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"Notes"/ Page 152                                                                                                            I did not look on my work as therapy, and still don't. Yet when I
received Norman Bowker's letter, it occurred to me that the act of writing
had led me through a swirl of memories that might otherwise have ended
in paralysis or worse. By telling stories, you objectify your own
experience. You separate it from yourself. You pin down certain truths.
You make up others. You start sometimes with an incident that truly
happened, like the night in the shit field, and you carry it forward by
inventing incidents that did not in fact occur but that nonetheless help to
clarify and explain.

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"Notes"/ Page 152                                                                                                            I did not look on my work as therapy, and still don't. Yet when I
received Norman Bowker's letter, it occurred to me that the act of writing
had led me through a swirl of memories that might otherwise have ended
in paralysis or worse. By telling stories, you objectify your own
experience. You separate it from yourself. You pin down certain truths.
You make up others. You start sometimes with an incident that truly
happened, like the night in the shit field, and you carry it forward by
inventing incidents that did not in fact occur but that nonetheless help to
clarify and explain.

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The line reading, "the act of writing led me through a swirl of memories" is personification because it indicates the intention of the act of writing, when, in reality, it is the person doing the action.

"You separate it from yourself. You pin down certain truths. You make up others...." Syntax - short choppy sentences similar to the rush of emotions that probably overtakes a soldier who has just returned to America. So many distinct changes, so quickly.

~ Caroline

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"Speaking of Courage"  / Page 137                                                                                     Through the windows, as if in a stop-motion photograph, the place looked as if it had been hit by nerve gas, everything still and lifeless, even the people. The town could not talk, and would not listen. "How'd you like to hear about the war?" he might have asked, but the place could only blink and shrug. It had no memory, therefore no guilt. The taxes got paid and the votes got counted and the agencies of government did their work briskly and politely. It was a brisk, polite town. It did not know shit about shit, and did not care to know.

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"Speaking of Courage"  / Page 137                                                                                     Through the windows, as if in a stop-motion photograph, the place looked as if it had been hit by nerve gas, everything still and lifeless, even the people. The town could not talk, and would not listen. "How'd you like to hear about the war?" he might have asked, but the place could only blink and shrug. It had no memory, therefore no guilt. The taxes got paid and the votes got counted and the agencies of government did their work briskly and politely. It was a brisk, polite town. It did not know shit about shit, and did not care to know.

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EMMA: This passage definitely illuminates how Norman Bowker views the town he lives in after the war, and also how the war has changed him. The syntax in the following quote, "He drove slowly. No hurry, nowhere to go," shows how Norman is much more content being alone rather than surrounding himself with his family and friends. The short and brisk sentences show that the behavior of Norman is a direct effect from the war, and from the violence he experienced. He most likely is having a hard time integrating back into society, back into the town he grew up in.