Required Reading For Your ‘Destination Vacation’
9 November 2009
Jamaica Kincaid’s book A Small Place, reminded me at first of a travel journal, and then of a personal journal. The function of the beginning ‘chapter’ which mimics a travel journal, is to put the reader in the position of tourist. In doing so, the reader is implicated with the ignorance of all the non-native people who visit Antigua. This got me thinking. I thought that I needed a vacation. And then I instantly felt terrible for that, and realized that this book has quite possibly changed the way that I am able to view destination vacations forever. I have never actually taken a ‘destination’ vacation: those are only things that I daydream about, but now that blissful ignorance has been taken away and Kincaid’s book has held up a mirror to the entitlement and suppression that permeates the western idea of ‘holiday.’ It is similar, in effect, to a picture by Banksy:
It seems that there is nothing that this society takes for granted that can be simply separated from its role in the world. Everything has its equal and opposite balance, so a ‘simple’ vacation carries with it the suppression and exploitation of a region and its people, in order to create a false paradise. At every All-You-Can-Eat Buffet, there are people starving in the alley behind the restaurant.
The end of Kincaid’s book changes from an anti-travel guide to a personal journal of frustration, and I feel that as the reader, I have followed that model. The more information that is given, the more complicated and upsetting a situation can seem. The question of what to do next, and how to fix past mistakes, seems so important once the curtain has been lifted, but the answers remain elusive. Kincaid writes about the assassinations of leaders in Antigua with a confusion that translates to the reader. The events and actions are all interconnected, but we cannot see the threads to cut: there is no clear path to rectification. Other readers might say, at this point, that Kincaid is unjustly passing blame to her readers (and alienates the very readers that buy her books) for something that happened before their time. Although Antigua’s history with colonization is not something that the average reader can control, Kincaid’s direct confrontation of the reader asks them to look at what they CAN control.
Kincaid’s book ends with a description of the ‘European Disease’ – the use and exploitation of other people in order to feel better about one’s own lonely and empty existence, and I am left to ponder the cure for this disease. If I never take that ‘destination’ vacation, am I sufficiently doing my part to counter – act the effects of suppression and exploitation? Probably not, but as J. Kincaid writes, we are all just human beings: we do what we can and hope that it will make a difference.
Random Beings: Modernism, Categorization, and Virginia Woolf
2 November 2009
I see the concept of “random” coinciding with the quote by D.H. Lawrence that “Individualism makes the mistake of considering the individual a fixed entity.” I see these two concepts as being related in such a way that an individual is an ever changing being that experiences things differently during each moment or event. In other words, they have random experiences and thoughts; they do not have a fixed perspective that is impervious to change. I do not see random thought as a negative description; it is, in my opinion, a mode of expression and experience from moment to moment; One moment being cheese sandwiches or the color of a pencil, the next moment having the possibility of an epiphany or the contemplation of a leaf.
Generalizing the random experiences of females and relegating that experience to only times of stress is, to me, an assumption that one person’s experience is the fixed experience of all who “fit” into that category, which in this case would be females. I would like to take it one step further and argue that not only are we random beings with the ability to create a whole new world of thought within any given second, but that this random existence applies to all of us, men and women. Now I am the one making a generalization, but I assert that the generalized randomness would allow for each experience to be unique; one person would think random thoughts when stressed precisely because they are a random being.
This assumption of fluidity and possibility extends to the writers as well; we would be correct in saying, for example, that Virginia Woolf is a Modernist writer, and we would also be correct in saying that she is a feminist writer. She exists simultaneously in both worlds, and possesses a random existence. She would exist as both or neither, a feminist or a modernist depending upon who is looking at her and through what lens.
It is my opinion that the assumption of a fixed entity reinforces the binary system that determines an either/or definition for every aspect of our existence. Random beings, as defined for this post, have the capability of defying the binary system in such a way that it is hard to define them as either this or that. Because a woman is a feminist, it does not follow that she is unhappy in her marriage, (as evident in Virginia’s suicide note to her husband in which she writes “I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been.”). Because a woman is married, it does not necessarily follow then, that she is a heterosexual, as evident with Virginia’s life-long friendship and love affair with Vita Sackville-West. The possibility of existing as a both/and is also evident with the correspondences between Woolf and Arnold Bennett; Even though they vehemently criticized each other regarding the do’s and don’ts of literature, upon meeting each other, neither could honestly say that they disliked the other. In fact, they had a sort of mutual respect for one another; they existed as both adversaries and equals.
The description of one as a random being allows for the next moment in our lives to contain possibilities limited only by our imagination. It allows for writers to create new modes of expression, and it allows for everyone, as an existing individual, to experience the world as it really is; ever-changing and confusing. We are not either a critic or a creator, a this or a that; we are capable of being both, and we are confusing, complex beings.
That’s Shorthand For…What?
28 October 2009
I logged in this morning with a few ideas for a post topic, but I was not entirely sure what I wanted to write about. So there I am, in my pajamas, clutching a cup of coffee (made with milk….but that’s a different story, trust me) and I start rereading and reviewing yesterday’s administrative stuff. That’s when I notice that the post yesterday was really hard to read.
I took another sip of my coffee and looked again. Yup. It wasn’t me, it was the post. Dropped letters, truncated words, extra spaces. It was like reading a drunk person talking. (well, maybe not that bad, but you get the idea.)
Oh, and hopefully I fixed all of the errors so there is nothing to see there… move along. We can pretend it didn’t happen.
So I started thinking about how I write…you know, penmanship. I have my special occasion writing that comes out when I write sentiments in cards, or when I am making food or place cards for a cocktail party. Generally, it makes an appearance when the people who have to read my writing are either holding a gift that goes with it, or if they had to change out of their pajamas to come over to my place and socialize. In both of those scenarios (especially the latter), they deserve some good penmanship.
For myself…well. Forget it. I take notes and write my lists and the end result looks like a hybrid between Old English and TXT Speak. There are words that I can blend: with the becomes withe and connect to becomes connecto, and then there are words that I can turn into symbols, like behavior, psychology, and because. Behavior and psychology turn into b and Ψology. Because becomes b/c and the @ symbol stands in for at, about, all and area. (Hmm, I wonder what other people’s shorthand is like…if it is like a signature…)
I can read my own shorthand. Usually. And if I can’t, then I can sleuth it out by its context. It is when I can’t read what I typed 12 hours before on a keyboard that I start to worry. And I am not talking about ‘Ohai, im txting so itsin cntxt, KWIM?’ I am talking about when I am typing an equivalent to my special occasion writing, and it comes out looking like my shorthand. You see, I don’t have a set shorthand for keyboards yet, not like I do for scrawling out a note. This means that when I go back to read and proof what I typed out, I don’t catch a lot of what I blended together, as I don’t have a conscious recognition of my shorthand. One would think that means I can recognize the typos and mistakes easier because they would stand out more – they are not yet assimilated into the way I process. But nope.
Apparently that is not the way it works for me. Apparently, my brain has its own online shorthand, with its blended words, dropped letters and extra spaces…it just hasn’t informed me yet.
……
Or, I just need to have more caffeine before I edit.
Twitterpated
27 October 2009
Remember Bambi and his lesson in young love?
We all say at one point that it’s not going to happen to us…and eventually even the strongest succumb to the 140 character lure of Twitter.
I am not yet at the stage in which all I can think about is Twitter and I can’t live without it, but the relationship is young. Who knows what will happen….
All this is to say that The Read Queen is now on Twitter!
Follow me, I’ll follow you…(and my my my, that sounds like it can be categorized in the file of Stalker; Creepy.)
Cheaper than Therapy
24 July 2009
Why do we do it? Why do we sit in our chairs, on our sofas, on the trains, in our tubs, reading? What do we get from it? Escape? Yes. Knowledge? Yes. A journey, laughter, trivia, insight, bragging rights, skills, information, communication …yes. All of these things. And more. Reflections of ourselves mixed with glimpses of a changing reality. A vision of the world that was, the world that is, and flashes of the world that will be.
Reading Varieties of Disturbance by Lydia Davis has brought this out in me. Her structure and simple poignancy has the effect of a whisper, confided to me amidst the secret rooms of the Changing World Society. I feel as if I have been privileged with a glimpse of an abstract shift that our reality will take in the future. The change is intangible and elusive, yet it weighs heavy on me as a reader. Only Davis knows exactly what the end result will be, as she is the one creating it when she writes. There are other writers that also have this effect on me- Borges, Calvino, Perec, Amis, Noon (the list is organic. Ask me this evening and it will be different)- these writers make me feel as if I am witnessing the creation of a new way of thinking, a new way of existing with the world. They create works that break all of my expectations and change the way I understand literature, the way I understand reading, the way I understand authorship, and the way I conceive of what could be.
Another reason I read is frankly, it is FAR cheaper than therapy.
In all seriousness, through no other medium have I been challenged to examine myself and my place in the world than through literature. During the past few years, as I have really decided on what I want to do- how literature fits into my life and how I fit into the world of literature- the amount of reflection needed to enhance my approach to literature has been astounding. As a writer (and mind you, I don’t consider myself a writer, there just isn’t a better term to describe what I do since, technically, I write papers), tackling the challenges before me in my writing style means tackling my personal hang-ups. (Passive voice, anyone? Try analyzing your own self-confidence.) It is an ongoing process, but being assertive in my writing means being assertive with myself. And that could have cost me thousands of dollars if I tried to work on that through the mental health care system.
And yes, there was a point to that which relates back to Lydia Davis. Her stories expose my own inner workings as if I am trying on swimsuits in an abandoned airplane hangar: vulnerable, exposed, uncomfortable, and yet somehow, NOT ALONE:
The Caterpillar, a one page story about an attempt to save a caterpillar that starts out valiant and ends half-assed, embodies all the responsibility involved in “being the change you wish to see in the world.” When what you are trying to help or change or influence is out of sight, how does one keep it from becoming out of mind? And at what point does something become insignificant enough for me to simply. not. care.
Passing Wind. Read that story and just try to tell me that you have no idea what she is talking about. Go ahead. I DARE you.
And finally, because I have to wrap this up sometime, Head, Heart. A 73 word story that is so simplistic, heartbreakingly honest with the depth of the emotion it deals with. This is a story that would have had zero effect on me 10 years ago. Since then, I have come to know two forms of love that are so deeply affecting that they are accompanied by an irrational fear of losing what I have just discovered. This fear has manifested itself in some crazy ways- I now have nagging worries in the back of my head regarding choking hazards, bridges, faulty electrical wiring, bad weather driving, feline forms of S.I.D.S., and an aversion to my husband using a chain saw. My head knows that these are irrational. My head knows that somehow, if the worst were to happen, life would find a way continue, even if, at those moments, I wouldn’t want it to. My head knows that I should STOP WORRYING AND ENJOY THE MOMENT ALREADY!
My heart doesn’t have ears, so it isn’t listening.
