Analysis Of Where Is Here By Joyce Carol Oats

The short story “Where is Here” by Joyce Carol Oats introduces us to a very complex character, labeled the stranger. The author uses the method of indirect characterization, which results in the reader making their own assumptions of the character. Indirect characterization includes some of the following: stranger’s appearance, speech, actions, private thoughts, as well as the reactions of others. The previously stated categories are the things we will analyze and draw conclusions from.

I walked away feeling like I was a complete failure and that I didn’t deserve to go on. On the way home my mother tried to talk to me, but, I put on my headphones and cried silently. Once we were home my father asked how it went. The tears that were in my eyes and they became more evident as my shoulders and chest were shaking and trembling. The only sound in the room was the sound of me crying and wailing. I started crumbling and falling to the ground and my mother and father rushed to my side. They held me until the tears came to a stop and a little bit afterwards

Today I will be analysis the fiction story of Where is Here? By: Joyce Carlo Oates. The theme of the story is about visiting a once childhood home. The book gives off varieties of emotions with the four characters that were written in this story. The mother, the father, the son, and the stranger. In this paper, I will be going over the story Where is Here. Carefully rereading more into the settings, characters, and meaning of the story of the stranger, one of Joyce Carlo Oates characters. Here is my analysis of a childhood home forever loved.

I went to my living room to ask my mom a question, to see she wasn’t there. I asked my brother “where’s mom?” and he replied with “shes at the hospital, grandpa got burnt.” I would never have expected “grandpa got burnt” to be as severe as it was. I remember my mom coming home around two in the morning. I got up and out of bed to ask some questions. She said “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Pack some stuff up, we’re going to Waterloo tomorrow.” So I listened and packed up a bag.

The antagonist of “Where are you going, Where have you been” written by Joyce Carol Oates, is no ordinary guy. Arnold Friends,a dynamic, round character with a charming but controlling personality, seems to be the embodiment of Atropos. A greek deity known as the moirai who is said to be the controller of fate, or specifically, one’s death. He talks a lot but reveal nothing about himself, a sign of emotionally manipulative person, someone who is able to zero in on one’s weakness, like Connie’s romantic fantasies.) Like the typical bad boy archetype he offered to take her away from the dull drone of her suburban life. But that explain how it links to arnold being atropos lmao/how death takes you away. With the quality of a calm and deep, sing-song

In Joyce Carol Oats’ “Where is Here?”, a strange visitor comes to a family’s home to look through and reminisce about his childhood. Throughout the story, the stranger moves from place to place about the house, stopping and telling little details from his childhood concerning some of the rooms. Oats’ chooses to have the stranger move about the house in a certain order, as to have the desired effect on readers.Throughout the events of “Where is Here?”, this effect is achieved. The stranger first starts his tour in the garage. However, the reader does not get any details about why the stranger might be interested in the garage. He then moves to the backyard, going down to an old swing set. The reader learns that these swings were more than likely there when the stranger was a child because of the posts being rotted. Without giving the readers almost any detail about the outside of the house, the story moves on to the stranger being invited inside. Once inside the house, the stranger goes into the kitchen. He notices some things have changed since he lived in the house, but some have stayed the same. He also makes a remark about a door, asking if it leads to the basement. However the couple ignores this question and moves on. The stranger then notices some flowers on a windowsill and says his mother used to have flowers there too, although they never bloomed. He then moves to the dining room, telling about who sat where at the table. Also, the reader discovers that the couple’s children are the same age as the stranger and his sister were when they lived in this house. Next came the living room, in which the stranger pointed out that there used to be a water stain on the fireplace mantel, but the couple hadn’t seen it before. He also tells about the window seat, and how it was one of his happy places in the house whenever his father wasn’t home. He says that his mother would sit there with him as they plotted together. She would also read him stories and riddles that he could never answer. When the mother asks the stranger if his mother is still alive, he answers no and says,”We’ve all been dead—they’ve all been dead—a long time.” The story then states that the stranger seemed to limp his way up the stairs,

Fast forward to 8th grade English class, and my teacher told us we had to write a memoir about a moment in our life that scared us. Since I had many of those moments all throughout my life, I didn 't know which one to pick. I didn 't decide what I was doing until the day before it was due when I sat down at my grandmas computer to type and print my assignment. I contemplated writing about all of my near death experiences, but settled on something else.I decided to write about the one thing that changed my life forever and that still haunted me to the very day and every moment. The topic, as you can guess, was my father.

That day it went by to fast my brother and I tried spending as much time as I could with my dad. That night I went to bed sad I didn’t know if i would wake up in time to say goodbye to him. That morning I woke up and ran to see if my dad was still here. I ran into the kitchen first where I saw him eating ready to leave. He said that they were going to pick him up in ten minutes. Next thing you know we here a knock on the door. I went to answer the door it was some men in uniforms they were there to pick my dad up. My dad said goodbye to us I started to cry when he was leaving and so did my brothers and mom.

When the men finally made their way over to us, one man, tall, skin in size, about a quarter of the muscle tone of my pa’pa pushed him into the wall, while another, shorter in stature, with bright blue eyes, the color of sapphire, hit my father from behind. My father fell to the ground, blood dripping down his face, looking hopeless and feeble. I felt so discouraged, the only thing I could do was weep. My father, on the ground, turned to us and told us to run and we did. Half the way to the house, all I could think about was how hopeless I was and how much I wanted to help, but could not. After all that was my father back there, my friend, my protector, my pa’pa. When we finally made it to the porch of our house, we were out of air and I was about ready to collapse. My brother finally mustered up the energy to tell my mother and uncle what happen.

It was the first Sunday of December morning when my father asked me to take some boxes to the basement, I had never been down there, as a kid I always thought it was scary, but know as a 19-year-old guy, how could I say no. I went downstairs with a couple of boxes, but could not find any place to put them. The area was a mess, so I decided that I would organize every box that was there. While I was organizing, I notice this one box hidden in the back, so, I decided to open it. Inside the box, there was a newspaper and a couple of burnt pictures. Therefore, I decided to read the article, I could not understand much, it was an 18 years old newspaper, but it talked about a burning house with two twin babies, It said that one had been saved with no harm while the other one was rescued later on with severe burn mark. It was a miracle that other baby had survived, they called him miracle Carlos, and his brother Richard. I stood there for a second before my brain processed

“Where Is Here” is a short story that tells the journey of an old man who arrives on the front doorstep of a family of 4. The stranger knocks and a man opens the door, the father. He asks what the stranger needs and the stranger explain that the house once belonged to his parents and that he grew up there.

One month later my mom and I are standing in the living room playing with my little brother James when someone knocks on our door. My mom hustles to the door to see who it was. The person standing at the door introduced himself to us and said his name is Ted. Mother asked him why he was here and he said, “I’m sorry to tell you this but we got a report that your husband and son died at war.” At that moment all my hope was lost, and it felt like my life was over and it hasn’t even begun. My mom fell to her knees and started bawling her eyes out. I rushed down there to comfort her, and we just sat there for a little bit in the agony of knowing that part of our lives is gone and we have no choice about it.

It was about to pass six o’clock and, my dad was not home for lunch. We were all so worried. My small brother was just two years old. He was in my mom's laps, looked at my dad's picture and said,” مات أبي”. (Dad died) My mom got really worried and started calling my dad. She called him so much but he wasn't answering. Five minutes later, we heard six gunshots. My mom got more worried so she called my uncle. My uncle asked us to go over his house. He promised my mom to search the whole neighborhood, leave no street without a search and, search in his job.

It was back sometime in the summer of 2004 when my life would be uprooted and changed. The day we left, my dad sat me in his bedroom and said he would always be my dad, and that he loved me. My mom had packed all our things in her little white Nissan that worked only half the time, and we made the trek to our new home. The ride was long, and my brother being only three years old was not too happy about that. When we got to the house, the shudders were black and the drive-way was unpaved. In the front yard stood a man I had never seen before. His beer gut was small but obvious enough, what little hair he had left poked out of his trucker hat. His face had

I stood on the porch just thinking about my mother, oh how I miss my mother. If I could just see her one more time I would have so much to tell her. All I have left was my sister and my father, I'm just thinking about how much love I need to show them; because no one knows how much time we have left her on the earth. At the time, looking back on my mother and all she did for me, I honestly believe that she was the only person in my life that gave me joy and happiness. During the war the only thing I could ever thing of, the only thing that keep me sane was my mother. While being sorrowful on the porch, the door opens and I see my sister standing there crying. She runs at me a leaps into my arms crying, she tells me “its been to long brother”. I tell her that crying will only make me cry. At that moment my father walks throw the door and gives both my sister and I the biggest most immense hug. After maybe ten minutes of hugging the the porch we head inside and I got to take a shower and get ice for my head trying to relieve the