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          Perspective is a powerful tool. A story can completely change depending on who is telling it and what that character's angle is. One of my favorite quotes of all time by Vijayendra Mohanty is "He bested the heroes, killed the defenders, overtook the world. Then he killed the narrator and he was the villain no more." I love this because it reminds me that the world, and the stories that tell us about the world, are not black and white. They are not necessarily set in stone, they can be delved into and thought about and changed, depending on whose side we look at. For example, there is a children's book told from the point of view of the big bad wolf, the book-turned-Broadway-musical Wicked is the wicked witch of the west's story of Oz, even the movie Shrek is told from the perspective of the big, bad ogre instead  of the typical lovely princess trapped in a tower. Why are we so interested in the opposite perspective? I think it has to do with our fascination in story and the maybe subconscious feeling that it isn't right to look at just one side of something.
         

          When I initially thought about the subject of my Think Piece 2, I wasn't coming up with anything that was really capturing my interest. I had really enjoyed The One and Only Ivan, but found that I had nothing that I wanted to think about in depth. Then in our small group discussion, we discussed how the book might have been different had Mack been the main character of focus rather than Ivan. His actions in the book seem cruel and hard to justify, but what don't we know, as readers? What, if anything, could make his character easier to understand? Is it possible to justify his actions?
 

          With these questions in mind, I decide to undertake the task of making Mack a more understandable character. I reread the book, highlighting Mack's name every time it appeared in the text. I took extensive notes on the backstory we're given and his dialogue during the book. The hardest part was deciding where to start, which chapter to rewrite. Eventually I just jumped in and it took off. I definitely could have kept going; in fact, I'm a little surprised I didn't just rewrite the entire book. It was challenging but definitely fun to stretch my mind and continue to ask myself, "What would Mack do?"  In the end, I'm happy with what I came up with, and I surprised myself with the things I had to make up (which I will admit felt a little uncomfortable at first). I tried to write it in similar style to the original story, with choppy sentences and more reflection than dialogue. I enjoyed this assignment a lot more than I thought I would, and hopefully you do, too.





The One and Only Mack

Tired
"Exit 8 Big Top Mall and Video Arcade, conveniently located off I-95, with shows at two, four, and seven, three hundred and sixty five days a year, this is Mack, how can I help you?"
The man at the other end of the line coughs. "Sorry, wrong num-" and hangs up midsentence.
I sigh and stare out the small, dirty window. Though the 7:00 show is over for the day, I'm still here, trying to figure out a way out of this mess.
Maybe the jig is up. After so many years running this little big top, maybe it's all over for me. Maybe I should've listened to Helen when she said I was chasing a pipe dream that was never going to happen.
But it did happen. People loved Ivan, loved the little animal refuge, conveniently located right off the highway. What had changed? When had I become obsolete?
I look over at my ridiculous clown suit and tricycle. What have I become?
I pick up my bottle and take a swig.



Sympathy
When I stumble out of my office, I see that the night cleaner, George, is already here, sweeping up the day's mess: candy wrappers and popcorn bags and crumbs. I nod and then walk over to Ivan, stare at him through the glass.
Ivan tilts his head, looks back at me affectionately. His sad eyes seem to be telling me something, but hell if I know what it is.
I realize George is next to me, leaning on his broom. "How about that game last night?" I ask lazily, and he nods. Probably knows I didn't actually watch it.
I see him looking around, probably noting the diminishing amount of cleanup he has to do every night. "Business has been slow," I admit. "But it'll get  better, you'll see."
"I'm sure it will, Mack," he smiles at me with sad, knowing eyes and then resumes his sweeping.
I turn back toward my office, tossing a, "Don't forget to empty the trash," behind me. He doesn't respond. He shouldn't. I know he knows how to do his job.
I see George's kid, his little girl, focusing intently on her drawing. She's usually here with him, and I don't mind. Seems like a good kid. Quiet, likes to look at the animals. At least there's someone left who likes to do that.
"What're you making?" I ask. I'm not that interested, but if it delays going home, why not?
"It's for my mom." She answers me confidently. "It's a flying dog." She holds it up for me to see, studying it herself. "She likes airplanes. And dogs."
"Hmm," I say, still not very interested. I look over at George. "How's the wife doing, anyway?"
Sara used to come, too, help George clean the place. But she got cancer a few years back and is too sick to work.
"About the same," George answers sadly. "She has good days and bad days."
Sounded familiar. "Yeah, don't we all." I replied, lost in my own torrent of thought.
I'm almost back to my office when I realize that may have been insensitive. I pull a five dollar bill out of my pocket.
"Here," I press it into George's hand. "Buy the kid some more crayons." I shrug like it's no big deal- it isn't, really.
I've gathered my coat and tossed my empty bottle in the trash when I hear George yell, "Thanks!"

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Home Sweet Home
When I walk through the door, the smell of old garbage hits my nose full force.
"Ugh," I groan. How could I have forgotten to take the trash out?
I lug the overfull bag to the cans behind the garage and then make my way back to the house. I don't look around at the scraggly grass that needs to be cut, the piles of wood for a long-forgotten playhouse for Ivan, the boxes of empty bottles that need to be taken to the recycling facility.
Inside, I wrench the freezer door open and grab a frozen dinner without looking at the box to see what it is. Using a dirty fork I left in the sink yesterday, I stab a few holes in the plastic and toss it in the microwave. I face the window, thinking about Helen.
We met in college. She was studying biology, I wanted to major in theater and become an actor. I loved performing when I was young- starred in almost every musical at my high school, sang in the show choir, the whole business.
When I got offered a summer job with a traveling circus, I took it. College was expensive and this would be a great way to make some extra money- travel around, meet people, perform. But when the summer was over, I stayed- the circus had drawn me in, I loved it. I juggled and mimed and sometimes lead the animals through their paces. Man, I loved working with the animals, performing for huge crowds under the big top. Helen dropped out soon after I did, joined me on the road. I proposed in the middle of my act and we got married a few weeks later before the afternoon show.
After I busted up my knee (well, technically, the elephant did it), I couldn't do my routine anymore, and they couldn't afford to keep me on in a different position. So we headed back to Tacoma, started working for a man who ran a cheesy mall circus.
When the owner died, Helen and I were surprised to find out he left everything to us- the mall, the few animals he had, and some pretty massive debt. Still, I was happy- able to do what I loved and stay in one place with Helen, finally my own boss, running the show. I invested in a few more animals, bigger than the ones we had, started advertising on billboards and on the radio. People came from all over the state and beyond to see the show.
We bought Ivan and I couldn't bear to leave him in his cage all night, poor little guy, so he came home with us. He was a great companion. Helen would get bent out of shape sometimes, as Ivan had a tendency to break things, but overall, I'd say those were probably the best times in my life. Of course, eventually, Ivan got too big to live in our home, and that- plus the continuously mounting debt of the Exit 8 Big Top Mall- drove Helen away. I still remember the day she packed her things and left.
The phone rings, distracting me from my thoughts.
"Exit ei- hello?" I say gruffly.
"Mack, it's Wes. Listen, I need your rent check, man. I know things are tight but I've got my own bills to pay. I can't let it slide anymore," my landlord says.
I sigh, pulling my hardly recognizable salisbury steak out of the microwave.
"Okay, Wes. I'll get it in the mail tomorrow, okay?" I answer.
"It'd better be tomorrow, Mack. I like you, but..." he pauses. "Anyway, just make sure it's in the mail."
I slam the phone down and grab a beer, then, on second thought, grab another. I take my dinner into the living room, flip on the game. The Mariners are losing- again- and I mute it. I stab my fork into the runny potatoes and stare listlessly at the silent tv.
The phone rings again.
I ignore it.



A Way Out
A few days later, I get a tip about a baby elephant that's available from a circus that has just gone bankrupt out west. I make a few calls, and Ruby is on her way to Tacoma.
People love baby animals, and a baby elephant is just what we need for business to pick up again. Ivan's lost his magic and Stella isn't in the greatest shape anymore. Ruby is going to get us back on track.
She finally arrives.
I rush out of my office. "Stand back, everyone!" I yell. "We've got a new arrival. This is Ruby, folks. Six hundred pounds of fun to save our sorry butts. This gal is gonna sell some tickets."
We climb up into the truck to get Ruby, but she's stubborn and scared and she refuses to budge.
"Dammit, Ruby, let's go!" I yell at her. I've got at least ten other things to do.
After a lot of useless shouting and pulling on the thing, I end up leading Stella into the truck. I try not to watch as she slowly makes her way up the ramp. I know there's something wrong with her foot, but I just don't have the money to fix it right now.
Finally, Stella leads Ruby to her cage. I grab a broom to get them in there and slam the door shut.
The next day, I grab George and we head out to the billboard. I found a picture of a baby elephant to add to the sign so that people will know about our newest addition.
We put it up and then admire our work. It doesn't look much like Ruby, but honestly, who will notice? The elephant on the sign is smiling, beckoning people in.
This had better work.









         I learned a lot from this exercise. There are two main aspects I'd like to focus on here. First, I think this kind of close study and imitation inevitably leads to a greater understanding of the character in question. Mack is the only real possibility of a "bad guy" in this story, but even before I read all of this, that idea didn't sit well with me. To me, the initial reading of this story led me to feel that he was a misunderstood, desperate man at the end of his rope. After pulling out every scrap of information about him mentioned in the book, this hunch was supported. I tried to write Mack in a believable way, as someone relatable. I feel I really could have done a lot more with this, as I mentioned. He isn't an evil man, he's just been through a lot in his life and now he's struggling to keep his business running. Of course this doesn't excuse his cruelty, but it does explain it a little, and from the little clues Katherine Applegate gave us throughout the story, I think it's on track with her vision of Mack.



          The second aspect of my learning has to do with my own style of writing. The short sentences and choppy style are certainly not the way I usually write, but I felt that my take on Mack should match Ivan's narration. I also felt that, like Ivan, Mack was not a man of many flowery words. This was a challenge for me because it took me out of my wordy comfort zone, but in the end, I think the way I wrote it makes sense. It was fun to push myself to write this way and I realized that different writing styles should be in my toolbox as a writer.

          I connected with The One and Only Ivan and Katherine Applegate more than any other book we read this quarter. Even though she'll never read my interpretation of Mack's character, I feel that I understand her and her writing better than I ever could have before this assignment. To me, we have a personal connection. Applegate mentioned during the question and answer session of the Children's Literature Conference that a valuable exercise for a hopeful writer is to take a book you love and type it out, word for word. By doing so, you get the feel for how they pace themselves, the word choices they make, and their style. Although I did a lot more than this, I feel the result was the same. I spent a lot of time thinking, "how can I make this sound like she wrote it?" and "What word would she have used here?" and "Why did she mention this? Should I go in depth more? I think she knows more to the story than she's mentioning." It helped me as a writer get a feel for how a professional does it, even though I'm nowhere near her level.

          I would do this all again, and I think maybe I will. Perhaps I will read another story, discover another misunderstood character, and feel the need to give them a voice. In the meantime, maybe I'll work on completing Mack's story. If I don't, who will?













Author's Note: This piece was my most heavily revised work from the quarter. I'm also the most proud of it. I took note of what you said about wanting to hear more of my thinking about what I learned from writing it, so I added a pretty long conclusion to explain that. I also revised the opening paragraph because it felt incomplete. I made a few minor changes to the story itself, but it is largely the same.