"Bottle Caps" by Stuart Dybek

While reading this prose, I cannot help but to realize the constant contradictory language used to describe the protagonist's seemingly-eccentric hobby. He uses a "shopping bag" to collect bottle caps. The use of this noun suggests a very pleasant act, where pleasant goods are usually brought back from a trip like this. However, phrases like "bums" and "trash in a cloud of flies" follows it, which in turn suggests negativity to the protagonist's hobby. In continuing this prose, I feel that I am brought to the protagonist's world and feel his glory and sense of accomplishment when he successfully compares and inspects the bottle caps - from the common brands to the exotic foreign ones. Again, the feeling of triumph is toned down as I read on. I am introduced to the unpleasant "metallic, fermenting malt" smell of the used bottle caps that the protagonist collects. To make things worse, he plants the thought of a disastrous disease - polio - along with his hobby. This constant switch between positive and negative languages familiarize me with a mixed feeling towards bottle cap collecting that the protagonist practices. On one hand, he feels like a champion when he successfully collects them. Conversely, he feels embarrassed about it as he feels that this is a bad hobby, almost a sick one. Even when I do not feel that this is a bad hobby at first, after reading it for a while, I am introduced to the bad side of the hobby. In the end, I am ended up with a mixed feeling and I cannot agree more with Dybek that the bottle caps are nothing but "almost beautiful".

In contrast to the elaborative introduction about bottle caps, the climax of this prose is the stealing of the bottle caps which ended with the protagonist almost strangling his brother. Similar to a spoilt childhood fantasy, the beauty of the bottle caps are crushed altogether as they are used as nothing but tombstones for dead insects. This sensation is amplified by the short conclusion right after the introduction of the climax. I have a feeling as if the bottle caps are as good as dead, when I read the last sentence. It is as if a child has been brought back to the harsh reality where fairy tales are not real. Just like the protagonist, his hobby might not be as glamorous as he thought, after all. Even so, the mixed feeling is still lingering as the thought of his brother's eccentric hobby is introduced. I do not know if I should be feeling sad for the protagonist or feeling uneasy by his brother's hobby. The prose does not end with a concrete conclusion, leaving the lingering sensation open to interpretation of the readers. It is up to us readers to judge or not to judge the protagonist, his brother and his hobby. I cannot pinpoint my finger to simply one conclusion, as I am left hanging by the mixed feeling that does not allow me to choose sides.