No one told you life was gonna be this way...

I've been thinking about friendship a lot lately.

More specifically, what it means to be a good friend, and why I was suspicious of Gunnar's friend group in Santa Monica.

Gunnar tells the reader that he's known as the "cool funny black guy" among his friends. This implies that Gunnar's friends like him because he's cool and funny and black. This immediately made me wonder what would happen if Gunnar had a bad day. What if Gunnar didn't feel up to making jokes? Would his friends ask him if he was okay? Would they make an effort to support him? Or would they scoff at his inability to entertain and ignore him for the rest of the day?

I'm not saying labels are automatically a bad thing. Most people have labels within their friend groups. There's the soccer mom, the party animal, the jokester, the therapist, the hot mess, the one who's perpetually single, you know. But, in a healthy friend group, these labels are only surface-level. They don't define your entire personality, and your friends don't treat you as such. The problem is, I'm not convinced that Gunnar's friend group transcends surface-level.

Mr. Mitchell mentioned the concept of a "mascot" at the end of class the other day. I think this is a possible analogy for Gunnar's role in his Santa Monica friend group. Gunnar is the kid who gets up and tells a joke, making everyone turn to each other and laugh ("dude he really is funny!") before going back to whatever white things they were previously discussing. Gunnar is not a person in the same way his other friends are to one another. He is 2D, a projection of his friends' expectations of him, never fully seen. If this is giving you Invisible Man vibes, good! Same here.

Gunnar's friendship with David seems more real. They spend more time together, geeking out over WWII aircrafts and other bizarre warfare trivia. I'm wondering whether David being a Jew has anything to do with this more developed friendship. He is a different kind of minority and perhaps feels ostracized in a similar way Gunnar does. I'm not trying to compare the plight of black people to Jews here, but maybe Gunnar and David have more common ground than they do with their other friends. They see each other more clearly than the other boys see them.

Back to the Future: Paul D's Paradoxical Presence

Does Paul D represent the past or the future?

Mr. Mitchell has brought up this question multiple times, though we've never discussed it in depth. To me, this question poses a more important underlying question: is Paul D a suitable partner for Sethe? In this blog post, I will argue both sides and let yall make the final judgement.

Paul D is the past. He knows Sethe from Sweethome, and she will always associate him with the days she was enslaved. Paul D will continue adding horrifying details to Sethe's inventory of Sweethome memories, which will inevitably lead to her agonizing over these moments. Paul D will keep Sethe from moving on and prohibit any kind of "letting go" she might be capable of. He will perpetuate the haunting nature of the past by attempting to stay in Sethe's life, serving as a constant reminder of what she's lost.

Paul D is the future. He is the only one who understands the horrors of Sethe's past. He can relate to her and support her better than anyone else. They share a deep, personal connection because of the pain they've endured together. They know the value of love better than anyone, and if they truly love each other, they will go to great lengths to ensure the other's happiness. Paul D knows how much Sethe values family because of Sweethome. He wants to make a real family with her, complete with carnivals and babies. Paul D is more motivated than anyone to foster that sense of familial togetherness Sethe has lacked for so long.

I suppose I should've posted this before we read the chapters for last night, as we saw Paul D walk out on Sethe. However, it is still intriguing to think about what exactly Sethe needs most and whether or not Paul D could provide it.