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Creative Nonfiction Quarter 2-WEEK1
Typology: Lecture notes
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Analyze the theme and techniques used in a particular text (Fiction) Objectives:
Hello dear students! Before going to our topic on theme and techniques used in a fiction, let us first take up a little about creative nonfiction. There are 3 literary genres – fiction, poetry and drama. Creative nonfiction is sometimes called as the “fourth genre”. Creative nonfiction or the essay according to Theodore A. Rees Cheney (2001) “tells a story using facts but uses many of the techniques of fiction for its compelling qualities and emotional vibrancy.” This literary genre does not create fictional characters but facts in ways that move the reader toward a deeper understanding of the topic. True stories, like autobiography, biography, memoir, personal reflections fall under creative nonfiction. A fiction , on the other hand, generally is a narrative form, consisting of people, events, or places that are imaginary – in other words, not based strictly on history or fact.” It is a prose like novels, novellas and short stories. In short, it is a story of invention or imagination. Theme is defined as a main idea or an underlying meaning of a literary work, which may be stated directly or indirectly. It is the “general idea or general observation about life and people” (Moratilla and Teodoro, 2016). Example: All the family members were dressed in black, with somber faces. They were participating in the funeral ceremony of their deceased relative. (Theme of gloom) Literary Techniques , on the contrary, are structures usually words or phrases in literary texts that writers employ to achieve not merely artistic ends but also readers a greater understanding and appreciation of their literary works. Some common techniques are the following:
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My Hometown by Yasmin D. Arquiza is creative nonfiction full of literary techniques in writing. Find them out by reading it then be able to answer the questions that follow.
A five-star hotel has risen on the very spot where our house in Davao City used to be. I literally grew up in that place, having spent the first 18 years of my life there. Since I left, I have travelled and lived in various places, but I‟ve been back almost every year. There‟s a tinge of irony in how my roots and peripatetic ways seem to be reflected in the fact that the hotel was named after Marco Polo, one of the most well-known travelers in history. Happily, some of the old landmarks are still there. Despite the entry of numerous malls, the bargain hunters‟ paradise called Aldevinco shopping center has survived and remains in the same location. During my elementary and high school days, “sa harap ng Aldevinco” was my stock answer whenever somebody asked where I live. Another building that withstood changes in the community is Ateneo, although some of the stores surrounding it have come and gone. Because of its proximity to our house, and the fact that it offers the highest quality of college education in Davao, I would have studied in Ateneo except that they would not give me a scholarship. I landed in UP instead, and began my journey to other cities and other worlds. Childhood memories came back when I noticed, with a chuckle I might add, that this tiny eatery called Pilotos managed to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb right beside the high wall of Marco Polo Hotel. I asked my sister what happened to the filthy canal at the back of the eatery that wended its way through a row of squatter shanties. She said the hotel had placed culverts and conveniently covered the muck. I remember our entire brood making a pilgrimage to P i l o t o s for its special haluhalo on summer afternoons when we were kids. Once, my brothers raced me to P i l o t o s from our house and I fell from the single plank that we had to negotiate to cross the canal. There I was, hanging with both hands on the plank while my ankles and feet got soaked in the brackish waters with its yucky creatures. That’s the origin of my phobia of flimsy bridges, which is a real hassle in Palawan where we usually have to walk on slippery logs and broken planks to cross rivers and streams. These days, there are more changes than familiar places in the neighborhood. A bakery and coffee shop has replaced Dueñas store and the old beerhouse has gone through several incarnations, from restaurant to something else, before it became the landscaped garden in front of the hotel. Two decades ago, there were an ally between Dueñas and the beerhouse that led first to our house, and then on to other houses in the small neighborhood sandwiched between CM Recto and Ponciano streets. The area was razed in the late „70s, forcing residents to scatter elsewhere. There were rumors of arson, but as far as I know, this was never proven. All the things I wrote in my first 18 years were lost in that fire. To this day, I still get nervous whenever I smell something burning. A small shopping mall has long replaced the old boy scout building (although old timers still refer to the general area as boy scout), and the post office has since undergone a much-needed facelift. The “island” between the hotel and the mall is now called Clifford Park. This used to be the playground of most kids in the neighborhood, the only open space where they could fly kites and watch the stars in the evening. On the street where I grew up, jeepney drivers impatiently honk their way and try to outmaneuver each other in the one-way traffic. This is certainly a far cry from the days when the jeepney driver would wait for us as we straightened our pleated uniforms and slowly sit down before setting off again. Up to the early „80s, I still remember describing Davao City as a quiet place with a very slow pace. These days, it is the same old rat race one finds in Manila, Cebu, and other big cities. Revisiting my hometown has made me rethink the concept of home. It is funny how a place can be so familiar and yet so remote. The sight of the ICC building (now UIC since it became a university) on the hilltop near Bankerohan market brought back nostalgic memories of medals won and speeches nervously delivered. Traversing the same old streets in speeding jeepneys and taxis, I looked for scenes from the past but found myself getting lost in the vastly changed cityscape. In the street and malls, faces from my childhood and the not- too-distant „80s called from the sidewalk and the stalls but I could no longer relate with them. The past seems so far away, and the present became a stranger. I find myself wondering if it is possible not to feel “at home” in one‟s hometown. The thought seems almost sacrilegious, knowing the Filipino‟s deep sense of affinity to family and one‟s roots. In the era of space travel and migration, whether forced or voluntary, there are growing numbers of “citizens of the world” whose concept of home must have shifted from the traditional view to a purely personal definition. Home is where the heart is, the romantics would say. For people who are used “living out of a suitcase,” home is wherever they are at any given time. It is like the T-shirt I once saw that read “Wherever you go there you are” or something like that. It is a popular phrase in the US where travel and moving to other places is a way of life for many people. It is funny how we can feel so at home in far-away places and not in our own hometown. It could be the sign of times, and then again, maybe it is just me.
Comprehension Check Exercise Directions: Read carefully and answer the questions that follow. Choose the letter of your answer.
