The New Atlantis Summary

The New Atlantis is a short novel by Francis Bacon. The novel starts with a ship, lost at sea trying to reach China but are strayed off towards the island of Bensalem, A Utopian society. As the crew arrives, they are questioned about their religion, and are told that the people of Bensalem are devout Christians. The island does not welcome these forgieners into their land, but does allow them to dock and take a break for a few days. Only because they are followers of Christ. Eventually, a worker from Bensalem is hired to watch over the travellers during their stay. During this, the worker tells the history of the island, of it's people, and the college-like “Salomon's House”. The travellers attempt to repay the worker for his kindness, but they are turned down unexpectedly. As the days go by, the crew learns more of Bensalem's history but is still not allowed to venture out on their own to explore it. Eventually, the crew is permitted to meet the Governor who is the Head of Salomon's house. Bacon begins to describe the Governor's entrance in great detail, emphasizing the luxury of the Governor. Then the most anticipated portion of the story begins, the Governor starts describing Bensalem's beauty and bounty in the most detailed way possible. Bacon here also starts using words that emphasize large and expensive, to the point where Bensalem is truly becoming a Utopia for the reader. As the Governor describes all of Bensalem's features, he mentions that it is a virgin island, and no stray wanderer is allowed to reside in it. Bensalem's great reward is the reward of light, and it is more valuable than currency. Due to this explanation, everything that is considered erratic about the characters of Bensalem are finally brought full circle and the Governor leaves the travellers speechless. After a blessing, the Governor instructs the travellers to make the most out of their stay, and then leave immediately never to return. Bacon makes the travellers never truly explore Bensalem, but instead invents futuristic ideas that are only spoken of but never interacted with. His inventions are found everywhere during the Governor's speech and are practically prophetic, but are also vague enough to keep Bensalem itself a mystery.  

The ending of all endings (Paris in the Twentieth Century)

Michel and Quinsonnas walked twoards the door to the outside. As they walk outside they notice that the sky has turned into a stark navy color, with stars shining brightly enough to blind a man. They were going to visit Uncle Huguenin and it had grew late amongst the tall buildings and cobblestone paths. “It's very cold don't you think Michel?” Quinsonnas asked with little interest, as if he was making light chatter.

“Well, it is winter, and the air is colder. The colors of the sky are darker and the leaves on the trees have died.” Michel responded, unthinkingly. They had finally approached Uncle Huguenin's home, it was large and covered in artistic mouldings. The brick-colored exterior had been illuminated by the shining lights of the windows. Someone was home.

Quinsonnas and Michel walked twoards the door hidden behind the bushes and prepared to knock. His hand hesitant, Quinsonnas looks at Michel, “This man is very knowledgeable and his philosophical outlook is beyond our years. Give him respect Michel, even if you don't agree with something he says.” Quinsonnas warns Michel.

Michel gives Quinsonnas a confused look, “Why sir I have only been the most grateful and humble, why would that change now?”

Quinsonnas gives Michel a sly look. His smile reaching each end of his ears, and his heavy hand starting to knock on the door loudly. Michel becomes startled, “Why are you being so loud!?” Quinsonnas's breath illuminates in the dark winds, “He's an old man and resides in the highest stories in order to ignore visitors. He won't ignore us!”

Suddenly the door opens, a woman holding a lantern stumbles into the door frame clutching it. Her dress being tripped all over, and her hair wrapped loosely in a wayward bun. “What do I owe this late night disturbance!?” She hastily and angirly spoke. Michel is suddenly enraptured by the willow-haired beauty, and becomes speechless.

Quinsonnas looks at the maiden, her disposition, and clears his throat. “Now Lucy, where is Huguenin?” The woman straightens herself, and her eyes become soft and lipid. Lucy and Quinsonnas walked twoards Hugenin who resides in a motorized wheelchair. His girth large and heavy, he wheels twoards Michel and Quinsonnas. Michel notices the paintings on the wall, “You're an artist!”

Suddenly the room becomes quiet, Quinsonnas and Lucy give Michel wide-eyed stares. Michel is confused, this was a private room and no one could be potential danger. Or, maybe Michel had become the danger.

“Uncle Huguenin! Please do not worry, he is one of my naïve fools that is hiding in secrecy with I.” Quinsonnas became quick to deter the shock and anger of the room. Huguenin's face irresponsive to the situation of being exposed as an artist.

“The boy has a large mouth, and little brain. He truly is a fool. What is your name son?” Huguenin wheeled twoards Michel, inspecting him. Michel suddenly is brought back to the room, and introduces himself to Hugenin.

“Quiqui please stop being so serious!!!!!!!” Lucy shouted, suddenly they hear loud sirens. Michel was suddenly explained to, that he was sitting at a secret artists meeting. And they had been exposed.

“There is a man at the bank who had been following me for weeks now, and he seemed suspicious but I had not realized that he could have been a spy!” Quinsonnas screamed as the entire room went animalistic.

Michel sat silently watching the entire room cry and scream, the police had finally came and the harsh cold had entered the room, numbing Michel's entire conciousness of the chaos in the room. They had been arrested.  

Final Blue Afternoon

It was a Saturday afternoon, the walls seemed grim with the light from the windows illuminating the apartment. There were boxes surrounding the couches, and furniture splayed all across the room. The clutter cornered my optimism about the future, the blue-gray sky blasting its' ugly colors into a lightless living room. We were in the process of moving out.

I must have been 14 that afternoon, summer was in the air but I wasn't feeling it. The monotonous day-to-day of summer as a young girl tortured me as I couldn't see anyone I wanted to see. My family became a burden, and a burning in my eyes. Angsty pre-teen with ignorance running through her veins, that was me that afternoon.

My mother and I were sitting at the glass table, it was one of the places where conversation was meaningful and interesting. The couch was cluttered with even more boxes, and I was forced into sitting in the chair to converse with the parental unit I had resented for putting me in this inconvenient situation.

“If you don't obey God, you get sent to Hell. You have to fear Him and follow all the rules.” My mother said during while ripping up her receipts. We had been discussing the Mayan Calendar, and it had been a topic running amuck through my middle school that year. It was summer, and I personally had not stopped talking about it.

“What do you do in Heaven? I mean, you don't have anything to strive for in heaven.” I said to her, skeptical about ever even believing that I would get into Heaven. The aftermath was the most important to me, I didn't care about how I died...just about where I ended up.
“Well, you don't have to worry about anything. You would live forever in peace.” She responded in a simplistic way. It must have been more complicated than that. I felt as if she didn't understand this idea of our afterlife as well as I had.

“Can't God forgive you in Hell and send you to Heaven?” I asked her out of curiosity. Secretly I hoped that I could be forgiven for sins I wanted to commit. I knew that I was going to rebel.

“Yes, as far as I know, you can go to Heaven if God believes that you've repented in Hell.” She explained. Her knowledge of Islam wasn't exactly spot on, but her answers made sense to me because how could one who is all-forgiving, truly not forgive someone in Hell?

“Since people who end up in Hell work for the rest of their lives, is there no end?” I finally asked.

“What? I don't know what you're talking about...” My mother became distracted by my youngest sister's whining.

Suddenly, I felt myself realizing that there was no end. No rebirth, no second-chances, no motivation to grow as a person. Eternity. Eternity. Forever. No end. No beginning. Blackness.

I felt myself imagining the blackness, the eternity in a pit of fire being tortured, and the eternity of sitting by a stream for the rest of my life. Wasn't that what I was doing right then? Just...living? Waiting for death?

“What if the Mayans were right?” I asked, panicking at the thought of finality approaching faster than the speed of light.

“Well then, you have to make sure that you don't do any more bad things. Or try not to. Keep praying, and keep asking God to forgive your mistakes.” She said casually to me.

I could feel my fingers attempt to dig into the glass table, I was young and I finally grasped the idea of eternity. It sounded fun to be immortal for a long time, but now it was the most terrifying thing. The lone light that shined on the table was burning into my skin. Nothing would matter after death, there would only be eternal pain or eternal boredom. The middle horrified me because the goal would just end up being the end point.

“Well I mean you can't get all of your sins forgiven, everyone will just go to Hell.” I reminded her of the obvious fact that everyone made mistakes. Even unforgivable ones.

“If you have more good deeds, then you'll go to Heaven, and God will forgive your sins.” She responded in black and white to me. It was one of the first things I had learned about religion, and one of the first things I must have forgotten.

Slowly I found myself getting angry, and upset. I was put on this planet against my will and now I was supposed to suffer for my mistakes? Repent for situations that would not have even happened if I had a say in my own existence?

Then, the vomit-inducing anxiety attack occurred. I was looking at the clock, hung against a stark-white wall. My head ringing, I was going to exist forever and there was no end. When the world ended, I would still exist, exist, and exist. Whether it was darkness, or some sort of place...I would exist.

I found myself struggling to breathe, I was terrified, angry and on the verge of ripping myself apart. I hate admitting it, but I wanted to mentally disable myself so that I wouldn't have to be mentally “there”.

My mother looked at me, and asked if I was okay. I wanted to cry, I finally realized that I would always be experiencing something, that there was no end. Instead of screaming though, I summed up the courage to lie and avoid drama.

“Yeah i'm fine? What would be wrong with me? I'm gonna go take a nap.” I got up, and walked towards my bedroom. Everything was blue-gray, no one bothered to turn on the lights, and my hallway had the elaborate blue rug that still scrapes my feet in my memories.

Laying on the bed that was left messy from that morning, I looked up at the window. The shrub in front of me was also poisoned by the blue-grey sky. What if I worked hard to do good deeds, and get a better eternity for myself. I thought to myself.

I'm so young, and if 2012 does not happen, I'll still have to keep being good and religious. I did love God right? I feared him, and I wanted to be the best Muslim I could be. Bad habits die hard, and I was only fourteen, saying something was different than doing something. How did others live through this realization? I couldn't possibly be the only who figured out that forever was a bad thing.

It was then, that I realized that life would be easier to endure if I just pretended like my destined fate didn't exist. Ignorance was bliss, and my silence about the future would keep me at peace.  

I woke up the next morning, with a clearer mind. My muddy beliefs about life were consoling and I realized that in order to enjoy life, you had to appreciate the life you have. Worrying about the after-life was only futile and a waste of time. Life is much more satisfying at an optimistic angle!

Revised Memoir #2

It was a Saturday afternoon, the walls seemed grim with the light from the windows illuminating the apartment. There were boxes surrounding the couches, and furniture splayed all across the room. The clutter cornered my optimism about the future, the blue-gray sky blasting its' ugly colors into a lightless living room. We were in the process of moving out.

I must have been 14 that afternoon, summer was in the air but I wasn't feeling it. The monotonous day-to-day of summer as a young girl tortured me as I couldn't see anyone I wanted to see. My family became a burden, and a burning in my eyes. Angsty pre-teen with ignorance running through her veins, that was me that afternoon.

My mother and I were sitting at the glass table, it was one of the places where conversation was meaningful and interesting. The couch was cluttered with even more boxes, and I was forced into sitting in the chair to converse with the parental unit I had resented for putting me in this inconvenient situation.

“If you don't obey God, you get sent to Hell. You have to fear Him and follow all the rules.” My mother said during while ripping up her receipts. We had been discussing the Mayan Calendar, and it had been a topic running amuck through my middle school that year. It was summer, and I personally had not stopped talking about it.

“What do you do in Heaven? I mean, you don't have anything to strive for in heaven.” I said to her, skeptical about ever even believing that I would get into Heaven. The aftermath was the most important to me, I didn't care about how I died...just about where I ended up.
“Well, you don't have to worry about anything. You would live forever in peace.” She responded in a simplistic way. It must have been more complicated than that. I felt as if she didn't understand this idea of our afterlife as well as I had.

“Can't God forgive you in Hell and send you to Heaven?” I asked her out of curiosity. Secretly I hoped that I could be forgiven for sins I wanted to commit. I knew that I was going to rebel.

“Yes, as far as I know, you can go to Heaven if God believes that you've repented in Hell.” She explained. Her knowledge of Islam wasn't exactly spot on, but her answers made sense to me because how could one who is all-forgiving, truly not forgive someone in Hell?

“Since people who end up in Hell work for the rest of their lives, is there no end?” I finally asked.

“What? I don't know what you're talking about...” My mother became distracted by my youngest sister's whining.

Suddenly, I felt myself realizing that there was no end. No rebirth, no second-chances, no motivation to grow as a person. Eternity. Eternity. Forever. No end. No beginning. Blackness.

I felt myself imagining the blackness, the eternity in a pit of fire being tortured, and the eternity of sitting by a stream for the rest of my life. Wasn't that what I was doing right then? Just...living? Waiting for death?

“What if the Mayans were right?” I asked, panicking at the thought of finality approaching faster than the speed of light.

“Well then, you have to make sure that you don't do any more bad things. Or try not to. Keep praying, and keep asking God to forgive your mistakes.” She said casually to me.

I could feel my fingers attempt to dig into the glass table, I was young and I finally grasped the idea of eternity. It sounded fun to be immortal for a long time, but now it was the most terrifying thing. The lone light that shined on the table was burning into my skin. Nothing would matter after death, there would only be eternal pain or eternal boredom. The middle horrified me because the goal would just end up being the end point.

“Well I mean you can't get all of your sins forgiven, everyone will just go to Hell.” I reminded her of the obvious fact that everyone made mistakes. Even unforgivable ones.

“If you have more good deeds, then you'll go to Heaven, and God will forgive your sins.” She responded in black and white to me. It was one of the first things I had learned about religion, and one of the first things I must have forgotten.

Slowly I found myself getting angry, and upset. I was put on this planet against my will and now I was supposed to suffer for my mistakes? Repent for situations that would not have even happened if I had a say in my own existence?

Then, the vomit-inducing anxiety attack occurred. I was looking at the clock, hung against a stark-white wall. My head ringing, I was going to exist forever and there was no end. When the world ended, I would still exist, exist, and exist. Whether it was darkness, or some sort of place...I would exist.

I found myself struggling to breathe, I was terrified, angry and on the verge of ripping myself apart. I hate admitting it, but I wanted to mentally disable myself so that I wouldn't have to be mentally “there”.

My mother looked at me, and asked if I was okay. I wanted to cry, I finally realized that I would always be experiencing something, that there was no end. Instead of screaming though, I summed up the courage to lie and avoid drama.

“Yeah i'm fine? What would be wrong with me? I'm gonna go take a nap.” I got up, and walked towards my bedroom. Everything was blue-gray, no one bothered to turn on the lights, and my hallway had the elaborate blue rug that still scrapes my feet in my memories.

Laying on the bed that was left messy from that morning, I looked up at the window. The shrub in front of me was also poisoned by the blue-grey sky. What if I worked hard to do good deeds, and get a better eternity for myself. I thought to myself.

I'm so young, and if 2012 does not happen, I'll still have to keep being good and religious. I did love God right? I feared him, and I wanted to be the best Muslim I could be. Bad habits die hard, and I was only fourteen, saying something was different than doing something. How did others live through this realization? I couldn't possibly be the only who figured out that forever was a bad thing.

It was then, that I realized that life would be easier to endure if I just pretended like my destined fate didn't exist. Ignorance was bliss, and my silence about the future would keep me at peace.  

Blue Afternoon

It was a Saturday afternoon, the walls seemed grim with the light from the windows illuminating the apartment. There were boxes surrounding the couches, and furniture splayed all across the room. The clutter cornered my optimism about the future, the blue-gray sky blasting its' ugly colors into a lightless living room.

I must have been 14 that afternoon, summer was in the air but I wasn't feeling it. The monotonous day-to-day of summer as a young girl tortured me as I couldn't see anyone I wanted to see. My family became a burden, and a burning in my eyes. Angsty pre-teen with ignorance running through her veins, that was me that afternoon.

My mother and I were sitting at the glass table, it was one of the places where conversation was meaningful and interesting. The couch was cluttered with even more boxes, and I was forced into sitting in the chair to converse with the parental unit I had resented for putting me in this inconvenient life.

“If you don't obey God, you get sent to Hell. You have to fear Him and follow all the rules.” My mother said during while ripping up her receipts. Cleaning out a purse seemed like the most menial chore in existence, but it was needed to be done.

“What do you do in Heaven? I mean, you don't have anything to strive for in heaven.” I said to her, skeptical about ever even believing that I would get into Heaven.
“Well, you don't have to worry about anything. You would live forever in peace.” She responded in a simplistic way. It must have been more complicated than that.

“Can't God forgive you in Hell and send you to Heaven?” I asked her out of curiosity.

“Yes, as far as I know, you can go to Heaven if God believes that you've repented in Hell.” She explained. Her knowledge of Islam wasn't exactly spot on, but her answers made sense to me because how could one who is all-forgiving, truly not forgive someone in Hell?

“Since people who end up in Hell work for the rest of their lives, is there no end?” I finally asked.

“What? I don't know what you're talking about...” My mother became distracted by my youngest sister's whining.

Suddenly, I felt myself realizing that there was no end. No rebirth, no second-chances, no motivation to grow as a person. Eternity. Eternity. Forever. No end. No beginning. Blackness.

I felt myself imagining the blackness, the eternity in a pit of fire being tortured, and the eternity of sitting by a stream for the rest of my life. Wasn't that what I was doing right then? Just...living? Waiting for death?

“What if the Mayans were right?” I asked, panicking at the thought of finality approaching faster than the speed of light.

“Well then, you have to make sure that you don't do any more bad things. Or try not to. Keep praying, and keep asking God to forgive your mistakes.” She said casually to me.

I could feel my fingers attempt to dig into the glass table, I was young and I finally grasped the idea of eternity. It sounded fun to be immortal for a long time, but now it was the most terrifying thing. The lone light that shined on the table was burning into my skin. Nothing would matter after death, there would only be eternal pain or eternal boredom. The middle horrified me because the goal would just end up being the end point.

“Well I mean you can't get all of your sins forgiven, everyone will just go to Hell.” I reminded her of the obvious fact that everyone made mistakes. Even unforgivable ones.

“If you have more good deeds, then you'll go to Heaven, and God will forgive your sins.” She responded in black and white to me. It was one of the first things I had learned about religion, and one of the first things I must have forgotten.

Slowly I found myself getting angry, and upset. I was put on this planet against my will and now I was supposed to suffer for my mistakes? Repent for situations that would not have even happened if I had a say in my own existence?

Then, the vomit-inducing anxiety attack occurred. I was looking at the clock, hung against a stark-white wall. My head ringing, I was going to exist forever and there was no end. When the world ended, I would still exist, exist, and exist. Whether it was darkness, or some sort of place...I would exist.

I found myself struggling to breathe, I was terrified, angry and on the verge of ripping myself apart. I hate admitting it, but I wanted to mentally disable myself so that I wouldn't have to be mentally “there”.

My mother looked at me, and asked if I was okay. I wanted to cry, I finally realized that I would always be experiencing something, that there was no end. Instead of screaming though, I summed up the courage to lie and avoid drama.

“Yeah i'm fine? What would be wrong with me? I'm gonna go take a nap.” I got up, and walked towards my bedroom. Everything was blue-gray, no one bothered to turn on the lights, and my hallway had the elaborate blue rug that still scrapes my feet in my memories.

Laying on the bed that was left messy from that morning, I looked up at the window. The shrub in front of me was also poisoned by the blue-grey sky. What if I worked hard to do good deeds, and get a better eternity for myself. I thought to myself.

I'm so young, and if 2012 does not happen, I'll still have to keep being good and religious. I did love God right? I feared him, and I wanted to be the best Muslim I could be. Bad habits die hard, and I was only fourteen, saying something was different than doing something. How did others live through this realization? I couldn't possibly be the only who figured out that forever was a bad thing.

It was then, that I realized that life would be easier to endure if I just pretended like my destined fate didn't exist. Live without thinking about things that gave me anxiety, and try to be a good person.

I shut my eyes, hoping that after death comes life again. Rebirth and no ending to the world. Ignorance is bliss.  

Oedipus the Opera vs the original text

While being in different formats, Oedipus the Opera version does fufill the expectations of the text. In fact it goes beyond text and creates several different layers to the characters. One thing that is very vibrant about Oedipus the opera is that there is a rock solid man constantly performing throughout the opera in the background. He gives the character of Oedipus depth by being the inner Oedipus. This character becomes an improvisation to the play and becomes someone whos actions speak louder than words. By the end of the play, once Oedipus's lineage is revealed, the inner Oedipus becomes naked, bare with the truth shining through the cracks of his costume. This was the true difference between the two because it creates depth and ulterior meaning to 2d words. Oedipus the text gives more detail to the story, and includes very deep and conflicting situations between Oedipus and his peers who change his character through the story. We are deprived of some interactions with minor characters in the Opera, and are immediately shifted to Jocasta's suicide and left with little interest of what we missed out on. The text is very long with flowery words, and does seem to draw a reader away from interest, this Opera uses the text in an artistic way to keep a viewer engaged. The text is revered for its' conflicting topic of incest and draws in interested readers, but the Opera is the one that successfully keeps viewers interested in the story line.

Novel opening

The woman, dressed in black, holding the straps of her purse close to her heart waited patiently for the figure on the otherside of the bridge. It was broad daylight, her dress was dramatic and the heat beated on her delicate head as punishment. He wasn't coming. Maybe god had finally punished her for desecrating a blessed union, it didn't matter to her, the woman had plans of her own. The park's bridge was elaborately designed, hovering over a stream of water, a poor excuse for a gondala ride. It was deserted, the park had been empty and sand the color of ash flew constantly. The sound of a waterfountain distracted her, but there was none to be found. Chatter of geese and ducks kept her looking straight forward to her goal. Patiently waiting. He had become frightened of her request the day before, as she begged him to finally run away with her. She lingered on the expression he had given her that day, and realized that there was no man at the end of the bridge. Just a dream that had finally whithered away and had taken along her soul with. She walked twoards the metal bridge, and knew she couldn't drown. Though she wondered how sharp it would be from the bottom.