I think Danticat's method of using stories as a mirror for events happening in her own life is very effective.
For example, Granme Melina's Rapunzel-like story (on page 69) of "a beautiful young girl whose mother, fearful that she might be abducted by passersby, locked her inside a small but pretty little house by the side of the road while the mother worked in the fields until dusk." Danticat explains how this story was really a reflection of how Granme Melina must have felt, who was in her 90's and just waiting to die, or to be let out of the house.
Danticat does this again on page 116 when she recalls another of Granme Melina's stories about the old horse and the goat. It's a reflection of her current situation with her brothers; she and Bob are on one team and their brothers Kelly and Karl are on another. Because Edwidge and Bob were born in Haiti and lived their lives without their parents, and Kelly and Karl were born in America and lived everyday with them, they were strangers to each other. Technically, Edwidge and Bob were the oldest, but Kelly tells them, "they say you two are older than me...but it's not true. I'm the oldest." Because he was older than Karl and never knew Edwidge or Bob, he was accustomed to being the oldest child in the house. With the horse and goat, the goat assumes he is older than the horse by saying "Can't you see I have a beard and you don't? Aren't beards a sign of old age?" Danticat follows this by saying "Kelly's time with our parents was his beard."
The use of stories to reflect real-life situations is helpful in these instances to explain how Granme Melina and Kelly were feeling. It is also helpful in showing the reader the culture in which Danticat grew up in and the importance of story-telling. Both stories evoke a sense of understanding and empathy within the reader for these characters as well. With Rapunzel, I felt bad for Granme Melina, and with the goat, I felt bad for Edwidge and Bob but understood where Kelly was coming from. It's a great example of the importance of symbolism and stories in understanding something that might not otherwise be so easily explained.
Monday, October 27, 2008
"There was an odd stillness to the neighborhood, the houses merging with the murky shadows in the dark. As they guided him up and down the hills and inclines of the winding neighborhood alleyways, he felt like a blind man being led through a labyrinth." - Pg. 191, Brother, I'm Dying.
I think this is a very accurate description of what it feels like to move around after devistation or extreme upset. Everything seems far away, muted, behind an invisible curtain. It's hard to connect with the world around you.
It's also a sensation I get when I'm up very early in the morning and it's not quite light out, or when I'm up very late. Boundaries seem farther away, and you feel like you're floating.
I think this is a very accurate description of what it feels like to move around after devistation or extreme upset. Everything seems far away, muted, behind an invisible curtain. It's hard to connect with the world around you.
It's also a sensation I get when I'm up very early in the morning and it's not quite light out, or when I'm up very late. Boundaries seem farther away, and you feel like you're floating.
Danticat's Novelistic Style
Danticat's writing is quite novelistic in many places throughout "her" autobiography. The point at which I noticed it the most is when she is discussing what happened to her uncle before he leaves Haiti and the short time he spends at that awful place called Krome. I know that she did get some information from her uncle, who attempted to write portions of his story on snippets of paper that she found after his death, but she had to have taken some liberties when writing about her uncle's departure from Haiti. I also realize that she received some verbal information from Tante Zi as well, but still, there are portions of the story that read like any fictional, page-turning novel.
"A half hour into the service, another series of shots rang out. My uncle stepped off the altar and crouched, along with Maxo and the others, under a row of pews. This time, the shooting lasted about twenty minutes. When he looked up again at the clock, it was ten a.m. Only the sound of sporadic gunfire could be heard at the moment that a dozen or so Haitian riot police officers stormed the church..." (page 174).
"...His entire life was now reduced to an odd curiosity, a looting opportunity. He was grateful, however, that no one seemed to know he was there, hiding. Some thought he had actually been killed. Others seemed certain he had fled" (page 189).
Clearly, Danticat could not have known EXACTLY what her uncle was feeling during certain instances in her telling of the story. However, she writes as if she is in his brain, maintaining a third-person point of view that is typcially seen in fictional tales. I really believe that is why Danticat's autobiography has been the hardest to put down for me. Everytime I read it, I honestly thought I was curling up with a wonderful novel. I guess that's one of the great things about writing your autobiography for someone else!
"A half hour into the service, another series of shots rang out. My uncle stepped off the altar and crouched, along with Maxo and the others, under a row of pews. This time, the shooting lasted about twenty minutes. When he looked up again at the clock, it was ten a.m. Only the sound of sporadic gunfire could be heard at the moment that a dozen or so Haitian riot police officers stormed the church..." (page 174).
"...His entire life was now reduced to an odd curiosity, a looting opportunity. He was grateful, however, that no one seemed to know he was there, hiding. Some thought he had actually been killed. Others seemed certain he had fled" (page 189).
Clearly, Danticat could not have known EXACTLY what her uncle was feeling during certain instances in her telling of the story. However, she writes as if she is in his brain, maintaining a third-person point of view that is typcially seen in fictional tales. I really believe that is why Danticat's autobiography has been the hardest to put down for me. Everytime I read it, I honestly thought I was curling up with a wonderful novel. I guess that's one of the great things about writing your autobiography for someone else!
A Shakespearean Snippet
Definition of soliloquy:
an utterance or discourse by a person who is talking to himself or herself or is disregarded of or oblivious to any hearers present (often used as a device in drama to disclose a character's innermost thoughts)
And, of course, the actress in me has made it impossible to read autobiographies and not think of Shakespearean soliloquies, which are extremely prominent in many of his works, especially Hamlet. Here is the link to a YouTube video of Kenneth Branagh delivering Hamlet's most famous soliloquy in one of the many film versions of Hamlet:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JD6gOrARk4&feature=related
an utterance or discourse by a person who is talking to himself or herself or is disregarded of or oblivious to any hearers present (often used as a device in drama to disclose a character's innermost thoughts)
And, of course, the actress in me has made it impossible to read autobiographies and not think of Shakespearean soliloquies, which are extremely prominent in many of his works, especially Hamlet. Here is the link to a YouTube video of Kenneth Branagh delivering Hamlet's most famous soliloquy in one of the many film versions of Hamlet:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JD6gOrARk4&feature=related
Danticat's Autobiography "Starts with Death"
What makes Edwidge Danticat's "autobiography" different than the other texts we have covered in class is that she immediately claims that she has written the book for her father and her uncle, simply because they can't. I suppose you could argue that Douglass composed his work for someone else (abolitionist propaganda), but he never openly admitted to that fact. Danticat has literally decided to put everything out there in honor of her family. However, I would also like to argue that Danticat has put everything out there for herself as well, especially for the regions of her heart that are still aching from all the pain she has suffered and how much death she has encountered.
Danticat's autobiography begins with the quote: "To begin with death. To work my way back into life, and then, to return to death. Or else: the vanity of trying to say anything about anyone."
-Paul Auster
The Invention of Solitude
The first segment of this quotation is simply a nod toward the idea of purging emotions of pity and depression. There is no doubt that Danticat has suffered much, and I am sure she has felt multitudes of self-pity during many occasions of her life. Danticat writes about many deaths, meaning that she tells the stories of these deaths in order to purge the feelings she has associated with them. For Marie Micheline, for Tante Denise, for Uncle Joseph, for her father (assuming that he dies, for I have not actually read that far quite yet), she must purge what she feels. She will, of course, never forget what these individuals have done for her. She will never forget how much she misses them, but she will learn to live again. She will "work her way back into life." Eventually, of course, she will "return to death," whether it be her own death, or more deaths that she will encounter in life, deaht is always lurking behind every corner. Life and death is really a game of chance. Fate rolls your dice every day.
The last piece of the quotation alludes to the idea that nothing should ever be told about another person until they have lived a full life, until they have seen everything they have been put on Earth to see. "Vanity" in the quote does not indicate pride, a synonym we typically associate with the word, but rather indicates pointlessness or hollowness, a lack of value. The individuals who have died in Danticat's lifetime become valuable in their passing. They have legacies. Their stories NEED to be told, or else they can potentially be forgotten, something that Danticat clearly does not want to have happen.
Danticat's autobiography begins with the quote: "To begin with death. To work my way back into life, and then, to return to death. Or else: the vanity of trying to say anything about anyone."
-Paul Auster
The Invention of Solitude
The first segment of this quotation is simply a nod toward the idea of purging emotions of pity and depression. There is no doubt that Danticat has suffered much, and I am sure she has felt multitudes of self-pity during many occasions of her life. Danticat writes about many deaths, meaning that she tells the stories of these deaths in order to purge the feelings she has associated with them. For Marie Micheline, for Tante Denise, for Uncle Joseph, for her father (assuming that he dies, for I have not actually read that far quite yet), she must purge what she feels. She will, of course, never forget what these individuals have done for her. She will never forget how much she misses them, but she will learn to live again. She will "work her way back into life." Eventually, of course, she will "return to death," whether it be her own death, or more deaths that she will encounter in life, deaht is always lurking behind every corner. Life and death is really a game of chance. Fate rolls your dice every day.
The last piece of the quotation alludes to the idea that nothing should ever be told about another person until they have lived a full life, until they have seen everything they have been put on Earth to see. "Vanity" in the quote does not indicate pride, a synonym we typically associate with the word, but rather indicates pointlessness or hollowness, a lack of value. The individuals who have died in Danticat's lifetime become valuable in their passing. They have legacies. Their stories NEED to be told, or else they can potentially be forgotten, something that Danticat clearly does not want to have happen.
Speaking to my Memory: Writing Prompt Response
Memory, speak to me! Speak to me about music. Speak to me about the possiblity of death. Are there gods that dictated what happened that day? You were with me waiting to record the day's events in your own personal diary. You were waiting to aid me in remembrance. Did you ask the same questions that I did? Why him? Why cancer? Can it even be cured? How much is he suffering? Whose bone marrow will be his life preserver? I often wonder if you knew what was going to happen already. I wonder if you had already written the happy ending. Had you seen it played out? Did you create those dreams for me, those wonderful dreams of predetermined survival? Did you help save his life? Did we? Together? Memory, was that all he needed, just a little bit of hope? Some prayers? You, Memory, will never permit me to forget the tears, how they felt, steaming hot, coursing down my cheeks. You will never permit me to forget the numbness that overtook every aspect of my being. You'll never allow those feelings to be forgotten. I love you for that. I thank you, because for that reason, his recovery has been all the more rewarding to witness...
Thank you, Memory!
Thank you, Memory!
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