Fighting for Freedom

In class on Thursday we discussed the fight scenes between Paddy's parents and the effects it has on their family, their well-being, and the mentality of Paddy, himself. While I was beginning this novel, I hadn't realized the extent to which the fights were amplified. It truly hit home with me while we were discussing the fights, about seemingly "nothing" in a small boy's mind, because I, too came from a parental war-zone and my parents divorced when I was 9. Being that Paddy is ten and is slowly but surely coming more and more aware of the turmoil that is his home, I closely identify with the emotions and loss and anger that he is feeling. More so, I identify with his actions and the way he acts out with his friends and the way he treats his younger borther. And although I am now able to look in retrospect that my parents divorce was something that was needed and ultimately was the best decision my mother ever made for our own well-being and our own survival because now that my father has passed away, going through it, being that young and hearing the fights and seeing the emotional turbulence that was caused, it causes one to do things and feel things that are unrecognizable. I get Paddy. I understand him. I admire him and I feel bad for him. But like myself, I also know that if this were a true story, Paddy would ultimately come out 'okay'. I have to believe in that.

Ha Ha Ha.

I love Irish literature. It's something I have come to related in a way, and while I realize that the majority of Irish literature is sad and depressing and poverty-stricken because Ireland is by no means a rich country, I relate to it in the sense of loss. In terms of Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke, Ha Ha Ha, I find myself relating to his loss of innocence and his obsession with showing his little brother the rules of life. In the first 75 pages, it is really just the background of Patrick's life and the set up for his childhood. And while we wee that he is a mini-pyrotechnic with lighting everything he can on fire, we also see the friendships that he has and also the relationship with his brother, Sinbad. Because this novel does descend from Ireland, I want to automatically related it to Frank McCourt's novels, but somehow I'm hoping that this won't be as sad as Angela's Ashes but as telling as 'Tis. And if Doyle continues with the dialogue format in which he writes the beginning and interactions, then I think it will be a true coming of age, a robbery of childhood innocence, and the strife for something better.

Ending of Ceremony

Although at first I was unsure of the ending, where Silko wanted us to go with Tayo, as I finished the novel, I realized that we could go wherever we wanted to with him. It did not come to anything overtly complex in his 'coming of age' but as I have suggested all along, 'coming of age' is much more a process than one single instantaneous occurance that changes ones life. For Tayo, his entire journey was his coming age. And while it ranged from the intense grief process- to drinking and throwing up, to dreaming and having a relationship with a woman, to witnessing a gruesome torturing- he still came out of it a free man. His process, his whatever he went through, was exactly what was needed- his own version of ceremony if you will, that enabled him to ultimately move on with his life and return to the reservation. Perhaps that is the cure to letting go and 'coming of age' or really, coming to any profound realization: find what your heart, what your mind, what your soul needs to find in order to be okay. Because it would not have been any form of 'okay' for Tayo if he did not, in the end, let himself go.

Time, Memory and the truth behind it all.

In this week's reading assigned for Silko's Ceremony, I found the concept of time and the theme of memory to be ever present. Perhaps it is the idea of time and memory that strikes me, because after the hardships, family problems and relationships, I too struggle with the concept of time and memory. I believe that time does heal the pain and it does fade the struggles but the memories...the memories are what makes it hard to move on even when time does. It is the memory of what was that makes it hard to believe that the time will take away what it needs to. It is the memory that makes us want the time to stay still, or the time to fly.

On page 147 (blue cover), Silko writes, "He didn't have to remember anything, he didn't have to feel anything but this; and he wished the truck would never stop moving, that they could ride like that forever" as if to say that Tayo didn't have to feel anything as long as he allowed himself in the truck, in that moment to let go of the grief and the sadness, let go of the memories and the visions and just allow himself to live. There is a similiar passage, the entire paragraph on page 157 that deals with the aspect of losing touch with himself, with his life, loss in general. Loss, in great part, has everything to do with Tayo and his passing time. Tayo's time limit on himself to forget the things that happened to him and the people he has lost is not realistic in any sense of the human race. Throughout all of his thoughts and dreams and vomit-triggers, he holds himself so closely to the horrible things he experienced and later on (not revealing too much), on his voyage to find himself in everything and anything (especailly the land, nature) he finally comes to terms with the aspect of time and in a small, small way, finds the will to allow time to heal him and his broken mind. It is in Tayo's memories that has lost himself and has lost his way. It is only through time that he will be able to step outside of his war-life and step into the ceremonial life.

Ceremonial Memories

At first glance, Leslie Marmon Silko's Ceremony seems to be a story of warfare, sickness and tribe. However, within the first 54 pages that I read, I found that Ceremony is much more than a story of war. I found that it is a story or grief, misunderstanding, responsibility and perhaps most of all so far, a story of memories. And as we are all well aware, any good "coming of age" tale involves a look back at memories, or it involves the task of dealing with memories and coming out of them alive, coming out of them better. My favorite passage is on page 8, "He could get no rest as long as the memories were tangled with the present, tangled up like colored threads from old Grandma's wicker sewing basket when he was a child, and he had carried them outside to play and they had spilled out of his arms into the summer weeds and rolled away in all directions, and then he had hurried to pick them up before Auntie found him." The aspect of entangled memories intertwined with the present creates a battle within itself, on top of the batttle Tayo had returned from with the Japenese. The theme of loss and trying to let go are ever present in this novel, so much so that I had to read a few passages over in order to fully understand the magnitude of what Tayo is going through. I have known grief and I have known sadness to the point sickness but the style and word choice that Silko uses in order to convey the emotional wreckage that is Tayo's mind in dealing with the death of Rocky and in dealing with the missing (and wishing) of Josiah. It is a beautiful story of letting go, the road it takes to get there and the uphill struggle of knowing when enough is enough and you have to put the past where it belongs in order to move foward.

Ending of Zenzele

The ending of Zenzele was a perfect ending for me. While we discussed it being similiar to Jamaica Kincaid's "Girl" in the aspect of its demanding and forceful nature, I whole heartedly disagree with that comparison. For me, the novel and the ending it came to served as a mother's final words to her daughter. I took it in a more personal sense that perhaps Shiri would not be able to get the chance to say these things to her daughter in person, or even in another letter; we do not know how long she has left to live, all we know is that she came home to die. As the theme of home resounded throughout the entire novel, I found the ending to be a state of truth, a state of ultimate vulnerability for a mother to say the things she said to her daughter. And while the last few lines did bring tears to my eyes ("my little earthquake") I think it came down to the simplicity of the writing, the simplicity of her words to her daughter. I feel as though if we were all given the chance to tell our children the kinds of stories that Shiri was able to tell Zenzele, even from the profound distance between them (both physcial and now cultural being that Zenzele is abroad), if we were given the opportunity to teach our kids the most divine lessons of life on our own death bed then we would be able to consider ourselves a successful human being, even a blessed human being. The chance to say goodbye is a priceless moment that all too often does not grants us the closure we need. From a personal stance, if my father had written me a letter before he died 8 years ago, I think it would contain similar life lessons, lessons of the heart and lessons of learning.

Zenzele (Chapters 1-8)

I have always liked letter-style writing, perhaps because I am one of the only people I know that still actually writes letters instead of emails to people. But I think the thing that I like the most in Zenzele is how telling Shiri's letters are to her daughter. The first chapter is desperate, vulnerable, forgiving and informative all in a few pages. The emotion that Shiri writes to Zenzele with comes from the heart, and the stories that she recalls and informs her of in their culture, heritage and family allow Zenzele to learn about where she comes from. Shiri is constantly reminding Zenzele to stay true to herself, true to her roots and I think that is one of the lessons that can be applied to every single culture. I think that is one of the themes and points that Mairare wrote Zenzele around: always be true to your own heart, wherever its coming from, wherever its going.

Persepolis

"One can forgive but one should never forget."

The above quote is from the introduction of Persepolis, by Marjane Satrapi. As true as it is, the context in which she uses it is in the respect of remembering one's homeland, the people who have fought and died for it, the place that defines you. In that respect, lies the aspect of family. Throughout "The Story of a Childhood" we see that family plays a very important role, one that I was actually impressed by. I found it intriguing that everytime Marjane had a new thought or idea about who she wanted be her family was right there to back her up, to inspire her, to correct her, to inform and teach her. While some may consider that being the whole point of having a family I think it is a common misconception of the Iranian culture that just because people may come from Iran (or Iraq even given our current warefare) that people do not stem from loving and safe families. I think that some people may think they don't have families because of the assumption that everyone from the Middle East nowadays is out to get us. But what I got from Marjane's story and her relationship with her parents is that all the trials and tribulations her family has gone through in order to give her the life she has, be it in Iran or elsewhere. I think it is important that we all find a little piece ourselves to identify with within the arena of Marjane's family, within her life in Iran in order to take away what we should from this piece. So as the quote says, taken in a different context, one should always forgive (your family) for their possible short comings, their faults and mistakes, their efforts and strife to make a better life for their children. ..but one should never, ever, ever forget the road they have taken to get there.

Luck of the Wind.

Chapters 15-End
I suppose I could chalk it up to human nature...the memory. Without memory there would be no guilt, there would be no sadness, no sublte smiles of remembering happiness; there would be no past. Unfortunately for Amir, his journey back to Afghanistan is a flood of memories that he cannot control, and perhaps for the best that he deals with them- better late than never. Through the coming pages, I came to the conclusion that Hassan had allowed himself to move on from his scarring and wreckage of a childhood. Hassan had become the better man we all knew he would probably become because in nearly every aspect he was always the better one. While in a way, I feel as if he was just weak due to his status, but the emotional triggers of that kind of friendship and untainted love trump those feelings of weakness. Through Hassan's letters to Amir we are once again reminded of the person Amir is not, that his 'lesser', his brother, is/was. Hassan's letters were forgiving and saving, triumphant and strong, proud and proven, telling. Amir learns of Hassan's life, his wife and child...and eventually his death. The death that comes as an end, an unforgiven end.

I don't think Amir was prepared for the Afghanistan he returned to- then again, I don't really know if one could ever fully prepare themselves for their homeland being demolished and ruined. But I think it speaks to the aspect of comittment that Amir finally owned up to towards the end, in determined to find Sohrab, his nephew, his only blood left. The lengths he goes to and the people he tracks down and listens to (the guy about his mom...just to get the tiniest of information about her, still more than Baba ever told him), and resulting in the fight of life against Assef, the one that selective karma brought back to him, the fight he should have had when he was 12 against the same man who stripped Hassan of his dignity and boyhood. And yet, just like Hassan always came to the rescue of Amir, Sohrab comes to the rescue of Amir in the same way with the slingshot. Damaging Assefs eye, damaging his vision on the world, damaging the empire he thought he built for himself in perpetually harming other people.

While in the end Soraya and Amir do not get the son of their California dreams, I think what they end up with is much more than they expected. Sohrab's silence is not to hurt them, but instead how he heals and deals with all to simliar issues that Amir faced when he was the same age. In a way, I suppose history repeated itself yet in a far worse circumstance of growing up. At least Amir knew what Afghanistan was like when it was good. Sohrab never knew the good, never knew the fun, the childhood. Hassan tried to give him what he never had and ultimately, Amir is a changed man, a freed man from all his chains and retraints because he finally, finally, finally steps up, like Baba wanted all along, and takes responsiblity for what is his. He knows he can give Sohrab the life he deserves, a living second chance of the best friend and brother he betrayed.

If all of us could be so lucky.

Running Out of Time

I'm going to cover a lot in this post...perhaps more than I am even anticipating but I feel as if I have so much to say about this novel, this emotional roller coaster of a novel. I will break the chapters into groups and cover nearly the entirety of the book: comments are most welcome.

Chapters 10-14
While I realize this is a fictional story, I cannot help but realize in the same respect that this is a close representation of the Afghan culture, what was happening during this time of invasion, and the desperate measures that had to be taken in order to survive...or even have a chance of surviving. There's a line on page 112 when Amir is standing on the side of the road when they're leaving Kabul and he realizes in one moment that this is when life had to change for him. Yes, he had been in other life changing situations before but there is no other momet in his life other than this one in which he is forced into the realization that home is no longer an option of safety. While Hosseini writes this very simply, without much emphasis this really struck me. During these same couple of pages we see another realm of rape- with the Russian and the woman on Karim's truck. I've said it many times before and I'll say it again: I can't believe how common this dispicable act is, not only in this novel, but seemingly everywhere Amir turns.

Chapter 11 brings us to America and the ongoing struggle to survive. This is the first time Baba and Amir are shown without their house, money and security of celebrity like they had in Kabul. They seem vulnerable yet so strong in the sense when Baba refuses welfare. At Amir's graduation we finally see Baba's pride in Amir, yet in Baba we see his sudden deterioration through Amir's eyes- he is no longer the invincible man he once was, no longer the giant superhero conquering all with one fist. In this moment of maturity and accomplishment, Amir grows a little more into the person we kind of wanted him to be all along...a human. Page 136 offers this extraordinary depth into why Amir would love America, for all its worth: to get rid of his ghosts, memories and sin...in other words, where he would try for the life of him, to move on from Hassan and the person he decided to be.

Moving quicker..the fact that Amir allows himself to love Soraya shows his maturity as well, his stepping stone of "coming of age" if you will. For all the crappy things he has done in his life, America and Soraya and school are his new chances to make better decisions, unlike those made in Afghanistan, unlike those with the person who loved him the most, in which he would never find a love like that again. The infertitlity may be karma- because I believe Karma is selective- karma for all the things he did, the people he betrayed and the things his eyes have seen. Perhaps not having child symbolizes that Amir has no more love to give to anyone other than the memories and Soraya. Perhaps he has a limited amount of love and emotion due to the stunted conscience he had as a boy.

A way to be good again. That's what Rahim Khan said before Amir and he hung up the phone. We find out later that there is in fact, a way to be good again. There is in fact a way to forgive himself, his past and his memory. There is in fact a way to be okay, to start over with lessons learned, to get what he deserves and move on. I realized at this point that Amir had been trying with all his might to block out Kabul since coming to California, which is why he has such a difficult time facing it and sleeping on it while on the plane back to see Rahim Khan. I debated whether he went out of obligation or because deep down Amir truly wanted to believe that there was a way to be good again. In the end, i decided it was half and half: Partially because of obligation to Baba and hsi past, partially because he needed to find something to give him peace.

The First Kite

I had always meant to read The Kite Runner on my own but with all the mumbo-jumbo of classes and assignments, I never got around to it. Now that I have the assignment to read it for class, I can't seem to put it down. The way Hosseini begins the novel throwing the reader right into the setting, the landscape, the relationships, centering yet confining to Afghanistan. I love the word choice and the way he ends each section with a foreshadowing one-liner. On page 47, the closing line of chapter 5: "Because that was the winter Hassan stopped smiling." How powerful eight words can be...how foreshadowing...how telling of what is to come, or how these boys' lives are about to change.

I pay much of my attention to word choice and paragraphs like Hosseini does in The Kite Runner because I feel that every word has the opportunity to build and build and build until a cliff-hanger like the end of Chapter 5...or all the other sections. It is a powerful technique that I, myself use as a writer. The innocence lost in the chapters we have read is relatable on a level beyond their location, beyond their ages, beyond the walls of the Middle East. I think I'll go read some more...

Girl In Chains

The last few classes have caused me to think about my own coming of age. While I believe that one is constantly arriving at the "age" with every significant and life-changing experience, the pieces we have read so far have enforced the notion that something has to happen in one's life in order to "coming of age." In Mario Vargas Llosa's "On Sunday" expresses the vulnerability and overwhelming nervousness of a young boy in love. But in the same story, I found a conflict between friends but also within oneself. Miguel battles with himself in saving Reuben but the realization that no one is perfect, no one is invincible is the true tale of the age.

In the other stories, I realized that even though they are written from different cultures that our own traditional culture, that I relate. I took Jamaica Kincaid's "Girl" as a mother telling her daughter exactly how to survive in their society. As if she was not given a choice for her way of life. The powerfulness behind the repetition of "this is how" almost forces the girl to grow up, to in a sense, come of age whether she wants to or not. The mother speaks to every situation: love, food, clothing, health, abortion, violence, sexuality. But the question I can't stop thinking of (if this were a non-fictitious story)is what if she doesn't follow these "guidelines" and makes her own "how-tos?"

All in all, regardless of what culture these stories were written for or written in coming of age represents the humanity of a person.