Literature: The Strand That Unites Us

For my final assignment in my English class last semester, I explored the purposes of literature, eventually settling on literature as a source of empathy. I wrote an essay centered on this purpose, as I reflected on several books I've read that have especially enabled me to understand others' perspectives and experiences. Not only do I think these titles are worth sharing as book recommendations, but I also believe it's valuable to note the techniques the authors utilize in order to inspire empathy in their readers.

The first book I touched on in my essay was The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. It's both a collection of short stories and a fictional memoir rooted in the traumatic experiences of Vietnam veterans. Prior to reading the book as a summer assignment, I admittedly had low expectations of the novel's impact. I doubted my own ability to relate to and appreciate the suffering of individuals with such startlingly different narratives from my own. Yet O'Brien successfully shatters the barrier between his readers and characters by fusing alien military experiences with universal concepts, such as unrequited love and devastating loss. The following quote from the novel perfectly sums up this idea.

"And in the end, of course, a true war story is never about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the special way that dawn spreads out on a river when you know you must cross the river and march into the mountains and do things you are afraid to do. It's about love and memory. It's about sorrow. It's about sisters who never write back and people who never listen."

As this excerpt demonstrates, the shared emotions O'Brien weaves throughout his storytelling establish closeness between the reader and the characters. Because of this brilliance on O'Brien's part, The Things They Carried became one of the most meaningful books I've ever read, despite the unfamiliar events it documents.

Another novel that profoundly affected me is The Scarlet Letter, a classic by Nathaniel Hawthorne. The story's protagonist, Hester Prynne, is an unconventional heroine, to say the least; she's a seventeenth-century adulteress exiled from her community for her immoral actions. To establish a relationship with this woman stamped 'adulteress', to pity her, to eventually admire her, was the last thing I expected. Yet, through the progression of Hawthorne's flawless writing, Hester evolves throughout the story to become a character not only deserving of sympathy but also praise.

The novel Beloved by Toni Morrison poses an even greater challenge to its readers' empathetic capacities, and in my experience, it ultimately succeeds. SPOILER ALERT: Halfway through the story, it's revealed that Sethe, a primary character, is guilty of murdering several of her children. It may seem unfeasible that a reader could ever understand what could compel a person to commit such an act, yet Morrison develops Sethe into such a complex, relatable character that you can't help but connect to her situation. Morrison eventually discloses Sethe's motivations, explaining that she felt it necessary for her children to die in order to escape slavery. Morrison's passionate use of language allowed me to understand Sethe's thought process, and therefore, I believe Beloved is a testament to literature's power to encourage empathy in even the most foreign circumstances.

What works of literature have inspired empathy in you? Do you agree that understanding others' experiences is the fundamental objective of literature, or can you think of a larger purpose? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Book Review: Little Bee

This winter break, my greatest gift was copious amounts of time to myself--time to reflect, time to write, time to read. (And oh yeah, time to watch an entire season of True Blood, but I suppose that's irrelevant)

I was especially grateful for the privilege to read books of my choice. While I mostly indulged in several poetry collections I checked out from the local library, I did finish one full-length book worthy of recommendation. The book is called Little Bee, a novel by Chris Cleave. It's the story of two strikingly different women whose clashing worlds collide. The first, known simply as Little Bee, is a Nigerian refugee who ends up in an immigration detention center in the UK. The second is Sarah O'Rourke, a young British mother and magazine editor struggling to repair a withering marriage. The story is divided into chapters which alternate between Little Bee's and Sarah's perspectives. At first, it seems that the two women's stories are unrelated, but the overlap between their lives slowly unravels as it's revealed that the two shared a haunting experience on a Nigerian beach.

For fear of revealing too much, I think it's best not to delve further into any more plot developments. Even the description on the back cover is sparse for that very reason. But please, rest assured that Little Bee will hold your interest--if not for its plot, for Cleave's brilliant writing style. One of the story's strong points is undoubtedly its richly imagined characters. In addition to the tortured but lovable Little Bee and the highly complex Sarah, there is Sarah's son, Charlie, a three-year-old who not only refuses to wear anything but his Batman suit, but also views the entire world as Batman would, dividing all the characters of his life into "baddies" and "goodies". This blissfully simplistic point of view is unbelievably endearing, but more importantly, it forces us to challenge our own conceptions of morality.

In fact, that is exactly what's occurring on every page of the book. Any preconceived ideas or hastily drawn conclusions are challenged by the startling truth that dominates Cleave's carefully crafted fiction. Throughout Little Bee, Cleave beautifully explores themes of identity, loss, fidelity, guilt, responsibility, and fulfillment. Despite the cultural differences that potentially distance the reader from Little Bee's characters, the raw humanness of the story makes it not only universally relevant, but universally moving. If you're not deeply affected by this story, I question your capacity for compassion.

Here's an example of one of the most stirring passages, written in the voice of Little Bee:

"I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I surivived."

This is a perfect example of Cleave's ability to draw you in, to engage the reader in a way I never thought possible. To Little Bee, who has faced more horrors than most of us, a scar probably means a physical disfigurement, or else a tragic event like the witness of a killing. To many of us, a scar may be comparatively smaller-- a lost job, a broken heart, a skinned knee. But our ability to be resilient, to march on despite our scars, whatever they may be--this is the single strand that connects us, the essence of our humanity.

If you're still not convinced that Little Bee is worth reading, check out this Washington Post review or a similar one from the New York Times. Both writers do an excellent job pointing out the intricacies that make Little Bee such a masterpiece.

If you have any recommendations of your own, please share! Happy reading!