“Man is beast,” Friedrich Nietzsche said in 1901. And indeed he was right. Published nearly three hundred years prior, Shakespeare’s King Lear illustrates the power struggle in the families of King Lear and Gloucester. Lear, preparing for retirement, has divided England between daughters Goneril and Regan. Despite the immense wealth they have already inherited, Goneril and Regan want more, and plot to usurp Lear of his throne. At the same time, Gloucester’s illegitimate son, Edmund, has embarked on his own journey to power, falsely convincing his father that his older brother, Edgar, is plotting against him. Throughout these frantic grabs for power, each character grapples with their inner animalistic instincts of self-preservation versus the wellbeing of those they call family. Shakespeare uses animal imagery to expose the characters’ primal tendencies, ultimately arguing that underneath the veneer of humanity, everyone is still an animal. With the exception of Edgar, most of the characters in King Lear are, if not downright villainous, morally ambiguous. While those around him engage in murder, deceit, and manipulation, betraying family bonds to uplift themselves, Edgar remains morally uncorrupted. But despite this, he can’t escape Shakespeare’s animalistic imagery. The association of Edgar with animals and nature as he desperately tries to survive demonstrates how losing one’s humanity can happen to anyone, regardless of the morality of themselves or their actions. Ironically, Edgar's ferine nature is more apparent than that of the other characters, as his is the only physical appearance that Shakespeare alters. Describing his plan to disguise himself and run away to the wild, Edgar says: I will preserve myself, and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape That ever penury in contempt of man Brought near to beast. My face I’ll grime with filth, Blanket my loins, elf all my hairs in knots, And with presented nakedness outface The winds and persecutions of the sky (Shakespeare II. iii. 6-12). The imagery used here is some of the most vivid in the play as Shakespeare conjures bestial attributes with phrases like, "grime with filth," "elf all my hairs in knots," and "presented nakedness." This dehumanization of Edgar's character to portray the former nobleman and heir as one covered in dirt and knotted hair, devoid of clothing, and left to fend for itself against the natural elements makes him more animal than human. And in light of the Great Chain of Being, the phrase, "basest and most poorest shape" contributes to this perception. This Elizabethan theory ranked everything in the world, placing God and angels at the top, followed by royalty, common humans, and animals and plants at the bottom. This vertical top to bottom idea is supported by the Christian idea of Heaven and God being in the sky. So Edgar's use of the word "basest" can be interpreted both as the most humiliating and as the literal lowest. In this paragraph, Edgar is overwhelmingly portrayed as an animal. From "basest," to "beast," to "grime with filth," and "elf all my hairs in knots," Edgar is unmistakably something subhuman. Edgar has lost his humanity in the opposite way that the others have: While the others are similar to animals in their own actions that demonstrate a willingness to abandon all morals for self-preservation, Edgar has become similar to an animal due to the actions of others. He has been forced to resort to animalistic tendencies in order for survival. Though he has done nothing wrong and serves as a model for morality in an immoral world, Shakespeare still draws animal comparisons, illustrating how retaining humanity is impossible when surrounded by primates in royal robes.

When we were little, my sisters and I would hold pretend flea markets. We would set up laundry baskets in the den and display our wares – arcade crystals, scented markers, homemade doll clothes. We’d walk around, inspecting each other’s goods, and haggle for the right price. If you asked them, that’s how Samantha and Jasmine would describe the game. Actually, a more accurate account would depict them pocketing my weekly allowance while simultaneously getting rid of their junk. No one ever wanted to buy my products. Growing up with two older sisters instills a certain humility in you. Even though they, six and three years older, shared rooms, clothes, and parents with me, my childhood was marred by being left out. Either I was too young, or it was past my bedtime, or I just wouldn’t understand. Little me could never comprehend this. How could they leave out the third musketeer, the smallest size of our matching pajamas, the last little piggy, to cry all the way home? It felt that, at the ripe old age of seven, my life was a series of never-ending disappointments. When I was three, my mom and sisters went to see The Nutcracker, leaving me alone with my dad. It was a crisp December day in Boston, dregs of snow lining the curbs of downtown. As my dad double parked our blue minivan in front of the opera house, my mom and sisters piled out. When my scrambles to accompany them were restrained by my massive booster seat, I wailed, my cries emanating into the street. I wanted all the crabby Boston drivers to know I was just as miserable as them. I was not aware of the grandeur of the opera house or the elegance of ballet. It was simply that I was left out. This was a pattern that would repeat throughout my childhood. When I was six, my mom and sisters went to see Wicked. For weeks leading up to the performance, we belted the soundtrack, doing our best to emulate Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel. Ten years later, I can still recite “Popular” word for word. Despite my dedication, however, I was not allowed to go see the play, and instead resigned myself to Pinkberry with my dad. As I licked my frozen dessert gloomily, all I could think of was the fun I was missing out on. But no matter how much the Nutcracker and Wicked hurt my little soul, neither compared to Sara Bareilles‘s 2014 “Little Black Dress” tour. As a daughter of the 2010s, I, along with my sisters, was a loyal Sara Bareilles fan. Lovingly nicknamed ‘S.B.’ in our house, she ruled over my hand-me-down, pink iPod shuffle. But again, despite my rabid enthusiasm, the 7:30 concert was deemed past my bedtime. I mourned my unfortunate fate of being born last. But as I’ve grown up with two older sisters, I've come to recognize the advantages of being the youngest. At school, there has always been someone to pave the way, to warn me about certain teachers, advise me against certain classes. At home, my parents are more lenient and experienced. My sisters’ interests have shaped my own, introducing me to art, music, and activism. Back then, missing out on a Sara Bareilles concert felt like the end of the world. When you’re tiny, your siblings are your best friends and the only people you want to hang out with. But, like matching pajamas, a new pair is always welcome.

“Ciao bella!” “Ciao bella!” Come stai?” “Così così. Ho procrastinated sui miei compiti e ora devo to cram per il mio esame di storia." This is how my friend Zinnia and I interact. After taking four years of Italian in high school, we regularly drift between and combine languages. But my interest in Italian began in second grade, when I learned that my best friend was Italian. Her father was born there and she would bring prosciutto for lunch. From then on, I became obsessed with Italy, and beyond the pizza-pasta of it all. I wanted to go to Italy and speak Italian. I would play Duolingo on my mom’s phone and dream about floating under the Bridge of Sighs in a gondola, like Ian Falconer’s Olivia The Pig. It takes a while for me and Zinnia to get our points across, and as a method of communicating information, a language we’re far from fluent in is completely impractical. But I love the roll of the Rs, the bounciness, the stretched out vowels. Italian is such a beautiful language, that simply hearing and speaking it brings me joy. I hope to make my seven-year-old self proud by becoming fluent in Italian through college classes and study abroad.

yellow: headphone buttons play pause next volume This one, featuring different buttons on headphones, is fairly simple and thus the easiest category. green: cleaning products bounty dawn glade Dial This one is a bit more tricky, since the words (cleaning brand names) are seemingly unrelated. Additionally, if the player does figure out the cleaning products clue, they might incorrectly include 'tide,' a word in the blue category. blue: in and out tide breaths trends animal style This category employs different usages of the phrase 'in and out.' The tide goes in and out, you breathe in and out, trends go in and out, and animal style is the fast food chain In 'N Out's claim to fame. The player might mistakenly group 'tide' with 'dawn' and 'glade' from the green group, thinking that the clue relates to nature. This one is difficult, since the words are not commonly associated with each other like in the yellow category. purple: things with stems flowers wine glasses cells engineering Again, this category uses different definitions of 'stem.' Flowers have stems, wine glass have stems, engineering is a part of STEM (science, technology, engineering, and math,) and stem cells are certain types of cells. This one is difficult, since the words have no surface-level relation.

The summer before third grade, I read Louisa May Alcott’s 'Little Women' and quickly made it my entire personality. ‘Louisa,’ as she was known to me, became a frequent topic of discussion in my household and I took every opportunity to bring her up. I dressed up as Jo for Halloween, dragged my family to Concord to see her house, and marketed 'Little Women' to my friends like I was being paid. Later, watching Greta Gerwig’s 2019 adaptation of my favorite novel, I sobbed through the entire two hour film. So when my friend called herself a connoisseur of 'Little Women'— “the good one with Winona Ryder”— I felt personally offended for my beloved Saorise Ronan. You see, Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of 'Little Women' changed my perspective not only of the novel but of myself. For a hundred and fifty six years, readers have hated Amy. She is vain, silly, and immature, and while Jo rebels against gender roles, Amy lies down and accepts them. And so since first reading the book years ago, I’ve always idolized and aspired to be Jo. But deep down, I’m an Amy and Greta Gerwig finally allowed me to accept that. Just like Amy, I have been a youngest sister my whole life. Growing up, I alternated between loving my sisters and hating their guts. But the constant was how much I idolized them. Just like Jo, my sisters were brave and intelligent and confident and unafraid to speak their minds. But even when I was trying to emulate them, my Amy tendencies would show through. Reflecting back on Halloween 2016 when I dressed up as Jo in a red satin dress handmade by my mom, I wonder: Did I do it because I loved Jo or because I wanted to wear a pretty dress? Yeah, Amy’s kind of a brat and she’s superficial and she burnt Jo’s manuscript. But she’s twelve, and as she grows up, she becomes this caring and clever and ambitious person with these huge dreams. It wasn’t until Greta Gerwig’s adaptation that I realized Amy’s not actually the villain. Yes, she’s much less of a tomboy than Jo, who very clearly subverts gender roles, but she still is a feminist even while accepting the realities of her place in the world. Amy allowed me to realize that I can be feminine and feminist, that I can care about clothes but also about the world, and that I can be myself and be influenced by others.