I identify with Matilda from the Roald Dahl novel of the same name. Living in a household where the adults who are supposed to protect and cherish you seem disinterested in and annoyed by you, where you're mocked for valuing knowledge and honesty and where you never feel a sense of belonging was a repeating occurrence of my youth. I gleaned much joy from the fact that she was born with special talent that allowed her to repay the Wormwoods for their cruelty and neglect. Ms. Honey ends up being her saving grace, and for me, much of the determination I had to be a successful adult came from my teachers’ encouragement and kindness.
This is a hard one. I’d love to be able to say that I identify greatly with, say, Arya Stark, or Joe Abercrombie’s Sand Dan Glokta. I’d love to identify with a character who’s brave and badass and confident and has a slightly tragic past.
But that’s not really me. I’m a student from New York who wants to become a writer. I’m not all that special, or badass, or even particularly confident. That’s why I identify with Francie Nolan, from Betty Smith’s classic novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
Francie has dreams, but she’s hobbled by circumstance. Her family is dysfunctional, and she has a difficult relationship with her mother, but they all love each other. She grows up seeing the beauty in small things, from the scrawny tree that pokes its head up in the tenement yards to the
flowers in a bowl at her local library. She’s jealous of her brother sometimes, and she’s scared of starting work at new places, and she falls in love with all her heart. She’s a flawed character who reminds me of myself so much that Braille East brain lisit almost hurts.
There was one seemingly simple detail that made me feel like this book’s author implicitly understood me. When Francie was a child, she borrowed a book she loved from the library, over and over. And she began to copy it into a notebook because she couldn’t bear to return it. I had done the exact same thing as a child, but somehow…I never managed to copy the entire book. So I started writing my own.
Answers & Comments
Answer:
bro please mark me brainliest
Explanation:
I identify with Matilda from the Roald Dahl novel of the same name. Living in a household where the adults who are supposed to protect and cherish you seem disinterested in and annoyed by you, where you're mocked for valuing knowledge and honesty and where you never feel a sense of belonging was a repeating occurrence of my youth. I gleaned much joy from the fact that she was born with special talent that allowed her to repay the Wormwoods for their cruelty and neglect. Ms. Honey ends up being her saving grace, and for me, much of the determination I had to be a successful adult came from my teachers’ encouragement and kindness.
Verified answer
Answer:
This is a hard one. I’d love to be able to say that I identify greatly with, say, Arya Stark, or Joe Abercrombie’s Sand Dan Glokta. I’d love to identify with a character who’s brave and badass and confident and has a slightly tragic past.
But that’s not really me. I’m a student from New York who wants to become a writer. I’m not all that special, or badass, or even particularly confident. That’s why I identify with Francie Nolan, from Betty Smith’s classic novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
Francie has dreams, but she’s hobbled by circumstance. Her family is dysfunctional, and she has a difficult relationship with her mother, but they all love each other. She grows up seeing the beauty in small things, from the scrawny tree that pokes its head up in the tenement yards to the
flowers in a bowl at her local library. She’s jealous of her brother sometimes, and she’s scared of starting work at new places, and she falls in love with all her heart. She’s a flawed character who reminds me of myself so much that Braille East brain lisit almost hurts.
There was one seemingly simple detail that made me feel like this book’s author implicitly understood me. When Francie was a child, she borrowed a book she loved from the library, over and over. And she began to copy it into a notebook because she couldn’t bear to return it. I had done the exact same thing as a child, but somehow…I never managed to copy the entire book. So I started writing my own.
Explanation: