Buckets's Leavitt/Hoiland

So sadly I was unable to attend class on Monday (French tests are the worst), so I cannot speak of Leavitt's heart that so many of you have been able to, but you could tell that she truly speaks from the heart in her writing, and that she floats with her imagery and her style. Additionally, my current proximity to Paradise Lost (I'm doing deep study of it in a class right now) made the references to Milton's work even more intriguing. I doubt that there is so much of the syntactic, critical, allegorical play in referencing Paradise Lost (though Paradise Lost does plenty of that in itself), but I like the idea that Leavitt runs perpendicular and parallel to Milton, and not just the book. Milton became blind later in his life and drew up a connection between him and Homer. Leavitt argues about the blindness of her previous predicament, and now her clarity has allowed her to reflect on that time.

In One Hundred Birds Taught Me to Fly, a sentence from the closing paragraph about her sister, Sage, and their relationship.
"As a teenager growing up in the heart of Mormon culture, I worried that my sister would never find any peace the further she diverged from the familiar path laid out by the church. I worried for her in the same way I worried for the girl from my high school whose parents drank wine."
This call to naivety and its personal pitfalls. This passage intrigued me because it showed a woke understanding of perspective, but also showed that this symptom is so common that it can be easily permissible, and even still with her. I enjoy how throughout the book she offers wisdom and observance without pride, often sounding just as approachable as a friend. I want to offer that in my own personal essay, but also when I talk to people in general. It's the type of ethos that lasts much longer than a blaring trumpet in someone's face.