{"id":775,"date":"2017-10-14T11:40:16","date_gmt":"2017-10-14T11:40:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-jeffersoncc-englishcomp2kscopexmaster\/?post_type=chapter&p=775"},"modified":"2017-10-14T11:40:16","modified_gmt":"2017-10-14T11:40:16","slug":"mark-twain-two-ways-of-seeing-a-river","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-jefferson-collegecomposition\/chapter\/mark-twain-two-ways-of-seeing-a-river\/","title":{"raw":"Mark Twain, Two Ways of Seeing a River","rendered":"Mark Twain, Two Ways of Seeing a River"},"content":{"raw":"As a writer, you have often done rhetorical analysis without naming it. When broken down, though, the assignment is all about noticing moves that work together.\u00a0 The trap is clear: Editorializing or writing about the content rather than about the form.\u00a0 This is not an essay about morality or violence.\r\n\r\nRhetorical analysis is all about form over content, moves rather than what is in the material.\u00a0 In our culture right now, people get a lot of mileage simply for thinking something.\u00a0 They believe others ought to have huge respect and a hands-off attitude just because something is believed--especially if it is believes strongly.\u00a0 This can stop discussion because people insist \"It's true for me!\" \u00a0We also think that someone's beliefs must be more valid if they risk danger in holding those.\r\n\r\nBoth<\/strong> of these beliefs contain logical flaws.\u00a0 We're not right \"just because we think so.\"\u00a0 What informs our reading--things we can point to, defend, and discuss--must matter.\u00a0 (At least, I think they should. . . get the joke?)\r\n\r\nYour Task<\/strong>\r\n\r\nRead Mark Twain's \"Two Ways of Seeing a River\" and then respond in a one-page Word document to its point how some people are deluded by ignorance into creating a deceptive reality.\r\n

Two Ways of Seeing a River (1883)<\/h2>\r\nNow when I had mastered the language of this water and had come to know every trifling feature that bordered the great river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something, too. I had lost something which could never be restored to me while I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry, had gone out of the majestic river! I still kept in mind a certain wonderful sunset which I witnessed when steamboating was new to me. A broad expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance the red hue brightened into gold, through which a solitary log came floating, black and conspicuous; in one place a long, slanting mark lay sparkling upon the water; in another the surface was broken by boiling, tumbling rings that were as many-tinted as an opal; where the ruddy flush was faintest was a smooth spot that was covered with graceful circles and radiating lines, ever so delicately traced; the shore on our left was densely wooded, and the somber shadow that fell from this forest was broken in one place by a long, ruffled trail that shone like silver; and high above the forest wall a clean-stemmed dead tree waved a single leafy bough that glowed like a flame in the unobstructed splendor that was flowing from the sun. There were graceful curves, reflected images, woody heights, soft distances, and over the whole scene, far and near, the dissolving lights drifted steadily, enriching it every passing moment with new marvels of coloring.\r\n\r\nI stood like one bewitched. I drank it in, in a speechless rapture. The world was new to me and I had never seen anything like this at home. But as I have said, a day came when I began to cease from noting the glories and the charms which the moon and the sun and the twilight wrought upon the river\u2019s face; another day came when I ceased altogether to note them. Then, if that sunset scene had been repeated, I should have looked upon it without rapture and should have commented upon it inwardly after this fashion: \u201cThis sun means that we are going to have wind tomorrow; that floating log means that the river is rising, small thanks to it; that slanting mark on the water refers to a bluff reef which is going to kill somebody\u2019s steamboat one of these nights, if it keeps on stretching out like that; those tumbling \u2018boils\u2019 show a dissolving bar and a changing channel there; the lines and circles in the slick water over yonder are a warning that that troublesome place is shoaling up dangerously; that silver streak in the shadow of the forest is the \u2018break\u2019 from a new snag and he has located himself in the very best place he could have found to fish for steamboats; that tall dead tree, with a single living branch, is not going to last long, and then how is a body ever going to get through this blind place at night without the friendly old landmark?\u201d\r\n\r\nNo, the romance and beauty were all gone from the river. All the value any feature of it had for me now was the amount of usefulness it could furnish toward compassing the safe piloting of a steamboat. Since those days, I have pitied doctors from my heart. What does the lovely flush in a beauty\u2019s cheek mean to a doctor but a \u201cbreak\u201d that ripples above some deadly disease? Are not all her visible charms sown thick with what are to him the signs and symbols of hidden decay? Does he ever see her beauty at all, or doesn\u2019t he simply view her professionally and comment upon her unwholesome condition all to himself? And doesn\u2019t he sometimes wonder whether he has gained most or lost most by learning his trade?","rendered":"

As a writer, you have often done rhetorical analysis without naming it. When broken down, though, the assignment is all about noticing moves that work together.\u00a0 The trap is clear: Editorializing or writing about the content rather than about the form.\u00a0 This is not an essay about morality or violence.<\/p>\n

Rhetorical analysis is all about form over content, moves rather than what is in the material.\u00a0 In our culture right now, people get a lot of mileage simply for thinking something.\u00a0 They believe others ought to have huge respect and a hands-off attitude just because something is believed–especially if it is believes strongly.\u00a0 This can stop discussion because people insist “It’s true for me!” \u00a0We also think that someone’s beliefs must be more valid if they risk danger in holding those.<\/p>\n

Both<\/strong> of these beliefs contain logical flaws.\u00a0 We’re not right “just because we think so.”\u00a0 What informs our reading–things we can point to, defend, and discuss–must matter.\u00a0 (At least, I think they should. . . get the joke?)<\/p>\n

Your Task<\/strong><\/p>\n

Read Mark Twain’s “Two Ways of Seeing a River” and then respond in a one-page Word document to its point how some people are deluded by ignorance into creating a deceptive reality.<\/p>\n

Two Ways of Seeing a River (1883)<\/h2>\n

Now when I had mastered the language of this water and had come to know every trifling feature that bordered the great river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something, too. I had lost something which could never be restored to me while I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry, had gone out of the majestic river! I still kept in mind a certain wonderful sunset which I witnessed when steamboating was new to me. A broad expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance the red hue brightened into gold, through which a solitary log came floating, black and conspicuous; in one place a long, slanting mark lay sparkling upon the water; in another the surface was broken by boiling, tumbling rings that were as many-tinted as an opal; where the ruddy flush was faintest was a smooth spot that was covered with graceful circles and radiating lines, ever so delicately traced; the shore on our left was densely wooded, and the somber shadow that fell from this forest was broken in one place by a long, ruffled trail that shone like silver; and high above the forest wall a clean-stemmed dead tree waved a single leafy bough that glowed like a flame in the unobstructed splendor that was flowing from the sun. There were graceful curves, reflected images, woody heights, soft distances, and over the whole scene, far and near, the dissolving lights drifted steadily, enriching it every passing moment with new marvels of coloring.<\/p>\n

I stood like one bewitched. I drank it in, in a speechless rapture. The world was new to me and I had never seen anything like this at home. But as I have said, a day came when I began to cease from noting the glories and the charms which the moon and the sun and the twilight wrought upon the river\u2019s face; another day came when I ceased altogether to note them. Then, if that sunset scene had been repeated, I should have looked upon it without rapture and should have commented upon it inwardly after this fashion: \u201cThis sun means that we are going to have wind tomorrow; that floating log means that the river is rising, small thanks to it; that slanting mark on the water refers to a bluff reef which is going to kill somebody\u2019s steamboat one of these nights, if it keeps on stretching out like that; those tumbling \u2018boils\u2019 show a dissolving bar and a changing channel there; the lines and circles in the slick water over yonder are a warning that that troublesome place is shoaling up dangerously; that silver streak in the shadow of the forest is the \u2018break\u2019 from a new snag and he has located himself in the very best place he could have found to fish for steamboats; that tall dead tree, with a single living branch, is not going to last long, and then how is a body ever going to get through this blind place at night without the friendly old landmark?\u201d<\/p>\n

No, the romance and beauty were all gone from the river. All the value any feature of it had for me now was the amount of usefulness it could furnish toward compassing the safe piloting of a steamboat. Since those days, I have pitied doctors from my heart. What does the lovely flush in a beauty\u2019s cheek mean to a doctor but a \u201cbreak\u201d that ripples above some deadly disease? Are not all her visible charms sown thick with what are to him the signs and symbols of hidden decay? Does he ever see her beauty at all, or doesn\u2019t he simply view her professionally and comment upon her unwholesome condition all to himself? And doesn\u2019t he sometimes wonder whether he has gained most or lost most by learning his trade?<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t

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Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t
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Public domain content<\/div>