|Reviews for A collection of Snippets|
| Crystalynn 6/4/11 . chapter 1
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell just as sweet."
In posing that question, even by way of his character, Shakespeare pondered something none ever truly defined. And most, less talented artists, never dared.
In a name there is everything, yet at the same time nothing.
In our names, exists the person our parents dreamt we would be: the shell we shed at adulthood. Their dreams. Our shackles.
In our name lies reassurance. The Peacock I wish were my own. It would mean he was mine. It would mean I would not be alone. Yet even that, relies on a signed piece of paper, stating we are married.
Nothing lies in any name, it could be said, unless that name were truly chosen by its owner. And even then, it fails to encompass all that he was, is, or ever can be. All names fail their purpose. And so, all are meaningless. Senseless.
And in the end, valueless. Until, of course, we assign value to that name. "Ferrin was the name given me by the one I love." That belief alone has made his name suiting and valuable. When one is fond of their parents, perhaps birth names have value as well.
But the great philosophers have always pondered, how does one call a river a river, when that river is always flowing, always changing. It seems arrogant to me, to try to force a title onto anything, especially that which lives, grows and changes.
You force female onto me. You tell me I should be proud of my curves and subservient to my white male counterparts. I tell you to shove it.
So perhaps it is not the name that truly matters, but what it may or may not imply.
In the end it is only the person that matters. You are not your name. You seem to realize this, since you go by so many. There's something deeper there. A value which no title could ever hope to encompass.
Yet so many chase titles as if they were the answer. Well there is no answer. You can cling to your title of "mother" or your title of "white, heterosexual male." But in the end you are only cheating yourself.
And well. Let's just say this story got me thinking. And that is very valuable. Entertainment is cheap. Thought-provoking art, however, holds immeasurable value. Hence why Shakespeare remains immortal and Stephanie Meyer will fizzle out like the cheap thrills she creates.