"Locker Room Talk," by Stephen Dunn

Stephen Dunn’s essay “Locker Room Talk” gives readers a glimpse into the separate “country” (paragraph 8) of the Boy’s Locker Room, where extremely complex emotions are negotiated under the guise of petty discussion of sexual conquests and casual brotherly bonding. I thought it was extremely interesting how Dunn describes the locker room as a country; it reminded me of Simmons’ piece, where he describes the easy way his father and him spoke about motorcycles and thus “moved back to the language of [their] old country” (page 67, paragraph 13). Not being personally familiar with the worlds of motorcycles and boy’s locker rooms before reading these two pieces, I didn’t necessarily give either of these things credit as actual, legitimate locales that could boast of legitimate languages and cultures. However, the way that Dunn and Simmons wrote about their different subcultures made me realize their worth and credibility, and made me reflect upon the subcultures that I operate within in my own life.

Stylistically, I think that I was a little put off by this piece because I read Dunn’s biographical paragraph at the top of page 136 and, upon seeing that he is an accomplished poet, I wasn’t expecting the kind of straightforward, vanilla delivery of information that he utilizes throughout the essay. In class, we frequently talk about personal essay sort of being the lovechild of poetry and academic writing; considering this concept and Dunn’s personal background as a professional poet, I was disappointed in his lack of poetic voice in this piece.

"Motorcycle Talk," by Thomas Simmons

Thomas Simmons’ essay “Motorcycle Talk” proved to be much more relatable than I had first imagined. While Simmons’ piece obviously spends a lot of time detailing his father’s straightforward, masculine joy of tinkering with a motorcycle in auto jargon, it also portrays a more vulnerable side to his father. From the very beginning of the essay, where Simmons describes his father as “magnificent,” we get the sense that his Dad is a more complex man than we may think at first. One does not usually use the word “magnificent” in order to convey a sense of toughness; Simmons’ diction choice reveals that his Dad is not completely defined by the tough, manly hobby that he pursues. This image of a genuine, sensitive mechanic contrasts sharply with the overtly masculine, inaccessible persona featured in Harry Crews’ piece “The Car.”

In this piece, I found another interesting connection to Crews’ essay. In paragraph 10, Simmons writes, “I did not know this then, not exactly. But I knew, when we both hovered over the Benelli’s cylinder head or gearbox, adjusting a cam or replacing a gasket, that he would not have worked on this machine for himself alone.” At this point in the essay, Simmons is reflecting on a very specific moment of his past with a fresh, more mature and intelligent perspective. He realizes the significance of a moment that seemed important at the time, but only now, years later, is he able to grasp just how truly important it was. Crews toys with this concept as well, saying “the moment was brief and I understand it better now than I did then, but I did realize, if imperfectly, that something was dreadfully wrong…” (pg. 404, paragraph 15). This idea of imperfect realization in the moment followed by later clarity is something that I would like to incorporate in future assignments.

Harry Crews' Cars

I had trouble relating to Harry Crews’ essay “The Car.” In this essay, Crews meticulously details the first few cars that he drove as a young adult. He personifies the cars, remembering them “like people—like long-ago lovers” (403). He describes the distinct personalities of each car, and the distinct personalities that each car brings out in him. For example, he informs us that his 1953 Mercury compelled him to stare “into the bathroom mirror for long periods of time” (402) so that he could practice different facial expressions to wear while driving it. The tone that he employs when describing his cars is one of overwhelming pride and unabashed, masculine conceit.

I have only had one car so far in my life; I did not get my license until senior year of high school, and now that I am in college, I spend about 9 out of 12 months away from my car. Needless to say, I have never had the kind of connection with cars as Crews did. For most of my life, I have been a very experienced passenger in the car, not a driver; thus, I could not relate to the act of appropriating a car’s personality that Crews describes in his piece. This phenomenon, I think, is reserved solely for the drivers of cars.

While I did not personally connect to Crews’ experiences, I found the essay to be extremely culturally significant; it was an interesting comment on American society and our obsession with not only cars specifically but also consumerism in general. At the end of the piece, Crews reflects on the strange way that he confused himself with his car. To me, this was the most relatable part of the essay. In our society, we are judged by what we own. Often, we come to believe that we actually are what we own, and we begin to redefine ourselves according to the characteristics of our favorite objects and, to use Crews’ word, merge with what we buy.

Stylistically, I loved the tension between Crews’ various recollections. In the paragraph about his 1938 Ford coupe, Crews uses very cryptic language in order to describe a time that a woman pushed off the wing vent and broke the rearview mirror of his car. He never reveals outright that he and the woman were having sex when this happened, but it is implied. This short, mysterious glimpse into the Ford’s history contrasts so sharply with Crews’ later, more elaborate memories. For example, in one of his memories surrounding the 1953 Mercury, I could practically smell the greasy burned food of the A&W that he writes about. In this paragraph, Crews’ language is so specific and recalls such vivid images; this contrasts with the earlier paragraph, where we get much more of a fuzzy idea of what happened that night in the Ford coupe. This tension between elaboration and the intentional omission of specific details mirrors the human process of recalling memories, and makes the piece seem more real and raw. If Crew utilized as much detail as he does when describing his A&W nights in the whole piece, we would be suspicious and think that he exaggerated or fabricated some of his memories in order to pad the writing.