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!

Small Steps

The other day began as a lazy Saturday morning spent at my computer, counting the minutes until my brother came home from college for winter break. I decided blog-surfing was the perfect pastime, and I ended up discovering quite the gem: a blog called Writer Unboxed, self-described as focusing on "the craft and business of genre fiction". I spent a considerable portion of my morning scrolling through its posts, perusing its contents for inspiration for my own blog. The post I found most stirring was entitled "Lettuce and Gold".

The gist of the post was the importance of self-discovery in literature, and how this self-discovery can occur at any moment, in an infinite number of ways. It's about the profound meaning that can be found in the most trivial of details, if you just take the time to look for it. My favorite part of the post is the ending:

"Is it too much to pack personal insight into every scene? I'd say to leave it out is to do too little. Small steps add up to a journey. There's even meaning in lettuce if you look for it. When you find it, it's gold. Pick it up. Give it away. The journey is for sharing."

As an aspiring writer, this blog post came as a sort of comfort to me. So often, I set out to write a poem or a story, but I get too caught up in the abstract idea I'm trying to convey that the dreaded state of writer's block hits me. I want to write about love, about heartbreak, about happiness...but perhaps, instead, I should be writing about lettuce. I think the point that Donald Maass, the author, is trying to make is that it's often the simplest moments that carry the most profundity. This is an important message for both writers and readers to keep in mind, but I think it's also applicable on a universal level to life in general. I believe it's a natural human tendency to define our own life narratives by the "milestones" of our lives, the moments that are largest, loudest, flashiest. As Maass points out, it's equally important to appreciate the quieter pleasures, such as purchasing lettuce.

The message behind "Lettuce and Gold" instantly reminded me of the following poem by William Carlos Williams, one that is deceptively simple with seemingly insignificant subject matter.

This is Just to Say

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

Perhaps Williams intended for this poem to merely illustrate the speaker's guilt coupled with his enjoyment of the delicious plums he took. Other interpretations claim that the poem was meant to serve as a commentary on the speaker's relationship with his wife, or relationships in general. To some, the speaker seems to sincerely regret taking the plums; to others, he seems satisfied, happy even. Regardless, the poem illustrates how even the most ordinary circumstances have layers of complexity. Essentially, even lettuce and plums carry meaning. You just have to look for it.

Spotlight on Poetry Therapy

A week or so ago, I wrote an essay for a college application that involved designing my own interdisciplinary college course. I decided that the best approach was to try to fuse two of my passions, and so I settled on a class focused on the relationship between poetry and psychology. As I was investigating the overlap between the two subjects, I stumbled across the field of poetry therapy. You may be skeptical at this point, and truthfully, I wouldn't blame you. At first it sounded like a bit of a hoax to me too. But as I researched the topic further, it amazed me just how defined the field has become.

Essentially, poetry therapy refers to a process by which a client's psychological health is improved through the reading and/or writing of poetry. A certified poetry therapist encourages this emotional growth and healing by selecting specific poems to focus on and creating an environment in which patients feel comfortable opening up and expressing themselves. A more in-depth overview of poetry therapy can be found here.

On poetrytherapy.org, I learned about the history of the field. To my surprise, I discovered that the roots of poetry therapy date back to primitive societies. Some ancient cultures featured shamans or witchdoctors who recited poetry, as this was thought to have a positive effect on the people's spirits. Another interesting anecdote is that Pennsylvania Hospital, the first hospital in the United States, encouraged patients to write and publish poetry as a form of treatment.

Though poetry therapy isn't especially widely known yet, recently, several important steps have been made toward legitimizing the field of poetry therapy. The National Association for Poetry Therapy (NAPT) was established in 1981, and it now sponsors an official publication, the Journal of Poetry Therapy. Poetry therapy also has defined objectives, which I found on this website.

The goals are as follows:

1. To develop accuracy and understanding in perceiving self and others

2. To develop creativity, self-expression, and greater self-esteem

3. To strengthen interpersonal skills and communication skills

4. To ventilate overpowering emotions and release tension

5. To find new meaning through new ideas, insights, and information

6. To promote change and increase coping skills and adaptive functions

Upon doing further research, I discovered real-life examples of people who put poetry therapy to use for the purpose of attaining these goals. This article describes a New Jersey Hospital that supports the use of poetry therapy for medical patients. Patients at University Hospital in Newark are encouraged to read poems related to their struggles and even write original poetry. I also came across the article "Opening the Door to Poetry Therapy" by a pioneer in poetry therapy. I'd highly recommend reading it; not only does it offer firsthand knowledge regarding the evolution of the field, but it's incredibly eloquently written. My favorite part is a quote by poet Stanley Kunitz that the author ends with: "Through the years I have found this gift of poetry to be life-sustaining, life-enhancing, and absolutely unpredictable. Does one live for the sake of poetry? No, the reverse is true: poetry is for the sake of life."

This quote especially resonates with me because I've always used poetry as a coping mechanism in my own life, but I wasn't aware of the extent to which this was true for others. Now I feel validated in my belief in the healing power of poetry, and I hope that you all also have the opportunity to experience this spiritual renewal and recovery. As a side note, I'm encouraged by the fact that therapy is becoming a more flexible term. Since I've been involved in several types of therapy and counseling throughout my life, I'm fascinated by new developments in the field.

While reflecting on poetry therapy, I couldn't help but be reminded of Azar Nafisi and Reading Lolita in Tehran. Just as literature is a therapeutic tool for the persecuted women of Iran, poetry can provide healing and growth for those who seek it.

The Making of a Memoir

In English class, we recently began reading Reading Lolita in Tehran, a memoir by Azar Nafisi. Memoir is a genre that I'm largely unfamiliar with, so I was intrigued by the concept and started wondering to myself, what makes a good memoir? It's indisputable that everyone's lives feature ups and downs, highs and lows, and when you look close enough, you'll find that just about everybody's life is a struggle in one way or another. But yet, not everyone publishes a narrative of their own life, nor should they. I decided to do some research to try to nail down the distinction, to decipher the recipe for a worthwhile memoir.

I came across a blog entitled The Writer's Edge which includes an article focused on that very subject. The blog post, "What Makes a Good Memoir?", essentially argues that, to qualify as a good memoir, a story must include circumstances beyond the ordinary. According to the article, if the events of the memoir are too relatable, the reader loses interest.

The blog post also claims that a clear time frame is a crucial element of a good memoir. The memoir is not exempt from the importance of a structure involving a beginning, middle, and end. Additionally, complex characters with emotional depth are a must-have. I'd argue that this is true of any story, but the author considered it worth noting. The article also addresses the intricacies of a memoir's plot. It offers the classic love story as a recipe for success and also suggests "situations with high stakes consequences".

In the case of Reading Lolita in Tehran, it's too soon to tell whether the book incorporates all these ingredients, though it already has featured moments of both romance and suspense. Considering the book's popularity and critical acclaim, I'm sure it serves as a model of a meaningful memoir.

"What Makes a Good Memoir?" closes with the idea that the writing of memoir is almost always a rewarding experience, but not all memoirs should be published. Key ingredients to a successful memoir include a conventional narrative structure, intriguing characters, an element of risk, and the ever-popular love story. Time will tell if Reading Lolita in Tehran fits the bill.

Poetry and Pictures

I've decided to take the time to share with you all one of my favorite blogs I've stumbled across. I Wrote This For You is far from a traditional blog. Rather than featuring entries with a few paragraphs each, most individual posts are nothing more than a photograph and a few short, poetic lines. But something about the pairing of poetry and pictures is so incredibly powerful, so astonishingly poignant, that I'm often left more affected after having visited this blog than after reading a 500-word post jammed with links and impressive vocabulary.

The thing about I Wrote This For You is that the words are raw and relatable. Nothing seems edited; it's as if you're given a glimpse into an exceptionally inquisitive mind, and yet, a mind that could belong to almost anyone. Despite the organic style and delightful simplicity that the blogger employs, every post is sufficiently polished. It's a fine line that the blogger walks, but he succeeds.

The best example I found is an entry entitled "The Next Stop". I'd recommend clicking that link so that you can see the photograph that corresponds with the words, but the writing is the following:

Only because it's still so raw and real. Soon I'll just be a series of images that sometimes flash through your mind, when you least expect it. And after that, only a few will stay. Then, one. A memory of a memory.

Reading those lines gives me chills every time. I'm forever in awe of the writer's ability to capture such abstract concepts as time, memory, and loss, and in just a few sentences, at that. The final line, "A memory of a memory" resonated with me most. Can we remember the memory of something, even if we've forgotten the memory itself? The words were thought-provoking, to say the least.

And it isn't just the language that speaks to the audience. The black and white photograph of a train speeding by adds so much to the words. For me, the image conjures that "here for a moment, then gone" feeling that I think all humans encounter on a daily basis. The train is blurred, representing constant motion, how powerless we are to the incessantness of time. How we can't count on keeping anything.

I could go on and on about the brilliance of the blog, but that doesn't seem fitting, as the whole essence of the blog is its beautiful brevity. Please check it out. No matter what you're feeling at the moment, I Wrote This For You will make you feel more connected, more human. I promise.

Morrison & Kingsolver: The Overlap of Literary Genius

I recently finished The Poisonwood Bible, after weeks spent flooding its pages with my own ink, reflecting upon its themes and meanings. The novel turned out to be one of my favorites of the books I've been assigned in English class throughout my high school career. While reading it, I was continuously reminded of Beloved by Toni Morrison, another one of the most influential stories I've read in high school and one of my favorite books in general. The parallels between the ideas and storylines of the two novels are undeniable. Both explore the complex family dynamic of a group of individuals faced with hardship and prejudice. Both experiment with structure through variation in time and narrator. Both include the loss of a central character who plays the role of daughter, sister, and metaphor. And I'd argue that both are prime examples of literary genius.

The final chapter of The Poisonwood Bible, entitled "The Eyes in the Trees" most reminded me of the style Toni Morrison uses in Beloved. From the first paragraph, I was already caught between the world of the Prices and the world of Sethe, Beloved, and Paul D, the central characters of Morrison's novel. Kingsolver writes,

"The glide of belly on branch. The mouth thrown open wide, sky blue. I am all that is here. The eyes in the trees never blink. You plead with me your daughter sister sister for release, but I am no little beast and have no reason to judge. No teeth and no reason. If you feel a gnawing at your bones, that is only yourself, hungry."

First of all, the thematic connections between the two authors' stories are apparent. Trees, hunger, teeth, and judgment, all of which are found in the passage above, are just a few of the miscellaneous items that are found throughout both novels.

From a literary perspective, I think there are several strengths of this paragraph that Morrison also employs in her writing. The unclear voice automatically engages the reader, requiring careful reading in order to decipher the identity of the narrator. Morrison also utilizes this strategy, as her chapters shift in voice without initially naming the narrator.

SPOILER ALERT: In the case of the passage above, the voice belongs to muntu, a Congolese concept of the human spirit, both living and dead. Specifically, the chapter from which the excerpt was taken pertains to Ruth May, a central character of the story who dies but continues to express her thoughts.

In addition to fluctuating narrators, both Morrison and Kingsolver incorporate short sentences in their writing to emphasize certain images and concepts. Varied sentence length and structure is a useful tool to manipulate the reader's focus and to separate details and ideas.

The two authors are also unafraid of playing with punctuation. In the paragraph above, Kingsolver writes "daughter sister sister" without any commas to separate the words, perhaps intending to blur the distinction between Ruth May's roles in the story in relation to other characters. Morrison is even more fearless when it comes to breaking the laws of grammar; she writes an entire chapter without periods, so that the sentences flow together in a poetic stream of consciousness.

The following is a passage of Beloved that includes many of the same strategies and themes Kingsolver implemented.

"All of it is now it is always now there will never be a time when I am not crouching and watching others who are crouching too I am always crouching the man on my face is dead his face is not mine his mouth smells sweet but his eyes are locked"

Like Kingsolver's passage mentioned earlier, this excerpt from Beloved includes short, pointed sentences and an unconventional grammatical structure. Additionally, it's interesting to note that both passages emphasize the image of eyes.

Beyond these surface-level similarities, the overlap is even more noteworthy. Both Ruth May and Beloved eventually become bodiless spirits, souls without human life but still possessing a voice, a story to share. Undoubtedly, the complexities of the two novels intertwine, but they each have uniquely important messages to deliver. I'll leave it to you to discover those messages for yourselves. Perhaps, along the way, you'll also be struck by the overlap between them.