“Soon everything around downstairs was shut and fastened. Janie mounted the stairs with her lamp. The light in her hand was like a spark of sun-stuff washing her face in fire. Her shadow behind fell black and headlong down the stairs. Now, in her room, the place tasted fresh again. The wind through the open windows had broomed out all the fetid feeling of absence and nothingness. She closed in and sat down. Combing road-dust out of her hair. Thinking.” (p.192)

Janie finishes her story, and Pheoby heads off for the evening. So Janie is left alone--to pause, to sit, to reflect. Take a seat beside her. Think back through the novel and consider…

“Books are sometimes windows, offering views of worlds that may be real or imagined, familiar or strange. These windows are also sliding glass doors, and readers have only to walk through in imagination to become part of whatever world has been created or recreated by the author. When lighting conditions are just right, however, a window can also be a mirror. Literature transforms human experience and reflects it back to us, and in that reflection we can see our own lives and experiences as part of the larger human experience…”

-Rudine Sims Bishop, “Mirrors, Windows, and Sliding Glass Doors”

What moments in this text were windows for you? Sliding glass doors? Mirrors? Some combination? Document these through whatever mode(s) you think most apt...