Backwards Was Everything If What?

In English class, we recently started reading The Poisonwood Bible, a novel by Barbara Kingsolver about a conservative Baptist family's mission experience in the Belgian Congo. A more detailed summary can be viewed here.

Throughout the book, Kingsolver demonstrates her undeniable brilliance regarding the craft of writing, from her thoughtful metaphors to recurring consonance to richly-developed character perspectives. I could comment on any number of her stylistic choices, but the part that resonated with me most in my reading thus far was not one of Kingsolver's beautifully-implemented writing methods, per se, but a concept of language brought up through the character Adah's intuitive voice. In the following passage, Adah reflects on the significance of the arrangement of words.

"When I finish reading a book from front to back, I read it back to front. It is a different book, back to front, and you can learn new things from it. It from things new learn can you and front to back book different a is it?" (57).

I found this passage to be incredibly thought-provoking. As writers, we devote hours to selecting the perfect word with just the right rhythm and associations. These careful decisions receive recognition through the silent appreciation of our readers, as that glorious series of syllables can trigger a thousand different images in our audience's minds. Yet the subtleties buried between the lines are often overlooked. The way in which those hand-picked phrases are strung together is as important as the phrases themselves. If the order of just two words is flipped, the meaning of an entire sentence can be transformed.

Furthermore, as Adah's thought process reveals, it's interesting to note how the meaning of a single line changes if it's read in reverse. This suggests that it's not merely individual words that conjure up memories, thoughts, and emotional reactions from readers. It's also the words that surround those words and the sequence in which all the words are placed.

This idea of "writing backwards" has been explored in various forms of literature. Upon rereading this excerpt of The Poisonwood Bible, a specific poem came to mind. Though it's the work of an adolescent rather than an accomplished author, I still believe there's value in analyzing how the young writer played with the composition of words. I originally came across it on teenink.com, a site I would recommend for all word lovers, but especially my fellow teens. The full text of the poem is copied below:

you were gone

you were gone from school today, i sat
behind your empty chair and almost
swore i could see outlines of
your body moving like it
had the day before, like
some animated
chalk person,
bright and
gone.

you are beautiful and you are hidden,
all the while you show yourself to me.
she had told me to live in the moment,
see, so i rubbed your back and asked
you questions. cried and breathed on
your body. kissed your head and ran
away.

i wanted to kiss you in that moment,
your eyes downturned and pleading.
i knew if i had, i would have gotten
carried away, you would have gotten
carried away. you, and your arms out
and your small smile, but it had been
carried away and it was gone.

to experiment is not fair to you, not
fair to my mother, not fair to God. to
experiment is to kill myself. then why
(your red hair) do you (tiny teeth)
enter my mind (small hands) at all
times (furrowed brows), every time.

sometimes, my thoughts look like:
i want you. i want you and your trail
of young philosophers behind you. i
want you and the force behind your
eyes. i want you and the naked space
on the side of your neck. i want you.

gone and bright, person chalk animated
some like, before day the had it like
moving body your of outlines see
could i swore almost and chair
empty your behind sat i,
today school from
gone were
you.

I felt it necessary to include the whole poem, so as not to interfere with the poet's craftsmanship, but the first and last stanzas are the pieces most relevant to the theme of this post. Strangely, I found myself more affected by the final stanza, even though it involved the same exact words as the first, merely in the "wrong" order. I think it may be because the unusual language structure forced me to slow down and savor each word in its own right. Additionally, the fragmented flow of the sentence varied its emphasis and tone. I perceived the second version to be more poignant, as its jumbled nature managed to convey the confusion and tangled emotions of the speaker.

Though I admit that learning to write and read backwards may not be the most essential of skills, I do believe it's an element worthy of being added to the ongoing conversation of how we tell stories.

It perceive you how change will backwards something seeing perhaps.