An Assessment of 'Professor Incognito Apologizes: An Itemized List"

What are the prominent symbols in the story and how are they used?

One of the most poignant symbols I see in this short story is the character of Doctor Kagan, the couple’s counselor. Kogan is used to emphasize the rift in the relationship between Incognito and Suzanne, who is later revealed to be the superhero Nebula. Incognito recalls both good and bad times in the letter to Suzanne, swinging on a pendulum of emotions that lead back to Doctor Kagan’s symbolism of strife and Incognito’s attempts to fix it.

What connections did you make with the story? Which elements did you connect with?

Clearly not the the extreme of destroying the world, but I have been in those shoes of mixed feelings after a relationship, swinging between good memories and frustration. Looking back with regret does no one any good, it is so much healthier to learn and move on…not exactly what Incognito proposes in his letter to Suzanne, to join him and take over the world..

What changes would you make to adapt this story into another medium of your choosing?

Given the chance to adapt Professor Incognito Apologizes, I would use the medium of a film noir type graphic novel - all black and white, but with touches of color for symbolism. The story would unfold from the viewer’s perspective as Suzanne as she (you) discovers the secret lair and unravels Professor Incognito’s story. The most vivid, emotionally charged moments or memories would be displayed in a variety of panels and page layouts, breaking frame, with at least one full page color illustration for effective value. 

Edwidge Danticat's Dewbreaker: The Book of the Dead

“What are the precise strategies that are used by its creator to convey the world to us and us to the world?"

In this story, the reader is introduced to Ka Bienaime, a first generation Haitian American sculptor on a trip with her father to deliver a sculpture she modeled after her father during his time in prison. The piece stirs emotions and memories in her father and he disappears with the statue mysteriously because of it. During the time her father is gone and we are rendered clueless, Ka describes her father to the hotel manager and the law enforcement and we begin to understand more of his character. Through Ka’s account, it becomes clear what type of relationship they share and how he has influenced her life and why she created the sculpture. There is significant emotional meaning behind Ka’s sculpture and it is through her phone calls with her mother and inner dialogue how we come to find this out. 

When Ka’s father returns, we see a first hand account of their relationship and level of respect for one another. In his recounting of the day and his time apart, we learn with Ka his history and that he not only destroyed the sculpture, but why he destroyed it. Ka’s anger is more than understandable, but it becomes extremely relatable as to why she does not outwardly show it or lash out, but rather keeps listening out of respect. This type of writing and inner dialogue becomes real very quickly and is a great technique, to show a character’s inner thoughts while a conversation is going on simultaneously. This style of writing is incredibly effective.

In the end, I feel as though the story runs flat, but was written in a well described method. On a personal note, I feel as though there was something hollow about the story. I can’t quite pin point it, if it was her character and a possible lack of depth or if it was the stark feel of the conversations in the piece… something was off, but overall, the world is described well and very relatable too, as I’ve been to Lakeland and Tampa multiple times. The atmosphere and cultural descriptions are spot on.

World Building

Tangled up in the sheets, I kick my feet free from their crinkly 400 thread count prison and pivot my body until they swing and touch down on the cold hardwood floor, shooting goose bumps across my limbs. Taking a quick breath to ease the chilly shock, I ball up my fists and push my way up off the bed into the dark room, knuckles popping. Rubbing some friction into my arms, I begin rooting around for a soft oversized hoodie, as my dog sleepily follows my movement from his warm perch by my pillows. Though endlessly loyal, our night run hours before has him bushed, so he tucks his face back under his bushy flume of a tail. Hoodie thrown on, I fumble for keys and tiptoe out the door, passing photos of family in the dimly lit hall and pass through kitchen. The ceiling fan listlessly hums it’s goodbye as I quietly slide the patio door closed behind me and as I quietly step through the dewy grass toward my sleeping car.

Backing out of the driveway, I push back the sunroof and let the wind do what it will to my hair as I make my way to the interstate. As my headlights drill holes in the misty blackness, the air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth. It’s 1:39 AM, so I see few other cars, other than the occasional cop car nestled in a shadow stand of trees looking for speeders.

Driving into the hazy, purple twilight, I pass by all too familiar land marks of funny trinket shops, the old train station and the honeysuckle covered gazebo by The Village Scoop. Beyond main street, I turn down the frontage road, twisting and turning, rising and falling, winding through the hills until I pass the suburban border, a threshold where the sea of residential homesteads turns into pure untainted forest.

Lit only by the occasional far off twinkling light of a front porch, the gravel road takes me through the trees that stretch so tall it looks like they could almost touch the stars. The scent of pine needles is strong here, rushing in through the sun roof and filling my car with memories of running through the forest chasing shadows and playing flashlight tag. Lost in thought, I almost miss the turn for my little lakeside hideaway.

The park is pitch black, lit only by an iron lamp post laden in a fog of insects. Feeling my way down the cool concrete sidewalk toward the sings, my smile widens at the sudden sensation of sand between my toes. Freshwater waves fizz as they roll up onto the beach and soak the sand. Settling into a swing, I begin pumping my legs and watch the starry canopy pulse overhead.

Here is where I stay, lost in dreams and beauty and reverie, swept up in the lush scent of the forest, lake and the recent rainfall, just swinging, swinging, swinging.