During the “Meet the Author Event: Edwidge Danticat,” Danticat mentioned five fascinating proverbs that emerged from her memoir (Brother, I’m Dying) and/or inspired her writing. She defined proverb as an inspiration for writing, and I absolutely agree with her. Here are the five proverbs:

Proverb 1: Words have wings, words have feet.

In other words, words are able to travel to many places to be in the hands of someone else. For Danticat, letters were important her, in which communication between her and her family was by words on letters. Her words were able to create her memoir. The words of her life traveled through her memoir so that others may be inspired also.

Proverb 2: Sometimes you’re running from the rain, but you end up in the fire.

This relates to Uncle Joseph, where he ran away from the chaos occurring in Haiti. He believed that entering America would be the safe zone, but instead, he still didn’t escape into safety. Unfortunately, he died there from his illness because of mistreatment.

Towards the bigger picture, Danticat relates this with immigration, in which immigrants viewed America as a safe haven where they can potentially prosper. However, many immigrants, whether illegal or legal, continue to face hardship (but possibly not as worse as back in their home countries).

Proverb 3: Misfortune has no horn.

Overall, anything can happen at anytime, whether it’s a miracle or some misfortunate. Be prepared to face the worse.

Proverb 4: Those who care cannot rest. (Variation: Those who are concern cannot sleep).

Probably self-explained, but in Danticat’s experience, those who want to fight for justice should continue to fight until it is achieved.

Proverb 5: When you see an old bone in the street, remember that it once had flesh.

Personally, this is my favorite proverb out of the five. As Danticat explained, the memoir is putting the flesh on the bone of Uncle Joseph and that the memoir is also dedicated to his father and as a tribute to family. It can be said the same for other memoirs, such as Patti Smith’s Just Kids. Her memoir is the bone and she attempts not only to cover that bone with flesh of her own, but of Rob’s flesh also. Overall, with this proverb, Danticat provides us with crucial advice: “Don’t forget the great sacrifices that others have made for us.”

First of all, I thought the setting couldn’t get any worse compared to the Metropolitan Opera House. Even less leg room and the large steps…I almost fell on the first step down because I didn’t realize how low each step was.  I began to develop more fear of heights, just thinking about flying off the seats, diving towards the bottom floor below. Aside from that, knowing that we would be listening to Beethoven, I was quite excited for the orchestra to begin playing.

I recognized the Beethoven pieces that the orchestra was going to play, but I was interested in comparing the orchestra playing them to listening to them via online. Also, I’m sure many people would recognize a section of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A Major in the media (such as in random moments on television on shows or commercials).

I was fascinated by how a group of the same instruments created a voice, responding to other group of the same/similar instruments. When all the instruments played together, that synchronicity created one loud voice. In the playbill, I came across a paragraph on Beethoven as the Dionysian Maestro:

“Commentators of the time imply that Beethoven himself tended toward the Dionysian version when conducting [Symphony No. 7]. According to these accounts, Beethoven gyrated about on the podium, bending down deeply for diminuendos and leaping up for crescendos, his podium manner made all the more bizarre by his deafness” (p.30).

I did notice something Dionysian about the symphony, in which I noticed some pandemonium…either the instruments all at once played at a loud, chaotic volume or the group of the same/similar instruments began to play separately, thus creating separate voices.

Overall, the event was a great first-time visit to Carnegie Hall with a great orchestral performance.

…are all pathetic.  When I read through the libretto a few days ago before the opera, I did notice how inferior the women were in the opera (and that wasn’t surprising, because during that time period, women were subservient to men [side note: could also be seen in Shakespeare’s plays]). However, during the opera, the actors, the pace, and possibly the music emphasized those parts to the point that they become quite comical (ultimately showing how pathetic the women were). Actually, I noticed that some parts I didn’t recognize from the libretto…

Zerlina asks Masetto (as she treats his injuries) to forgive her by allowing Masetto to do anything to her body as he pleases (such as ripping her eyes out). Donna Anna wants to go to the convent after Don Ottavio achieves revenge on the murderer who killed Donna Anna’s father (Don Giovanni). Donna Elvira…oh, come on, really? She would really go back to Don Giovanni after all that has happened?

Aside from that, the place was elegant and so were most of the people. The opera exceeded my expectations, and I admit that it’s better to witness that actual play rather than simply reading the libretto. My favorite part had to be Don Giovanni entering into hell. As the opera approached that scene, I was wondering how the scene would be portrayed. Would they cover the structures in sheets with hell’s fires illustrated on them? Would they play around with the lighting? I didn’t expect they would use ACTUAL fire in that scene (I wonder how rehearsal is like?).

I know this might be a little late, but I will be reviewing the author reading by Edwidge Danticat. Every freshman entering Brooklyn College this semester was assigned to read the book, Brother, I am dying for their English class. After reading the book, I was blown away by Danticat’s writing style. I didn’t believe that such a story could be real with such a tragic ending. However, by attending the event and to see Danticat in person, I was able to connect the story to a face. The whole time I was there, I couldn’t believe that Edwidge actually went through all that. It was also shocking and heartbreaking to hear that Maxo died in the Haiti earthquake.  It was really sad to know that Edwidge’s uncle who was escaping from the gangs in his country couldn’t find refuge in a country that upholds the values of democracy.  Instead, he was held hostage because he was Haitian. Edwidge’s words, “Those who care, don’t rest” really touched me. Meaning that if you really want to make a difference and change society, you won’t stop because of small obstacles.

Edwidge’s determination and efforts really touched my heart. I wasn’t the only one as some people around me became teary after listening to her words. Danticat’s story and seeing her in person was a really good start to my college life. Her life and book are about rising above each other’s differences and doing something to make your society more aware so that something like racism doesn’t stop someone from helping fellow humans. To be honest Brother, I am dying made me teary twice. When Edwidge’s uncle died and after listening to Edwidge talk in person. I am grateful to Brooklyn College for picking such a nice book to help freshman transition into college life and to give us a chance to see her in person.

This excerpt from the Times review of the Beethoven concert struck me as interesting. The reviewer writes of his

conversation with a young man in a T-shirt emblazoned with another logo: that of Bathory, a revered Swedish black-metal band.

“Beethoven and Quorthon are my heroes,” my neighbor said earnestly. (Quorthon was the working name of Bathory’s founder, Tomas Forsberg.) Both, he proposed, were rugged individualists who brooked no compromise in forging an original, enduring style. When the orchestra came onstage he raised his right hand, index finger and pinkie extended: the orthodox heavy-metal salute.

One more thing: This was my neighbor’s first live encounter with Beethoven’s music. He had paid for a prime ticket for the Wednesday performance, and planned to be in a balcony for the orchestra’s second concert on Thursday.

Last night was the first time I had ever been at Carnegie Hall, and it was an experience. Even after climbing up all those stairs, I didn’t completely comprehend how high up I was until I looked down. I realized that if one were to trip and fall onto the row in front one’s self, one would end up rolling off the balcony. This thought, along with intense contemplation about exactly how high we were, and how close the ceiling was, brought back a paralyzing fear of heights for a few seconds. I got rid of the acrophobia (fear of heights) by looking around at my fellow audience, and after some time discovered that it was a prime location for people watching. However, before my overactive imagination could get the best of me, the orchestra began. It was then that I noticed the microphones hanging from the ceiling. Those must have been some strong wires. If someone positioned herself right, she could swing herself, Tarzan-style, from one balcony to another. They must need very tall ladders to reach the ceiling to set up and fix the microphones. The lights also caught my attention. I noticed that not a single bulb was out, and that the giant circle of lights in the middle of the ceiling wasn’t reachable by balcony. I hope that the person who changes the light bulbs has good life insurance.

When I finally glanced down at the musicians, their all-black dress code caused my nomadic thoughts to wander even further away from the galaxy where they had originated. If Sir John Eliot Gardiner was trying to imitate how the pieces were performed in Beethoven’s time, why are the musicians not dressed in breeches and corsets? Accidental anachronisms only discredit a performance. Although, I will concede that it would be hard for the female cellists to hold their instruments in giant poufy dresses.

As a dancer for around 12 years, I found myself looking to the technique of the dancers.  Their lines, as they whirled about the stage – creating divine shapes to delight the audience.  Watching “I Don’t Believe in Outer Space,” I didn’t see these brilliant lines; the technique – missing.    What was I watching?  A mocking of all I have ever learned?

The story, if it ever remained consistent, seemed to be twisted, dark.  Everything was aggressive – each movement seemed to pierce the aesthetic qualities of any performance.  Even the acting overwhelmed the audience – especially of the conversation between the uninvited guest and the polite host.  The disparities in the two characters, yet played by the same woman were amusing and disorienting at the same time.  It was mere recitation, even mentions of the stage directions – but they were brought to life in different voices and a masterpiece of exaggeration.  These bent views of the performance became a style that many in the audience appreciated, with laughter at various moments.  But are we supposed to laugh?  Was this social commentary – in this presentation of freaks, are we supposed to realize something?

This may go back to the notion of whether art needs to have meaning.  I’d imagine that this did not have much meaning; there was no story, no moral message.  It might require a certain intellectual or creative stamina to ride along with the performance – the sweat, the infinite movements, and the relics of a quasi-story.  However, the intensity of the piece is not to go unnoticed – it forges its own existence in the gaps of traditional dance performances.  As it left me with more questions than answers…

Riding up the escalator from the subway, I was instantly greeted by a tall, elegant structure made up of glass and highlighted by lights.  I felt severely underdressed as women in gowns and men in tuxedos walked with me, up the stairs to the Metropolitan Opera House.  I trekked higher and higher up the red, velvety stairs of the Opera House in order to find my seat.  My fear of heights becoming more and more apparent as I frantically gripped the railings next to the seats and relieved when finally locating my seat.  Looking at the stage, I waited as the radial chandeliers slowly ventured up, dimming their lights to indicate the start of the production.

The musical performance began, a nuanced set of sounds, which enhanced the grasping singing of those on stage.  As a huge foreign film watcher, the subtitles in front of me didn’t become a distraction – though knowing the libretto certainly helped.  As a first time spectator at an opera, I expected large voices, enough to encapsulate my very being and overwhelm my senses.  But I, being pleasantly surprised, did not receive that.  In fact, I found the quieter, but full voices of the actors to be enchanting, in a way.  As it forced me to really listen in to the tones of their voices.

The use of the sets in Don Giovanni was also ingenious, as I expected more of a metaphorical approach to the scene changes.  The rotation of that one set created a recognition of the different locations, and the nooks of the set also provided the characters with leeway to not be seen by the other characters, making every movement of the opera extremely believable.

One of my favorite parts of the opera was the “Catalog Aria,” which featured Leporello belting out his master’s tally of conquests all around the world. The laughter shuffling through the audience bolstered the atmosphere of light amusement – it showed how universal the ideas that the opera created actually were.  Another amazing component of the opera was when Don Giovanni actually falls through to hell, the stage opening up, spitting fire – the heat of which brushed my face – an unexpected technological innovation that brought the opera to life.

The imaginative aspects of the opera derailed any preconceived notions I had about all operas, and opened up an entirely new and different world for me.  The day after the opera, I still had many of the arias stuck in my head – displaying the universality of the opera, even coupled with a language I don’t know.

Thanks to the trains, I was running a little late for this performance, thanks MTA. The never-ending climb left me almost breathless by the time i reached the seats at the Family Circle. It was another hike up the steep steps to a seat. Since i wasn’t sitting in the seat printed on my ticket, i got to sit next to a really pretty girl. Unfortunately, she had a boyfriend . 

I had read a synopsis of the play before attending, so I had a pretty good overall idea it as well as the sequence of scenes. Despite this, I tried to read the subtitles as I watched the play. The problem was that it was extremely difficult to look at the back of someone else’s chair and watch the stage at the same time. Ten minutes into the play, I was getting dizzy from constantly looking back and forth and decided I needed another approach. Luckily, to my left was a guy who understood the play. He kept commenting to his friend sitting next to him. This helped me out a great deal, because every time he laughed, I knew to look at the subtitled box, and it was quite funny. I remember Prof. Minter asked us if we thought this was a comedy or a tragedy, and after seeing it, I believe it is a comedy.

I give a lot of credit to the people who played the roles. Not only is it unimaginable to me to remember the whole script in italian, but they sang with perfect pitch from beginning to end. It was also quite amazing to me to see the legend behind the play at the Met. Looking through the program, many CEO’s and stars have attended and supported this opera since its beginning, which I believe was 11 seasons ago.

I have to admit, that even though I am not a fan of the opera, I was absolutely surprised when the stage opened up and what appeared to be real flames marked the transition to hell. From reading the script, I would never have imagined that a modern day opera house would go to such lengths to signify such an event. It was absolutely impressive. 

I was quite intrigued at (what I believe to be) the wedding when the entertainment (violins and violas) was playing on stage, and completely independent from the music of the orchestra off-stage. It really added to the authenticity of the opera. I wonder if the people playing those instruments in the orchestra had gone onto the stage for that scene if these musicians were not part of the orchestra at all. Since I couldn’t see the orchestra from where I was sitting, I’ll never know. 

By the end of the opera, I left the same way I had arrived, breathless.