Ben Rice's Novel Review

The following sample essay on Ben Rice’s Novel. Each Williamson has his or her own struggles living in Lightning Ridge, such as Jellybean, the younger daughter, who has conjured up real yet “imaginary” friends because she doesn’t have any people her age, as well as the father, Rexes, who has note once encountered opal in woo years Of mining, and the son, Ashman, who can’t believe that everyone can see Bobby and Dining. All of these characters learn to get past their struggles, all except one.

Old Side, the oldest opal miner in Lightning Ridge, is one major character in Rice’s novel that hasn’t really overcome his struggle, and needs some polishing to do so.

In my point of view piece, will be looking into Old Side’ past in his shoes, explaining how he used to be before his wife died as well as explaining why he is so adamant towards believing that Rexes is a ratter.

My scene will take place when Judge McNally asked Old Side about his Emily, which will bring in a flashback into Old Kid’s past with his wife and end up with Old Side explaining why he believes Rexes is a ratter. This will help conclude a very interesting and unfinished dimension of Old Side with dialogue from Old Side during the trial in the view of Ashman being told the story from his mother.

The author, Ben Rice has given a very cantankerous personality to the character of Old Side, but with my added point of view, the reader will be much more understanding towards Old Side and will have a more complete answer to Judge Macaulay’s query.

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Mr. Carbon MAP English 5; Period 2 18 November 2014 Word Count: 996 P. O. V. Piece: Old Side Mum told me that then Judge McNally did lots of racking his brains, and sometimes he looked a bit pale, but eventually he decided to break up court until it was possible to interview Jellybean (Rice 82).

But he only did it after asking Side about his family and his history, for all anyone heard about Side was that he ate frill-necked lizards on toast for breakfast. “NO, sir. I haven’t got any family that is alive… Well, I had a wife, a very lovely wife, much time ago. Her name was Poppy. We had known each other our entire lives, living nearby Amigo’s Castle as young ‘nuns, and when we were still young and didn’t care much about the world, we had gotten married and skittered from the small town.

We went to Lightning Ridge, where we built our house board by board, nail by nail, day after day. Then, after a week or two of grimy labor, Poppy and I had to ourselves a fine house for two of us, in the small, lonely town of Lightning Ridge, where we were meant to have spent our lives together. Poppy and I later picked up work as a farmer in the nearby fields later that mummer, and had earned more than enough money for both of us and our soon-due child. Poppy then stopped doing labor began gardening as a hobby when I was gone at work.

She’d raise flowers and plants like they were her own children, talking to ‘me, laughing with ‘me, and even reading the paper with ‘me. Thought she had lost it, talking’ to plants for hours a day. At first, didn’t say anything, thinking that I would have ruined her fun, for she had no one to talk to in the tiny tow of Lightning Ridge. But after walking home from the fields towards harvesting season, I saw my dear Poppy crying on the porch. Her flowers were dead, bent toward the ground as if saying they were sad to go with the coming of winter.

The kids from the next plot, the good for nothing’ Parkinson, appeared at the fences, shrieking, hurling stones, and calling my delicate Poppy a batty bitchy. Chased them off with my shovel, and brought her shrilling self inside to have some tea. Over the winter, I decided to stay close to Poppy, so I set up a whittle shop with some corrugated iron on the lot to earn some money while farming had ended for the winter. That same winter, Poppy started knitting using yarn room one of my fellow workers. She had knit a blanket for our soon-due gem, as well as my beanie.

That winter went by fast, with plenty of people flowing in from England for life in the outback as well as the hunt for opals, started by the rumor that this arid, burning place was once an ocean. The following spring, our baby was due, and with the coming of spring, Poppy had begun gardening again. When we had dug out the weeds and roots of the old plants, she heard a sharp clink. She shoved the hand shovel deep into the hole again, hearing another clink. I was busy whittling away a sis in the shop when I heard her screaming my name at the top of your lungs. Hough she felt the baby kick or something’, but what she had discovered was far more exciting. I saw he doing’ her little dance on the porch, clasping something in one of her fists. As I approached Poppy, she told to close my eyes and hold my hands out. Wondering if we traveled all the way back to our young years, had a foolish grin on doing so. Then, I felt a hard, cold, tube shaped thing. I opened my eyes, and saw the black gem. I held it up towards the direction Of the rising sun, seeing the fluid embers hang into greens and reds and violets in the light.

This one rock was going to change our lives for forever. The rest of the spring, whittling became unimportant, and soon began mining for opals all around the house. Every day found at least a handful of good-sized gems, and stored them in Poppy’s chest, where she kept baby clothes, her favorite books on flowers, as well as the opals. Rumors were going around town that someone had finally found the opals in Lighting Ridge, but I kept my head down and continued mining, until that one day hen Parkinson Senior himself along with his two devil children.

I quickly threw the shovel in the hole that I was digging, and pretended to be planting some seeds. Towards the end of the spring, harvest season was approaching, and I left mining to start harvesting again in the fields. Poppy stayed inside these days, only to water her plants, but kept herself busy to our yet to be born child. One day as I came home, found the younger Parkinson rat snooping in one of my mining sites, and as soon as I yelled out, he left behind a dust trail, clenching meeting in his hand that I sure as hell hoped wasn’t opal.

Who knew what could happen if people knew we were living on top of a sea of opals? I soon regrettably found the answer to that question. On the coming Saturday, I came home from a tiring day of work looking forward to meeting my precious wife, my lifelong love, my one and only friend, to greet me at the porch and brighten up my life with her dazzling smile. Instead, had walked into the darkest, most terrible nightmare. Poppy wasn’t outside, so when I went into the house, had called for her. She didn’t respond.

I walked into to our room to see if she was talking to our soon-due child. Poppy was on the ground, soaked in her own blood. The shovel was smeared in blood, the spade stuck in poppy’s tummy. I frantically shook poppy, yelling at her to get up, telling her to wake up if she could hear me. After what seemed like hours of agony, trying to get Poppy to wake up and tell this was all a joke, found the opal chest, lying open, blank, the only thing in there the blanket for our now dead child.