English 1130 critical writing - Canadian author Sinclair Ross was writing during the Depression in the 1930s. In his fiction, he reveals the difficulties of farming life on the Prairies. adapted from Circus in Town

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Canadian author Sinclair Ross was writing during the Depression in the 1930s. In his fiction, he reveals the difficulties of farming life on the Prairies. adapted from Circus in Town by Sinclair Ro... ss 1 It was Jenny’s first circus. A girl in purple tights, erect on a galloping horse, a red-coated brass band, a clown, an elephant ripped through the middle. “And did you see the elephant?” she asked her brother Tom, who had found the piece of poster in the street when he was in town marketing the butter and eggs. “Was it really there? And the clown?” 2 But the ecstatic, eleven-year-old quiver in her voice, and the way she pirouetted on her bare toes as he led the horse out of the buggy shafts, made him feel that perhaps in picking up the poster he had been unworthy of his own seventeen years; so with an offhand shrug he drawled, “Everybody said it wouldn’t amount to much. A few ponies and an elephant or two—but what’s an elephant? 3 She wheeled from him, resenting his attempt to scoff away such wonders. The bit of poster had spun a new world before her, excited her, given wild, soaring impetus to her imagination; and now, without in the least understanding herself, she wanted the excitement and the soaring, even though it might stab and rack her. 4 It was supper-time, her father just in from the field and turning the horses loose at the water-trough, so off she sped to greet him, her bare legs flashing, her throat too tight to cry out, passionate to communicate her excitement, to find response. 5 But the skittish old roan Billie took fright at the fluttering poster, and her father shouted for her to watch what she was doing and keep away from the horses. For a minute she stood quite still, cold, impaled by the rebuff; then again she wheeled, and, as swiftly as before, ran to the house. 6 A wave of dark heat, hotter than the summer heat, struck her at the door. “Look—” she pierced it shrilly— “what Tom brought me—a circus,” and with the poster outstretched she sprang to the stove where her mother was frying pork. 7 There was no rebuff this time. Instead, an incredible kind of pity—pity of all things on a day like this.“Never mind, Jenny.” A hot hand gentle on her cheek a minute. “Your day’s going to come. You won’t spend all your life among chickens and cows or I’m not the woman I think I am!” And then, bewilderingly, an angry clatter of stove lids that made her shrink away dismayed, in sudden dread of her father’s coming and the storm that was to break. 8 Not a word until he had washed and was sitting down at the table. Then as the platters were clumped in front of him he asked, “What’s wrong?” and for answer her mother hurled back, “Wrong? You—and the farm—and the debts—that’s what’s wrong. There’s a circus in town, but do we go? Do we ever go anywhere? Other children have things, and see things, and enjoy themselves, but look, look at it! That’s how much of the circus my girl gets!” 9 Jenny dared to be a little indignant at the scornful way her mother pointed to the piece of poster. A beautiful poster—a band and half an elephant—and she felt exasperated and guilty that there should be a quarrel about it, her father looking so frightened and foolish, her mother so savage and red. 10 But even had she been bold enough to attempt an explanation it would have been lost in the din of their voices. Her mother shouted about working her fingers to the bone and nothing for it but skimping and debts. She didn’t mind for herself but she wanted Jenny to have a chance. “Look at her clothes and her bare feet! Your own daughter! Why don’t you take hold—do something? Nothing ahead of her but chickens and cows! Another ten years—can’t you just see the big, gawky know-nothing she’s going to be?” 11 Jenny gulped, startled. Ten years from now it was a quite different kind of young lady she intended to be. For a moment there was a sick little ball of consternation down near her midriff, a clammy fear her mother might be right—and then she was furious. She wasn’t gawky and she wasn’t know-nothing. She was farther on in school than any other girl her age. She could do fractions and percentages and draw the map of North America with her eyes shut. Her mother to talk, who only last Sunday when she was writing a letter had to ask how to spell ‘necessary’ 12 But suddenly the din between her mother and father split apart, and it was Tom speaking. Tom unruffled and magisterial, rising to his seventeen years and the incumbency of maintaining adult dignity at their table. “Can’t you hold on and let us eat in peace? We’ve heard all that before.” 13 Jenny shivered, it was so fine and brave of Tom. 14 “Come on, Jenny, you’re not eating anyway. We’ll go out and leave them to it.” 15 It was dangerous, she thought swiftly—parents weren’t to be flouted—but she couldn’t help herself. Her pride in Tom was uncontrollable, mastering her discretion. Eyes down, bare feet padding quick and silent, she followed him. 16 They walked gravely across the yard and sat down on the edge of the water-trough. “It’s too bad all right you couldn’t go to the circus,” Tom consoled her, “but everybody said it wouldn’t be worth the money.” 17 She glanced up puzzled, impatient. Pity again! If only they would just keep quiet and leave her alone —join her, if they liked, to see the circus. [Show More]

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