speech, and his place in society. Every word that comes out of Bolta Mardon’s mouth is like an ax – clear, sharp, and impressive. What he says “reaches the target without fail,” that is, he boldly and fearlessly expresses his opinion and is able to subordinate those around him to it. So, through the name “Axe Mardon,” the author reveals the spiritual world and social position of the hero using artistic means. In Erkin A’zam’s short stories, the plot is usually built in chronological or concentric forms. In a chronological plot, events develop in chronological order, while in a concentric plot, events develop around a center. Exposition plays an important role in the author’s works.

         Through it, the characters, their environment, character and time are introduced, and the viewer or reader is immersed in the events of the work. Exposition can be in various forms – direct, reverse, mixed or delayed. This provides different ways of entering the plot. Erkin A’zam mainly uses direct and mixed expositions in his works. Through these methods, he gradually introduces the reader to the development and atmosphere of events.

         The work in our analysis begins with the words “A spacious courtyard. A tall igloo in the middle of the three-sided building. Beyond the igloo is a dense, wooded garden.” At first glance, it is an exposition that begins like a typical work, but we can see symbolic meanings in it. For example, in the sentence “A three-sided building,” our writer describes a large family consisting of three small households and united by a “tall igloo.” The head of that family is Bolta Mardon. When we imagine the image of Bolta Mardon, our solid, heavy, and respected fathers or grandfathers come to mind. His stature, the way he wears a skullcap, and the way he walks with his belt tightly tied — all of these are vivid expressions of our national traditions and values. Although Bolta Mardon has left his post as chairman, his concern for the people’s suffering and his willingness to put the interests of the people above his own interests still make him a respected person among the people. These qualities, in turn, directly stem from our national upbringing, ancient traditions, and values such as humanity, solidarity, and kindness inherited from our ancestors. In the work, Bolta Mardon is depicted not only as a just leader, but also as a loving father, a patriot, and an honorable person. In his image, we see true examples of national character – patience, patriotism, honesty, and loyalty to the people. His daughter, Zulfiya, who was raised by him, also grew up with national values ​​such as thoughtfulness, modesty, patience, and loyalty to her parents, characteristic of an Uzbek woman. She puts respect for her parents and loyalty to her family in the first place. Writing about her, the author expresses the purity and innocence inherent in the nature of an Uzbek woman in one sentence: “Zulfiya’s house. A small courtyard. A lot of greenery, a lot of greenery.”

         Indeed, the writer’s works mainly illuminate the lives of ordinary people in a rural environment. They have a unique image and skillfully reveal complex but sincere feelings. The writer places special emphasis on highlighting not only everyday events, but also the inner experiences, hopes, and spiritual conflicts of the characters. For example, Bolta Mardon’s three sons seem to depict his youth. The eldest son represents his youthful energy, pride, and arrogance, the middle son represents his unfulfilled dreams and unachieved goals, and the youngest son represents his unrealized dreams and aspirations in life. “Does a father mean a prophet? I tell you not to be as vain as I am… If you marry, find a woman who will never disappoint you. Your mother is a very good woman, she has never done anything wrong to me. Moreover, she gave birth to brave sons like you. But it’s hard when your heart is not full…”, he says, advising his youngest son.

         In Erkin A’zam’s work, the ideas expressed in the vernacular, the brilliance of artistic observation and means of depiction distinguish him from others.

         In this work, one of the qualities inherent in humanity – to do good to people, that is, the concept of goodness, plays an important role. In the development of events, the fight against any oppression and evil is carried out not with weapons, but with the illuminating spiritual light – goodness. The images depicted in the work, especially the image of Hamro Baba, strengthen the artistic and philosophical basis of this idea. Although Hamro Baba is blind, his faith in life, humanity and the power of goodness is impressively illuminated. The wisdom that is said in his language, “He who brings water, the path of the one who sees water becomes clear,” puts forward the idea that a person who does good will definitely reach the “illuminated path.”

         In conclusion, national values, national character and national spirit are among the main factors determining the content of literary and artistic works. It is through literature that writers fulfill the “mission” of transmitting the historical heritage, traditions, religious beliefs and moral principles of the people from generation to generation. Such works play an important role in the spiritual formation of the modern reader, as well as in the process of self-awareness.

          In the work of Erkin A’zam, the national spirit, national character and traditional thinking have found a deep artistic expression. The heroes in his works reflect the mentality of the Uzbek people with their natural stature, complex mental state, inner experiences and relationship to the environment. Through a variety of images, the author creates life events familiar to every reader. This makes the literary work even closer to the reader. In particular, the reflection of rural life, folk thinking, kindness, patience, respect and family life are expressed in the works in a realistic and convincing way. By comparing yesterday and today, the writer analyzes the changes in the human spiritual world, how personal experiences are manifested against the background of changes in society. As a result, the literary work is not only an artistic phenomenon that gives aesthetic pleasure, but also a means of preserving and developing national identity.

                                    References:

1. Spirituality. Dictionary of basic concepts. -Tashkent, 2021. – p. 640).

2. From the article “The issue of national values and national character” by Munisa Mavrulova, senior lecturer at the Uzbekistan State Institute of Arts and Culture, Doctor of Philosophy in Philosophy

3. Erkin A’zam. The story “Suv yoqalab” // Collection: “Jannat o ‘zi qadadir”. – “Sharq” NMAK editorial office, Tashkent – 2007

4. Rasulov, M. Spirituality and moral principles in Uzbek literature. – Tashkent, 2019.

5. Karimova, G. National character and its interpretation in literary images. – Bukhara, 2021.

6. Sobirov, R. Uzbek national mentality and its expression in literature. – Tashkent, 2018.

7. Tursunov, A. National values and modern Uzbek society. – Samarkand, 2020.

8. https://saviya.uz/hayot/tarjimai-hol/erkin-azam-1950/

9. https://qalampir.uz/news/prezident-ma-naviyatni-yuksaltirish-buyicha-yigilish-ukerdi-31829

10. https://library.ziyonet.uz/book/86116

11. https://vaqf.uz/uz/lists/view/455

12. https://arxiv.uz/uz/documents/slaydlar/pedagogik-psixologiya/milliy-qadriyatlar

Christina Chin (plain) 

Jerome Berglund (italic) 

Ringtones

my universe 

in his shirt pocket 

heartbeats

consistently 

inconsistent   

phonetic bliss 

he mispronounces 

croissant

a word 

in edgewise

our favourite spot

now it’s just a word 

for love

afterhours 

club 

bonus of a playful twist 

our shared notes app

is just “honey” 

welcoming new deity

to the household 

and honey I forgot

love as digital-age 

sweetness

ripples from the 

central fountain