Writing Styles - Eggers

Dave Eggers's writing is incredibly fluid and easy to read. He writes like he talks, or rather, he writes like he thinks. He uses repetition possibly more than any other writer we've encountered this semester. What I really noticed about his writing, however, was his technique of breaking up stories and scattering them throughout the book, getting back to them after placing another piece in the puzzle. The story I'm thinking of in particular is his father kneeling in the driveway. He tells his sister's story with such clarity it's hard to imagine it isn't seen through his own eyes (I suppose that's the mark of a good writer) but it's interesting how, instead of telling the entire story in one passage, he inserts snippets here and there, and builds the characters of his family (including the house, a character in its own right) before revealing the new developments of Beth's story. This, in my opinion, is smart writing on Eggers part, because he is able to keep the attention of his reader by building the mystery and anticipation.

His humor is an incredible agent to his writing as well. It's funny because it's about real things, like his wallpaper or his mother's bile. He could have taken on a number of other emotions and tones (depression, annoyance, humiliation, anger) but chooses to go with comedic appreciation, which I think was very wise. It makes it much easier to read and also much easier to relate to. The passage where he goes on about all the ways he would murder the people who knew about his mother's illness and pitied his family was funny because most people know what it's like to be in that situation; to be gossip fodder for the town or community in which you live, and wanting nothing more than for it to all go away. He takes it one step further by actually explaining (in sometimes grotesque detail, I might add) the ways he'd like them to die. There's really no reason for his hostility, but it's understandable just the same.

Eggers is able to reign in his audience with his use of comedy, fluidity, normalcy, and anticipation. You know the path his parents are heading down, but you have to know how and when it ends anyway. His writing is so easily relatable, and yet the way he tells his story makes it unlike any other I've read.

Similar writing style: iamgettingfat.blogspot.com (uses humor to tell strange and mundane trials and tribulations of everyday life)

Thinking and Writing

One of the words used by Michiko Kakutani, the New York Times critic, to describe Egger's book is a "stew." I think this is a brilliant description of the novel. The text is one that is filled with numerous thoughts, often simultaneously, that seem to be going nowhere and then suddenly they all seem to collapse into the conclusion of a story. The way the text is composed reminds me very much of the way a stew is cooked; a great amount of ingredients are added that do not seem to mix, but when finished the end result makes the taster understand why all of the ingredients were used. The style in which Egger's writes reminds me of a periodic sentence, except that it is with a story. A fabulous example to prove that I really do have some sort of intelligent thought behind this rambling lies in Part V dealing with the stolen wallet. Egger's writes and writes about his fears for Toph and his anger that his wallet has been stolen. He has elaborate theories on what has happened to Toph, and what he will do to the "Mexicans" once he finds them. It all comes to a resounding conclusion when he tucks a safe Toph into bed and returns to his room to find "The wallet. On the dresser. It was here." p. 165

Eggers Creation of Portraits and Performative Moments

We learned about performative literature when we were reading Running in the Family, by Michael Ondaatje, and I think that word applies to Dave Eggers' autobiography as well. I also think that Eggers capture singular moments extremely well in his autobiography as well. There are moments that seem like snapshots, especially those that describe his father's final fall on the front lawn. He includes them over the first 30 pages of the book, describing the moment in perfect detail and dictating exactly how his sister felt when she was observing the moment.

"At the end of the driveway my father knelt. Beth watched and it was kind of pretty for a second, him just kneeling there in the gray winter window. Then she knew. He had been falling. In the kitchen, the shower. She ran and flung open the door, threw the screen wide and ran to him."
(Page 29).

The description above is the final portrait provided regarding that particular moment in Dave Eggers' life. I think the moment is so drawn out, because it is so monumental in Dave's life. The snapshots seem to read like one of the those cartoon books that move if you flip them really fast, similar to Jonathan Saffron Foer's flipbook in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. The moment could also be read in slow motion. It is set apart from Eggers' fast-paced stream of consciousness writing. Dave Eggers knew his mother would pass away. It was only a matter of time. He did not expect his father's downfall and death to be so sudden. That is why the moment had been so monumental in his memory. Without both parents, Eggers had a harder time accepting his situation. He was no longer a brother, but a parent, and a guardian.

The momeny is also quite performative in nature, as are many of Eggers' daydreams and exaggerated scenarios in the text. Eggers provides numerous visual moments in the text, and his readers are able to picture exactly what is going on. He does not skip a beat. Not to mention the fact that Eggers provides some conversations that appear as lists in the text. There is no indication of who is saying what, but yet, you just know. The reader just knows. These conversations read as scripts, and once you know which "character" is speaking, you exaclty how the line would be delivered.

Dave Eggers is a Modern Day James Joyce

I think I appreciated reading A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce, because there were times when he wrote exactly how he would speak. He had this "stream of consciousness" way of delivering information, and I really enjoyed it, because even though the language was so difficult to comprehend at times, it was real to me. Even though the book is a work of fiction (I would argue that there are many autobiographical elements in it, however). A Portrait is one of my favorite works by an Irish writer and could possibly be one of my favorite books of all time. My list grows larger every day though.

I think that Dave Eggers autobiography is particularly realistic and enjoyable for the same reason. He writes as if he is speaking. He writes as if he is dictating exactly what is on his mind. Even though sometimes he writes about fantastical events, he welcomes the idea of his imagination running away with him, almost in a daydream state, because it is such a real thing that really happens to people:

"We'll get her in a few days. Beth and I have vowed to get her out, have planned to break her out, even if the doctors say no; we will hide her under a gurney. will pose as doctors, will wear sunglasses and go quickly and will take her to the car, and I will lift her and Toph will provide some distraction if necessary, something, a little dance or something; and then we'll jump in the car and be gone, will bring her home, triumphant, we did it! we did it!..."
(Page 41).

That is the beginning of a perfect example of how Eggers imagination often takes flight while he is writing. I can picture him sitting at his computer and just typing a million miles a minute at these points in his story. He doesn't stop, because he will lose the creative spark. Though Dave and his sister do not break their mother out of the hospital utilizing this elaborate plan, Dave is perfectly capable of thinking about it in a daydream-state. The situation is not real, but the way of thinking about it is. Who hasn't had these crazy scenarios work themselves out in the imagination before?

Eggers may have actually thought each sentence through when he was writing A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, but his final product certainly does not come off that way. I am sure there were areas in the book where he wrote slowly and with precision, but some of the longer paragraphs that go on for pages at a time and contain multiple periodic sentences seem to be written at the speed they are read. Everything speeds up, like the book is on fast forward. That could be another reason why the book is such a quick read as well.

The Easiest and Hardest to Read...

I must say that I am greatly enjoying A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius for what I can bring myself to read. Yes, the language is easy, and even his trains of thought are easy for me to follow. However, the subject matter is (as I'm sure it is to others) a bit too close to home. A lot of the imagery that he describes in his terms, such as the machine that "looks like an accordion, but is light blue. It is vertical and stretches and compresses, making a sucking sound." (p. 36) just reminds me of things that I myself have seen and did not know what it was. However, that's another thing that made this book so easy... there were no terms we didn't know. It wasn't written in the correct or technical terms, but rather the way one might describe what they don't know. However, that's again what makes it so difficult to read is that I recognize a lot of what he's saying, and instead applying my own unawareness to the situation. He is a lot of fun to read, but yes there have been some parts where I had to put the book down. This is funny, because the other books we've read that have had much more gruesome imagery I've been okay with... mostly because I haven't had first-hand experience with it. I know I'm not the only one, but I figured I'd share.

Kincaid & Repetition

The most noticeable writing technique Kincaid employed in Autobiography of my Mother was repetition. I think she uses this tool to really solidify the personality and aura of the main character and all the main themes of the novel (lack of love, mainly). Kincaid repeats phrases like "she did not love me" and "we were not friends" time and again, not only in different chapters and passages of the book, but numerous times within the same passage as well. Kincaid uses repetition not only with exact phrases, but with themes as well. The reader is made perfectly aware early in the story that the narrator is of a more pessimistic mind-set and that love doesn't exist in her life. We see this in the beginning with her lack of parenting and again at the end when she states that she married a man she "did not love." She viewed herself more as a generic package than an individual who could have love if she really wanted it, but perhaps never knew how to go about finding it. I think Kincaid's use of repetition proved to be an extremely strong technique that helped the themes of pity, loss, despair, anger, and isolation really bleed from the pages. Although it was certainly not an uplifting story in any way, I believe the delivery of Kincaid's message and her ultimate purpose is portrayed very strongly.

when your remembering things that havent happened yet, thats when you need to re-evaluate the validity of your memory

"And yet a memory cannot be trusted, for so much of the experience of the past is determined by the experience of the present." (214)

i believe that what we are involved in now, does heavily effect the way in which we recall the things from our past. but i'm not so sure i'd go as far as to say that it is not trust-worthy . . .
can it not be trusted because it is not the entire truth? then again, what is truth? is it just the facts, laid out in an objective fashion? or is there something other than truth, that memory fails to provide? i'm curious as to what it is about memory that influences kincaid to think that it's not a valid source of experience.

an example? ok. so i'm thinking of a memory from awhile back - my younger brother and i, no more than 5 and 6 years of age, running up a muddy slant in our backyard and then hurling ourselves down it, barefoot, while holding onto a trapeze bar. when i'm recalling this, my mind flashes images of my brother in his current state, between the images of him as a little boy. i also can't help but to think of how we would interact in that situation now, as the people we've become since then. my mind/memory creates this randomized culmination of then and now without any deliberate prompt from me, and so it is entirely unavoidable. in this way, it is the experiences of my more recent past and the present, which help me to regain my thoughts of the far past. how is that not accurate?

i dont believe my wandering thoughts of how things are now, negatively effect the validity of my muddy-trapeze-memory. if anything, i feel as though they brighten it, making it more accessible to me in this state of being, so far removed from my 6-year-old self. i trust my memory, even when it may not be comprised of the clearest images and the most defined experiences. because no matter what i recall, it came from within my mind. and i trust myself first, above anyone else.

A lack of something...

While reading Kincaid's novel I had a difficult time connecting to the story. Our discussion on Tuesday in class helped me to to better understand the concept of the text--but I still felt something was missing from my understanding of the story. While reading last night I came to realize that perhaps what it is about the text that is missing is the feeling of love. There seems to be such a separation between Xuela and everyone that is around her. The writing in the text is beautiful, but perhaps I am not able to connect/understand the text because I have never been in such a position as the author. The separation between life and death seems to define the text. But then again I have never been a slave and was able to connect to Frederick Douglas's narrative? There is a good chance this idea needs more thought..

Two pulchritudinous (favorite word) lines from the text are:
"To make someone forget another person is impossible. Someone can forget an event, someone can forget an item, but no one can ever forget someone else." p108 I thought these lines were astounding. So simply written and so honest and true.

Dark and Dismal "Autobiography"

I think that The Autobiography of my Mother is quite the dark and dismal book. It's message is definitely one of hopelessness. Xuela is both self-centered and loveless. The only man she admits to loving (Roland) is only discussed for about twenty pages in one chapter. She then proceeds to discuss the people in her life whom she admits that she never loved and will never love, like her father and her husband. I am beginning to wonder whether she would have loved her mother if she had lived past Xuela's birth. Is that the pivotal moment in Xuela's story, her mother's death? Could she have deeply if her mother had lived? I'm not so sure, because she discusses her mother's life in brief later on in her story. Her mother potentially lived the same loveless life. I think the last passage of the novel dictates Xuela's stance on life quite well:

"The days are long, the days are short. The nights are a blank; they harken to something, but I refuse to become familiar with it. To that period of time called day I profess an indifference; such a thing is a vanity but known only to me; all that is impersonal I have made personal. Since I do not matter, I do not long to matter, but I matter anyway. I long to meet the thing greater than I am, the thing to which I can submit. It is not a in a book of history, it is not the work or anyone whose name can pass my own lips. Death is the only reality, for it is the only certainty, inevitable to all things."

(Page 228)

Xuela returns to contradictions. Though she feels she does not matter, nor does she long to matter, that is why she does matter. She has fought against having a purpose and a passion in life (other than the love she has for herself). She longs to meet death. All of the people in her life have, by this time, passed away. She is 70-years-old and has no one left, not that she really cares. However, she learned from birth that death really is the only certainty, that is why she thinks it is the only thing that will make her submit. She never submitted to love, and therefore, I believe, never submitted to life.

The metaphor running through this last passage is one of light and dark. She says that she is indifferent toward day, which is comparable to life. She has no qualms against darkness, or the "life" that follows life. She is prepared to meet death, because it is the only thing she believes in. It is the only thing she knows will come. Not God. Not love. Not happiness.

...something? nothing? whose story?...

Something out of Nothing... out of Something

First, I noticed that it was not until we reached the chapter that begins on page 181 that we really learn much about Xuela's mother other than that she's dead. Yet, at the same time, we really don't learn anything, because it's all conjecture. Xuela tells us over and over again that she's guessing, assuming, making things up, because, as she repeats countless times, her mother died when she was born. So... in this chapter we learn something, but really we don't learn much of anything.

In the final chapter we learn a bit more about Xuela than I think we really learn before this. On page 213 Kincaid writes:
"I had been living at the end of the world for my whole life; it had been so when I was born, for my mother had died when I was born. But now, with my father dead, I was living at the brink of eternity, it was as if this quality of my life was suddenly raised from its usual self, embossed with its old meaning. The two people from whom I had come were no more. I had allowed no one to come from me. A new feeling of loneliness overcame me then; I grew agitated with a heat, then I grew still from a deep chill. I grew used to this loneliness, recognizing one day that in it were the things I had lost and the things I could have had but refused. I came to love my father, but only when he was dead, at that moment when he still looked like himself but a self that could no longer cause harm, only a still self, dead; he was like a memory, not a picture, just a memory. And yet a memory cannot be trusted, for so much of the experience of the past is determined by the experience of the present."

Then, a few pages later, on page 226, she says "I refused to belong to a race."

I thought that this one long passage and the other short line seemed to connect. In the long passage, Xuela explains how she comes from nothing, in a way. How she came from nothing, she produced nothing, and therefore has nothing as she ages and approaches death (does this mean she is worth nothing?). So, to me the words "I refused to belong to a race" indicated that because she refused to have parents and she refused to have children she took herself out of any heritage (biological, emotional, psychological, familial) and then kept herself separate by not perpetuating her own self, not creating a new heritage. I'm sure that the short quote also relates to the colonial story at play in this book (in her Carib mother, her Irish(?) father, her white husband)... but I was intrigued more by this other interpretation.

So, we write to become something other than what we are, according to Foucault. Kincaid wrote to become nothing (a race-less, history-less, family-less, childless, love-less, legacy-less woman), which is something other than what she is, because everyone is something (except Xuela). (That made sense, read it again.)

...searching Kincaid for thursday...

Use Foucault's statement as a lens for thinking about Kincaid's novel:
"One writes in order to become other than what one is."