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Stars and Satellites STARS AND SATELLITES A thesis submitted to the Kent State University Honors College in partial fulfillment of the requirements for University Honors by Amy Rohozen May, 2016 Thesis written by Amy Rohozen Approved by ________________________________________________________________, Advisor ______________________________________________, Chair, Department of English Accepted by ___________________________________________________, Dean, Honors College ii TABLE OF CONTENTS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS..……..............………………………………………………..vi CHAPTERS AFTERMATH…………….………………………………………………………1 BALLERINA……………………………………………………………….……..7 THE PARACOSM…………………………………………………………….…16 FOREST………………………………………………………………………….29 BLACKBEARD…………………………………………………………………38 TREETOPS………………………………………………………………………54 BOUNDARIES…………………………………………………………………..64 DROWN…………………………………………………………………………80 LEAVES…………………………………………………………………………97 IZZY…………...……………………………………………………………….106 TIGER LILY……………………….…….…………………..…………………114 SHADOWS……………………………………………………………………..126 FLIGHT………………………………………………………………………...135 STARS………………………………………………………………………….145 LULLABIES……………………………………………………………………165 POLITICS………………………………………………………………………179 SHATTER………………………………………………………………………188 iv CONDUIT……………………………………………………..………………..203 SATELLITES………………………………………………….….……………211 FAIRY STORY………………………………………………..…….…………220 NEVERLAND………………………………………………….………………239 STORIES……………………………………………………………………….247 AFTERWORD I. INTRODUCTION: ANALYZING STARS AND SATELLITES…..260 II. YOUNG ADULT LITERATURE……………………………..….262 III. WOMEN IN YOUNG ADULT DYSTOPIA…………………..…269 IV. PETER PAN AS YOUNG ADULT LITERATURE……..………..274 V. REIMAGINING PETER PAN…………………………………….277 VI. THEMATIC CHOICES……………….…………………………..291 VII. CONCLUSION……………………………………………………298 WORKS CITED…………………………………………………………………….….300 v ACKNOWLEDGMENTS It is hard to know how to begin acknowledging those who helped and guided me in the creation of this work. Novel writing is often thought of as a solitary activity, but no story is ever truly written by one person alone. I truly never thought this novel would be written. It was just a fledgling idea, a year old but with no real development. I had all but given up on it. I am so grateful that the Honors Thesis forced me to return to this story, which developed into something I could never have imagined, something more valuable than I ever dreamed. I must offer my thanks to Dr. Matthew Shank, my advisor, who gave me a greater gift than he knows. Since I was a child, I believed in the value of young adult literature. He was the first person to teach me the genre in an academic setting. He gave me hope. Thank you for reading so many versions of this story and its analysis. And thank you for valuing the words I had to share and believing in me. Thank you to Dr. Don-Jon Dugas, Dr. Elizabeth Howard, and Professor Ryan Conlon for serving on my defense committee. You challenged me to think about my writing in new ways, and I will never truly be able to articulate how much that means to me. Thank you to my friends and family, who had to hear about this thesis on a near- daily basis, who offered me suggestions when I could not get through a scene. There are far too many people for me to name them all here. But let me at least thank my wonderful vi parents; my fabulous roommate Julia; and all my friends over at the University Parish Newman Center at Kent State University. Their interest in my story and in me got me through many a bad writing day. They have no idea how much I valued it when they said, “I want to read your story.” There’s nothing quite as inspirational. Especially thank you to my beta readers, who read my story when I no longer could. Not only did you read my draft but you wanted to read my draft. And more than that, after reading that draft, you believed in my work. Thank you for reading my words and believing that I had something worth saying. Finally, thank You, God, for the wonderful gift You have given me. I so desperately want to write for young adults so they might always know they’re valuable and never alone. And You gave me such a beautiful ability to do just that through my writing. vii 1 Aftermath My head spins in circles so fast I’m tempted to jump to my feet just to prove that my body can spin faster. I can pirouette with perfection, not a muscle shaking beneath my skin. But instead I sit still now with the same steadiness, though it’s not because of the discipline I’ve put my body through over the years. My body has forgotten how to move…or my mind’s forgotten how to control my body because it’s too busy spinning my thoughts in circles. I sit stiff, stark straight, like I’ve been trained to, but keep my eyes on my hands. I cannot hold it together well enough to stare straight ahead. Singing people surround me on all sides, but the song is so familiar that it’s lost all meaning in my present. I bet I could fake singing along with it, moving my lips in time with everyone else. But my body weighs too much for it to even feel worth trying. My parents sit beside me, but my mother has long since stopped trying to nudge me back to life. She has another daughter to deal with today. How much time has passed? It could be seconds or years. Everyone could leave this service, and they could close this chapel, and I wouldn’t notice. Fire could build and burn wild through the city-state of Caesura, and I would just breathe in all the smoke without noticing the acidic bite on my tongue. Let the world end while I sit here. Then I wouldn’t have to realize it mocks me by continuing to turn. When the music stops, I tilt my head upward so I look aware and like I feel something other than numb. Sunlight through stained glass fills the room with a rainbow 2 of dim light, making the chapel look more alive than it is. The sun strikes a bright yellow glass, which then pours its cheery hue on the closed metal coffin standing before the entire congregation. My heart aches, and I want to drag my eyes away. But the numbness of my skin makes it too exhausting to react with anything more than an empty stare. I sit and stand with everyone else, feigning normality that feels like…nothing, feels empty and fake. I refuse to pull my eyes away from the coffin once they’ve landed there, and the service comes to a close without me hearing a word. My mother takes my forearm and pulls me along behind her as she slips out of her seat. She knows better than to wait to see if I decide to move on my own. I know I wouldn’t take the chance if she offered it. We follow my father over to the side of the chapel opposite the coffin, so that people may separately pay their respects to the dead and offer condolences to the grieving. However, I’m not convinced I’m grieving. I think you have to feel something for it to be grief. I stare blankly at near-strangers as they attempt kindness in the midst of our tragedy. My parents talk to those who come to speak with us, but I nod at words I don’t listen to and let people wrap me in hugs I can’t bring myself to return. My parents either don’t notice or allow my vagueness. But after a while, my mother nudges me again. She leans in to my ear and whispers, “Councilman Datton is coming over.” For the first time that day, I find a reason to straighten that doesn’t only have to do with my dance training. My eyes comb the crowd, struggling to see around people, considering my short height, until they land on the Councilman on his way over to us. Despite his history with my family, it unsettles me to see him here; there’s no way he has 3 the time for a funeral service. As he steps up to offer my father a handshake, I catch a glimpse of his son Peter behind him. Unlike his father, Peter’s eyes are already on me. When his green eyes meet my blue ones, I look away quickly just as the Councilman steps up to me. He offers me his hand, and I clasp it in return. “I am so sorry for your loss,” he says, deep voice rumbling through me. And with that, he walks away from our family without a backward glance, already pulling an earpiece from the side of his watch to make a call. Peter steps in front of me before I have time to recover. I forgot how tall he is. Even in the two-inch black heels I wear now, he towers above me a good four inches. His curly blonde hair stands in stark contrast to his black suit. He offers a half smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hey.” “Hey,” I mutter. I’m shocked I have any voice to back the words at all. I look away quickly, wrapping the fingers of my right hand around my left wrist just so I have something to do with my hands. After a second, he follows up with, “This sucks.” I nod, glancing up at him from beneath my eyelashes, just glad that for once, someone didn’t ask me if I’m doing okay. “You doing okay?” Scratch that. “Just think about that question for a second,” I whisper. I want to snap at him, throw my words at his face with the force of a grenade. But my parents still stand right beside me, not to mention how many other people still make their way out of the chapel. 4 “I didn’t really think so,” he admits. “It’s just…what else can I really say?” I shake my head. “Nothing. You were more Jayne’s friend than mine; you don’t owe me anything.” Peter shrugs.
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