A Space For Expression and Introspection
A Space To Be Determined.
A Space To Be Determined.
His Favorites by Kate Walbert is a coming-of-age novel that asks for someone, anyone, to listen. Told from the perspective of lead character Jo, as an adult, the novel dives into her trauma head on, avoiding any bushes to beat around. For the entirety of the novel, Jo is detailing her experiences to a detective in an effort to try and heal. Desperate for someone to believe her, “This is not a story I’ve told before. No one would believe me. I mean, really believe me,” (His Favorites, pg.3) Jo is telling her story for the first time in full. We learn that her trauma has been mounting on her shoulders ever since she was a teen. And we also learn throughout that she has been neglected during that same span. In the early pages of the novel, it is revealed that she accidentally kills her best friend while they were hanging out one night. Her mother’s response was too move her away from what happened and try to move on with distance, instead of words. The problem with this was that it didn’t provide Jo with an outlet to express her true feelings. Thus, her emotions and her stories of grief are ignored. Later on, she is abused by a perverted school teacher. One of his many victims, yet he seemed to like her a bit more than the rest it seemed given the title. When Jo talks with her friend and succeeding builds up the courage to speak on her abuser, her story is tossed into a patriarchal shredder and erased. Her story isn’t believed, and her feelings are disregarded, although this time being way more mal-intended. By the end of the novel, Walbert asks readers to grapple with the idea that Jo’s story still isn’t believed, and that her feelings still aren’t regarded. It’s a stark reflection.
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https://www.thecrimson.com/article/2018/2/13/heart-berries-review/ Heart Berries, a memoir by Terese Marie Mailhot, sees her wrangling with her past, her present, and her future, in an intense reflection on or of her life as a First Nations indigenous woman. Being that she is only in her thirties, it’s startling just how intense this memoir can get at times. Whether it be a domestic dispute that turned violent quick, or a gross moment in the shower, even losing a child. In Heart Berries, Mailhot doesn’t spare on the details of these events and she writes with a gritty nature that doesn’t pull any punches. Based on the discussions held in class in relation to the article linked above, I started to wonder about the privilege of an individual who can state that the events of this novel in particular can be read as cliche. It’s sort of baffling in a way because, memoirs are supposed to be spaces where fiction isn’t a thing and the scenarios of the novel actually took place. For Mailhot, this book reads very personal, I can feel the passion of every word here. So, how is it that this novel can be written with cliches? If something traumatic happened to an individual and that same individual uses words to explain their grief and pain then no matter how many times a reader has read that material, it should never be something that is considered redundant, or typical, as in the same experience as another. And an argument could be made that the privilege to call someone else’s trauma cliche is within a readers right to say or do but, I think it’s also worth noting that if that reader truly believes that something is cliche in a memoir like this, maybe that should make them more upset at the reality of these traumas happening with such a frequency. Looking at Kamila Shamsie’s novel Home Fire, there are many instances of characters doing things that could be considered wrong but, for the sake of someone they care about. Examples include, Aneeka’s relationship with Eamonn or Parvaiz’s departure to Syria, or even Isma telling the authorities about her brother’s leaving. These characters in particular make complex choices that are hard to confine into a black and white lens. Focusing on Aneeka in particular, her number one goal is getting her brother back safely, despite his own leaving. So, when the son of a high-ranking official walks into her life one day, I wouldn’t blame her for taking that as more than a coincidence. Her relationship with him isn’t completely one-sided though, as she does have some feelings for him according to the text. Even still, her number one priority is Parvaiz. Some would call her manipulative due to this fact. When people around Aneeka (even Eamonn himself), challenge her morals here she defends herself, citing her love for her brother as being worth it. Love for the people closest to you will draw a difficult hand from your deck sometimes. Shamsie shows that here. On the back of the novel, where the synopsis reads, the last sentence asks what you would sacrifice for love. That question resonates throughout the book and for Aneeka, she is willing to do just about anything. That doesn’t make her a bad person at all, it makes her layered, it begs at least a hint of empathy on the behalf of the reader. When Isma tells on Parvaiz, Aneeka views her as a traitor for the rest of the novel pretty much. And while that is one way of viewing her, she can also be empathized with because she is only doing what she feels is right (I probably align closer with Aneeka here but, even still). I guess my point is that a little empathy can go a long way. That doesn’t make choices right or wrong but, at least they can be understood a bit easier. *In retrospect it probably would’ve been more efficient to write a comparative post for this novel and The Incendiaries. Ooops The idea of belonging is ever-present in R.O. Kwon’s debut novel The Incendiaries. Whether it’s Phoebe struggling with losing her mother and sequentially her love of piano, or Will losing his faith and to an extent Phoebe, the novel centers round this theme of place. The central question being, where do I belong if not here? These individual ordeals that are dealt to the characters are similar to the personal story of Kwon’s own loss of faith. In interviews, she refers to the emotional turmoil that followed with such a decision. Losing connections with family, friends, anyone associated with the faith who were unwilling to empathize. This is relevant because in the novel, Kwon shows just how far people will go in order to feel secure in a space, their own. For Phoebe this means being swayed into an extremist cult led by someone prying on her loss and fear of abandonment (for the lack of a better term). It’s easy to sympathize with her in this novel if you understand her grief and desire for some sort of tether, something for her to latch on to. For Phoebe, her mother and piano were those tethers for a while. When those unhooked from her life, John Leal came around with a hook of his own. In argument could be made that she initially latched on to Will and then Leal. Point still stands that desperation set in, even if subconsciously. And although this story is told mainly from Will’s perspective, this I feel is the larger point. I believe that Kwon was trying to demonstrate the desperation and angst involved with finding yourself and your place in the world. Phoebe is a tragic character who is desperate to belong, and she mirrors our own struggles even if in a more dramatic sense. We all don’t end up in some sort of extremist cult (although some have), we all may not love piano but, we all do want to be comfortable in our own identities. Everyone wants to feel like they belong somewhere, no matter where it is. The Incendiaries relays those ideas for me. |
Trey BrownA creative-writing major at Wright State with a particular interest in motion pictures. Archives
April 2019
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