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Shaun Wayman
Dr. Gwen Tarbox
Engl 5830 Multicultural Adolescent Literature
4 June 2012
Essay 1
Determined Indeterminacy
Walter Dean Myers’ Monster, ends in an indeterminate fashion. This is a qualified
indeterminacy though. Technically, the novel ends ambiguously; much is left to the reader’s
imagination. However, a close reading of the text lends itself to a fairly clear understanding of
what Myers would like the reader to take away from Steve Harmon’s life.
The indeterminate ending of Monster is set up from the beginning. This mystery is
largely due to the conflict of self that the protagonist explores from the first page through the
last page. The reader is introduced to Steve Harmon through his personal journal on page one
and told, “When I look into the small rectangle, I see a face looking aback at me but I don’t
recognize it. It doesn’t look like me.” Harmon does not recognize the face looking back at him
in the mirror of his jail cell. He does not know who he is. There is a conflict of self established
immediately. Later, on page four, he intimates that he will have to “give up what is real and
take up something else.” He wishes he can “make sense of it.” The idea of giving up what is real
highlights the notion that there is a lack of clarity in the direction of Harmon’s life. He leaves
the reader with the same questions as he has for himself: Is Steve Harmon a monster? Is he
guilty of murder? Who is Steve Harmon? And, most importantly, who will he become?
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These questions are consistent throughout the text. Harmon does not just attempt to
answer them for himself, but from the perspective of those closest to him. He thinks about
O’Brien’s perspective of him and desperately describes how he could “show” her: “Miss O’Brien
looked at me—I didn’t see her looking at me but I knew she was. She wanted to know who I
was. Who was Steve Harmon? I wanted to open my shirt and tell her to look into my heart to
see who I really was, who the real Steve Harmon was” (92). This passage underscores both the
fact that he is unable to physically “show” his innocence to her, but also the fact that he is
fundamentally focused on answering the question: who is Steve Harmon?
Additionally, even after the trial is over and he is proven innocent in the court of law, his
father is unsure of who Steve is. Harmon writes in his journal that his father “moved away, and
the distance between us seemed to grow bigger and bigger…. My father is no longer sure who I
am. He doesn’t understand me…. [and his father] wonders what else he doesn’t know” (280281). This passage fails to establish Steve’s innocence in his father’s mind. His father is left
wondering about not only his son’s innocence and/or guilt, but he is left wondering about who
Steve Harmon is as a person. In fact, the epilogue actually enhances the ambiguity of who
Steve Harmon is and whether or not he is guilty. The final line of the novel is a question: “What
did she see?” (281). Clearly the “she” is a reference to his lawyer, but one can see this
question directed to multiple people: to his father, to himself, but most importantly we can see
this question directed to the reader.
Structurally, the aesthetics of the novel also lend itself to ambiguity. The novel bends
genres. Steve Harmon’s story is given to the reader in the form of personal journal, a
screenplay, through a set of images, as well as through text presented as images. Muddying
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the waters further, is the fact Steve explains that his lawyer has told him his journal is fair game
for the prosecution. Therefore, the reader understands that Steve understands that his most
private of thoughts are not, in fact, private, and more importantly, they can be used against
him. Additionally, Harmon is aware of how film can be used to manipulate what the viewer
“sees.” One primary example of this manipulation occurs just before our protagonist is told the
verdict. Harmon builds tension by cutting to “Stuart portrait of George Washington on right
wall,” cutting to “New York State flag. Then: American flag,” cutting to “motto over [the
judge’s] desk (263-264). Harmon is open about this manipulation. He says that “nothing is
real… except the panic. The panic and the movies that [he keeps] editing… making the scenes
right. Sharpening the dialog” (271). The essence of this admission is that Steve recognizes the
overt exploitation of the different genres he is working with, the stage directions and text from
the screenplay, as well as the personal journal. Furthermore, because the images and textual
images exist outside of Steve’s control, the author can be seen as part of this ruse as well. As a
result of these overt manipulations, the reader is left on unstable ground.
Having stated all of this, it might seem strange to argue the converse as true as well.
While it is clear that on the surface Myers is fundamentally interested in leaving the reader with
a set of questions, highlighted by the novel’s undetermined ending, the overwhelming
didacticism of Myers’ intentions is all too apparent. The protagonist never crosses thresholds
of no return, so to speak. Moreover, the overt nature of lessons that Steve Harmon learns gives
credence to the idea that there is not any ambiguity as to how he will turn out. The text
strongly suggests that while Mr. Harmon may struggle emotionally with these early events in
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his life, he will survive. He will rise above his surroundings and successfully separate himself
from the ghetto mentality of the peers that placed him in harm’s way.
Early on in the trial, O’Brien remarks that the strategy of Mr. Briggs is to associate his
client and fellow defendant with Harmon. This association with ghetto hoodlums is why
Harmon is on trial to begin with. Harmon is concerned that the jury will not see any difference
between those involved—James King, Bobo, and Arturo Cruz—and himself. The author allows
very little room for connections though. Steve Harmon is shown to be with these men;
however his actions are fundamentally different. He is never perceived as “ghetto.” One telling
examples occurs early on in a flashback scene on a stoop on 141st Street. There are garbage
cans overflowing and Steve is sitting with what most would consider representing the worst of
the ghetto. One man is smoking a blunt. Another man’s speech, who is also a fellow
defendant, is “almost a drawl,” code words indicating that his speech is inflected with dialect,
and also suggests he could be high on drugs. Steve Harmon is never implicated in the drug use
of his peers. One more woman is described as obese and is given a simple name, “Peaches.”
The content of her speech never leaves the stereotypical. She complains of cuts to social
security: “They talking about cutting welfare, cutting Social Security, and anything else that
makes life a little easy” (50). Notice the drop of the verb “are,” clearly signifying African
American Vernacular Dialect. The affect, however, is that it simplifies her character.
Richard Evans’ description is also problematic. During the trial Mr. Evans is described as
“a big man, heavy, and ugly. His hair is uncombed, and his orange prison jumpsuit is wrinkled”
(172). His street name is Bobo, his name and description suggests that of a clown. (I am
convinced that the kind of physiognomy used to describe both Bobo and Peaches would be
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rightly maligned as racist, had the text been published in the 1800’s.) In response to the
prosecutor’s question as to how long he has known Mr. King and Mr. Harmon he responds, “I
been knowing King all my life” (175). Again, the use of “been” as a substitute for “have known”
suggests AAVE, but it is given pejoratively. There is nothing redeeming about his character and
everything about him is simplified. To further the stereotype, Bobo explains that after the
murder he and King “went down to that chicken joint over Lenox Avenue [where] we got some
fried chicken” (180). To be clear, the ugly clown man who could care less about his life, killed a
man then went down to the chicken joint to eat fried chicken. This kind of overt stereotyping is
hard to ignore.
Steve’s speech and actions show none of this “ghetto” behavior. From the beginning,
he is interested in self-analysis, interested in the arts and language, and interested in bettering
his life; in short, he does not engage in the violence, the drugs, and the language of the streets.
He has placed himself in the company of bad men and is paying the price, but he is intellectually
and psychically beyond them. He has a college educated father. Steve’s film teacher believes
in him because he has produced quality work, thereby indicating his academic success. The
entire book is a testament to Steve’s work ethic intellectual abilities. Let us also not forget that
he successfully navigates the judicial system as well. Aside from the fact that he is a person of
color and lives in Harlem, he is nothing like the other men. Harmon’s present moment is an
unfamiliar place to that of Cruz, King, Bobo, and the other ghettoized characters. It is clear that
Steve’s future will not be mired in the throes of the ghetto. This message is not hidden. While
the reader leaves the text questioning some of Steve’s choices in regards to who he hung out
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with for a short period of time in his life, there is not any confusion to who he will become.
Thus, while on the surface the text seems undetermined, a close reading reveals otherwise.
To be sure, Myers is interested in his readership making reflective choices about their
lives. The structure of the novel lends itself to questioning oneself and one’s actions. The
undetermined ending exemplifies this ambiguity. However, Myers guides a consistent answer
to the protagonist’s questions, Who am I? and What will I become? Steve Harmon is different,
and he has a future. This is a success of which the reader can be certain. Therefore, the
ambiguity of the ending, the ambiguity of the different genres at play, as well as the conflict of
Steve Harmon’s identity crisis, does not outweigh the heavy handed didacticism of the text and
leaves no room for doubt as to Myers intended interpretation of the novel.
Essay 2
Institutional Language= Power
Roberta Seelinger Trites’ argues in Disturbing the Universe that much of adolescent
literature is “dedicated to depicting how potentially out-of-control adolescents can learn to
exist within institutional structures” (7). This existence is repressive as well as liberating.
Language manipulation is key in determining one’s ability to function within the institution. The
protagonists of Myers’ Monster and Na’s A Step From Heaven clearly gain power as they use
language to navigate the institutional forces at play in their lives.
Young Ju in A Step From Heaven experiences the institutionalized norm of paternal
abuse early on in her life. This abuse manifests itself across generations. The second page of
the text makes it known that all three women in the Park house have reason to fear: “Halmoni
(grandma) can only shake her head when Apa (Halmoni’s son and Young Ju’s father) comes
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home [drunk]… She hides with Uhmma and me. Because when Apa is too quiet with the
squinty eye, it is better to hide… or there will be breaking everywhere” (8). The point of this
passage is that the grandmother, the wife, and the daughter all fear Apa. His outbursts can
only be controlled by Harabugi, the grandfather who passed away. The family does not
attempt to involve the greater social forces designated to protect them- the police, or other
institutions. Therefore, it is not a stretch to assume that this behavior is both specific to Young
Ju’s family, as well as condoned in the broader schema of their rural Korean village. The
women are subservient and powerless physically; they have no one to turn to but other men. It
is a repressive power that dictates a paternal control of women.
Concurrent to this early realization, the reader is also made aware of Young Ju’s
linguistic curiosity. Young Ju engages the world around her in very specific ways. Her
fascination with eyes signifies an intimate specificity with the world. She identifies her father’s
anger with a “squinty eye” (8). She differentiates between Korean eyes and Westerner’s eyes
calling the latter, “money eyes” (9). Her grandfather “has sleepy eyes like cats in the sun… nice
eyes” (9), and her Uhing Kel Thim (Uncle Tim) has “daytime, sun is shining, sky color eyes” (24).
This kind of specificity details Young Ju’s linguistic awareness, and it transcends the Korean
language/English language divide. When learning English she acutely understands that it will
take time for her mouth “to make those words” (24).
Interestingly, we see Young Ju’s focus on language even during the abuse. During one of
Apa’s violent episodes against his wife, Young Ju holds on to rudimentary English in order to
soothe herself. Apa slaps Uhmma and Uhmma “covers her lip with her hand. A little blood
comes out…. [Young Ju’s] tears are falling” and she [says] letters... ABCDEFG” (35). Ultimately,
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it will be her mastery of English that allows her to navigate the social structures and forces
repressing her.
Young Ju learns to use language to gain power and to work within institutional forces.
The most striking example of this liberation occurs when she and Apa have to go to the
Immigration Office. They walk into the office and “Apa leads. [Young Ju] stays behind” (82).
However, he cannot read the signs and is lost quickly. Young Ju calls him and [points] “in the
opposite direction. Apa rubs the back of his neck and starts back” (82). Now, it is Young Ju’s
time to lead and “Apa stays a step behind” (82). Young Ju, additionally, acts as liaison with the
agent and Apa is reduced to a child’s status, barely capable of communicating and, again, being
lead by his daughter. At the next window, Apa simply “hands over [her] green card to the
young black men and while reading the card. [He says to her], ‘So, Young Ju, you’re turning
thirteen.’ He lowers the card. ‘Did I say your name right?’ [Young Ju] can’t help smiling and
nodding” (86). This kind of banter between Young Ju and the agent is incomprehensible to her
father and marginalizes him. Conversely, it pleases Young Ju and illustrates how she is able to
successfully navigate the Immigration Office bureaucracy.
More importantly, the act of Apa walking behind his daughter is culturally significant. It
shows Apa’s subservience and is a liberatory act for Young Ju. It will also, eventually, enable
Young Ju to stand up to her father and send him to jail by calling the police during his most
violent outburst against his daughter and his wife later in the book. This is something her
grandmother and mother were never able to do and can be seen as the ultimate act of
liberation using institutional forces.
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As a young black man, Steve Harmon in Monster faces pressures that white inmates do
not. His lawyer explains that “half of those jurors, no matter what they said when we
questioned them… believed you…. You’re young, you’re black, and you’re on trial. What else
do they need to know?” (78-79). This is a harsh dose of reality for Harmon, but like Young Ju, he
also uses language to successfully exist within the institutional structures in his life. And, his
journal and screen play allow him to document, navigate, and manipulate these experiences.
One telling example of this education occurs before Steve is to go on the stand. O’Brien
coaches him and allows him to explore how answers should be formed: “When I like the
answers you give me, I’ll leave the cup facing up. When I don’t like the answers, I’ll turn it
upside down. You figure out what’s wrong with the answer you gave me” (218). Harmon has
to discover the answers. They must be his words. We see how Harmon is educated, as well as
how he is able to successfully navigate and manipulate the justice system. His eventual
innocence indicates this success.
The intricacies of the judicial system are thoroughly described in Steve’s journal and
screenplay. At one point a guard jokes and calls the case “a motion case. They go through the
motions; then they lock them up” (14). This is a satirical joke, but it is fairly complex as well.
One must understand the legal jargon, “motion case,” to understand the guard’s dark humor.
The job of the defense attorneys, the prosecutor, the mortician, the stenographer, the police
officers, and others is also fully described. The closing arguments of all three lawyers are fully
given; there are nearly 24 pages devoted to them. Clearly, the justice system’s complexities are
on full display throughout the text. As a matter of fact, in the interview in the appendix, Myers
is clear that in writing the book that he attended many trials and had numerous “conversations
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with criminal defense lawyers, judges and prosecutors” (10). Myers also explains that “lawyers
seem to like the book and one judge thought it was extremely good” (13). In many ways, one
can read this text as a primer on the justice system, something the clearest intended audience
of the book—the young black male—will unfortunately experience.
Both Young Ju and Steve Harmon had the potential to get lost, to be victims of their
worlds. The reader can see the repressive nature of Young Ju’s paternal abuse, as well as the
institutional ugliness of Steve Harmon’s world. Both protagonists initially experience a loss of
power in their respective worlds. However, both protagonists use language to move beyond
this repression. They use language to engage the institutions and learn how to manipulate and
work within their structures.