A Geography of Reading

"It is by reading novels, stories, and myths that we come to understand the world in which we live." -Orhan Pamuk

Adapting Kafka’s The Trial for the Western Stage

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When I read that New Century Theatre Company was staging Kenneth Albers’ adaptation of Franz Kafka’s The Trial in the former INS building, I knew I had to go. When I read The Trial, one of the things I loved most about it was how well it captured the arbitrariness of living in a totalitarian society. Despite having lived under a dictatorship, I’m pretty ensconced in this Western world of choice, and when I read the description of the play, I wondered how well things like the pre-play “processing” we were to undergo would go over with a Western audience.

The Processing

Before the play, we lined up in the hall of the INS building. Loudspeakers repeated and repeated a loop of information about the play and one of the actors told us repeatedly how long the play was and how impossible it would be to get out once we were seated (so we should go to the bathroom now). Despite having been to the bathroom twice, I felt antsy. Other patrons began whispering rumors of what it was going to be like inside. I wondered what the processing would entail. I worried I wouldn’t be seated next to my husband. I thought they might take away the water bottle of the man in front of us.

Once we were admitted to the anteroom, it did seem like we might be separated and I was pretty sure this was the last play my husband would ever see with me. The doors to the theater swung open and three impossibly tall girls with plastic smiles and white lab coats led us inside. Disorientation achieved. The seats were steeply stacked like a series of three jury boxes around a red curtain. They were difficult to enter and I couldn’t see the exit. I was starting to worry about the fire code. Immersed in an inescapable system. The one feeling they didn’t achieve was arbitrariness. My husband and I discussed this at length and wondered if this was to avoid setting the audience against the actors to start. Despite the fact that I do prefer to sit with my husband, we both wished they had pushed it further.

Has the Play Already Begun?

As we sat in uncomfortable chairs waiting for the play to begin, we watched those three girls seat other patrons. One was rigidly polite. Another started out instructive and began getting testy. I liked watching her scold people as they failed to follow her instructions. I also liked how easy it was to make eye contact with patrons in other sections. We were complicit in enjoying the disorientation of those who did not yet understand the system. But we were all victims of the syrupy sweet soundtrack on a short repeat cycle. It was maddeningly effective.

Behind the Red Curtain

A man stands stunned in lamplight. Two men stare at him. He cannot understand that he is being arrested or why. Darragh Kennan is believably confounded as Joseph K. And Alex Matthews and Michael Patten are deliciously obtuse as Willem and Franz. So far, we’re pretty faithful to the book. In fact, the adaptation is relatively faithful throughout with only a few changes of note. Joseph’s three secretaries (Sydney Andrews, Sara Mountjoy-Pope, and Greta Wilson) add a conspiratorial note and a lot of sex appeal to the play. I loved watching them cross their legs and rotate their right feet in unison as they watched Joseph suffer.

Amy Thone as Joseph’s lawyer recalled the best of His Girl Friday’s Rosalind Russell and her incessant motoring around the stage (literally) made it feel like she was wrapping Joseph up in the case for easy delivery. Joseph pings back and forth between the gentle solace offered by Aunt Clara (Marty Mukhalian) and the conspiratorial maliciousness of Frau Brubach (Tonya Andrews) and allows himself to get more deeply entrenched as he is seduced by Leni (Hanna Mootz) and Block (David S. Klein). I especially enjoyed Alexandra Tavares as Titorelli. She delivered doublespeak like Big Brother was really watching. Another favorite was MJ Sieber as the Priest who shows Joseph how he orchestrated his own demise.

Can Kafka be Translated for a Western Theater Audience?

Absolutely. Overall the play was amazing. The use of noir-inspired lighting and the way some action was condensed into dance-like interludes were both brilliant choices by director John Langs. I felt Leni’s part was under-written and the scene with the architect went on a few beats too long. I was glad Albers chose to shift a few of the key roles in the novel to be played by women.

Having lived in Eastern Europe where a smile is a commodity not to be wasted, I was surprised at how smiles (menacing though they were) were used throughout this staging. I wonder if that was to make it more relatable to a Western audience. After I got over my own bias, it worked and that fake-happy was carried through in other ways as well. I expected to feel more connection with the INS building, but in the end, the play was strong enough without it.

The show runs through May 5. It’s sold out, but if you show up for the waiting list, you have a decent chance of getting in. Try it. The play lends a whole new angle to Kafkaesque.

Heidi Julavits Rounds Out Peripheral Characters in The Vanishers

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Round, well-described characters are more interesting to readers. Knowing a character’s motivations and background helps a reader empathize with them and therefore engage with the story. But it’s easy to overdo detail, so many writers choose to focus detail on their central characters and write their peripheral characters as flat. They serve to move the story forward but don’t have too many needs of their own. In The Vanishers, Heidi Julavits achieves that perfect balance of characters who you can believe have off-page lives while not allowing those lives to distract from the narrative.

The book is about a motherless psychic, Julia, who may or not be under psychic attack from her mentor. The story is complicated and fascinating and involves a French feminist filmmaker who filmed women’s deaths (or not), a twisted mentor relationship, and Julia’s quest to find the truth about her mother’s death. I couldn’t say more without revealing some of the intricacies of the book, but I can tell you about Blanche, Julia’s stepmother who doesn’t feature prominently and is still essential to the feeling of the book.

Characterizing Blanche

Blanche is easily recognized as peripheral to Julia’s quest for information about her mother because she didn’t enter the family until much later. There isn’t even a hint in the book that Blanche might have been involved, which is nice, because that would have been distracting. While Julia is explicit about her stepmother’s role in her life, Julavits implies a lot through the brief description of this character. Blanche exists firmly in the post-crisis world. But instead of having Julia’s father pine for his dead wife, the presence of Blanche says as much about his decision to move on with his life as Blanche’s character does.

When Blanche arrived, our years preceding her arrival appeared, by contrast, a weary slog, a tiptoe, a blueness. And yet, with Blanche, there were boundaries. Blanche had never had children because she’d never wanted children. As much as she loved me, she did not desire to be my mother, in deference to my real one, yes, but also in deference to her own inclination to provide, for the needy, the occasional break from their lonely routine. She was the hired help, a hospice worker by trade, beloved by her patients and their families. She existed for me, too, as a temporary caretaker whose generosity was limitless because the job was not.

In one paragraph, Julavits sums up the entirety of this character, which is brilliant. But she also provides a negative of Julia’s mother. It’s a lot of work to do with one character who barely features in the rest of the book, but, as they say, every detail should be significant, and Julavits made the most of this character as she does with others like Miranda, Professor Yuen, and Patricia Ward.

Other Characterization Resources

There are many ways to build life into sideline characters. Dickens used names to shape his characters as with the benevolent Cheeryble Brothers in Nicholas Nickleby. Flaubert used class symbols to indicate a character’s place in the social strata. One of my favorite examples of characterization is how rumors of Jay Gatsby shape our impressions of that illusive figure.

While revising (and sometimes while writing this blog), I enjoy revisiting Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose who helped me understand Flaubert’s somewhat outdated class symbols. If you’re looking for a boost while revising work for characterization, dialogue, significant detail, and so much more, check it out.

What issues do you wrestle with in your writing? Drop a note in the comments and I’ll try to find a book that speaks to it so we can all learn to be better and better writers.

If this review made you want to stock up on books, pick up a copy of The Vanishers, Nicholas Nickleby, The Great Gatsby, or Reading Like a Writer from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Waiting for God with Simone Weil

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There is something enticing about the idea of a young girl who sees through religion and philosophy and straight to God. Perhaps I think so, anyway, because I always wanted to be such a girl—to understand this infinite universe. Enter Simone Weil. Though of Jewish heritage, she grew up in an agnostic home. Still, her writings on God in Waiting for God touched me much more deeply than those of St. Augustine.

Questioning

Weil so clearly believes in God and yet she cannot bring herself to join with the Catholic Church. She has great love and respect for the priest with whom she is corresponding in the book, but she cannot bring herself to give him what he most wants, which is to baptize her. I too grew up in an agnostic home. Answers are hard for me to trust and I don’t have a future as a philosopher, but questions help me find my own truths.

Weil was very keen on intellectual honesty and I wonder if that kept her apart from the faith she seemed to crave. At times she seems to thrive on that separation, and I wonder if her way of thinking would have changed had she not died so very young.

Inspiration is Everywhere

Waiting for God is a different sort of book than what I usually review here. Although Weil meant for the essays in the book to be published, the letters have a raw, searching emotion that feels less polished (even though the language is beautiful). I wonder if she would have edited down the letters if they had been published in her lifetime.

As much as I emphasize craft in the essays on this site, sometimes the first thing you have to do as an artist is follow your passions. There is ample time for craft, but without inspiration, you risk polishing the proverbial turd. Weil was a perfect read for me because the questions I ask myself offline are spiritual ones. There were times I agreed with her and times I didn’t, but the best moments are when she touched tangentially on something I’ve been grappling with subconsciously. Some of those are questions I haven’t even formed yet, but reading Weil and seeing how she wrestles with the same subjects opened me up to some of my own truths.

Books are amazing and I love them. But when you feel flat, sometimes you have to put down your book and either read something entirely different or do something different. You are an amazing vessel of creativity. Honor and fill that with a myriad of approaches to the subjects you love. I sat through a lecture on machine learning this week where I also saw glimmers of God.

The Language of Faith

Weil has a knack for little sentences with big meanings. In reading this book, I kept underlining and underlining her aphorisms, but even that wasn’t enough to feel like I was pulling her thoughts through my brain and soul in the way I wanted. I started writing sentences from the book and grouping like with like—repentance, distance, acceptance, center, and love—until I had a poem, what turns out is a cento. Here’s an excerpt of the rough draft:

(acceptance)
You do not refuse
to accept me
just as I am.
The capacity to give
one’s attention to a sufferer
is very rare thing, a miracle.

Never is a genuine effort
of attention
wasted.
I am tempted
to put myself entirely in your hands
and ask you
to decide for me. I was prevented
by a sort of shame.

Your charity.
You bore with me
for so long
with such gentleness.

And now that I’ve subjected you to my exercise in learning how to use line breaks, go read or do something that inspires you. I’m off to write that machine learning poem (which I will not make you read).

What are your go-to topics for inspiration? Do you prefer materials that help you question or ones that provide answers?

If you want Simone Weil to blow your mind, pick up a copy of Waiting for God from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Re-encountering Foreign Tongues with Ryszard Krynicki

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kamien szron - ryszard krynickiAlthough it’s been over a decade since I held a coherent conversation in Polish, I am still drawn to the language. Sometimes I watch dark movies filmed during Communism and sometimes I pick up books in Polish at used bookstores, thinking that I will someday read one. A few months ago, I saw Kamień, szron by Ryszard Krynicki at just such a bookstore and the shortness of the poems made me think this would be the Polish book I would finally read. And I did. Kind of.

Muddling Through

I enjoy reading poetry in languages I only somewhat remember even when the full meaning of the poems is lost on me. But it seemed natural because of National Poetry Month that today would be the day I’d test my Polish skills, so I sat down with the book and two dictionaries and began underlining and looking up words I didn’t understand. I read each poem aloud. I learned the language by ear and although the spelling is phonetic, Polish words contain a lot of consonants. Only by reading some of the words aloud do I realize how many of them I have at least heard. As I gained confidence (and got wrapped up in the book) I stopped looking words up and just enjoyed what I could read and infer.

What is Polish Poetry Like?

I’ve actually read a bit of Polish poetry in translation, including works by Zbigniew Herbert, Czesław Miłosz, Wisława Szymborska, and Adam Zagajewski. What Krynicki has in common with these poets (besides the fact that he owns a press that has published nearly all of them) is that many of his poems are about travel. Perhaps that’s one of the luxuries of living in Europe where the countries are so close together, but even US poets that I’ve read don’t remark nearly as often about visiting a new city. There is a sense of otherness in these poems as though Krynicki is rediscovering himself in relation to each new geographical location.

Like English-language poetry, however, Krynicki’s work refers often to the work of other poets. In particular, he calls out Paul Celan.

I don’t have enough background in Polish literature to remark on the forms Krynicki uses, but I loved the sound of his poetry. Despite what the plethora of consonants might make you think, Polish is actually a soft and musical language. It’s kind of ornate in its own way and because nouns have cases (as in Latin), there is no need for articles and the arrangement of words is more fluid. I can’t remark on whether Krynicki takes special advantage of these aspects of his language, but the poems flowed naturally.

Different Vantage Points

One of the things I enjoyed most about this book was the chance to see the world through the eyes of a different culture without the filter of a translator. In fact, one of my favorite lines in “Fragmenty z roku 1989” (Fragments from 1989), is radically different in the English translation I found online. The line is, “świta okaleczony świat” and my rough translation is “dawning of a crippled world” which has all kinds of fascinating implications when we think of the jubilation in the West when the Berlin Wall fell and the Iron Curtain was finally pulled back. I don’t think Krynicki was lamenting the downfall of Communism, but he was offering a more nuanced view of what this new world meant. The translation I found online, reads instead “Dawn, the color of the Seine, / color of wormwood and gall” which has a very different meaning.

If you’d like to read some of Krynicki’s poetry in English, I particularly recommend “A stone from the new world.”

I loved this exercise of stretching and remembering by challenging myself to read something I didn’t think I could. How do you stretch your language? Are you ever tempted to try out that high school French or Spanish by reading poems in their native languages?

The full text of Kamień, szron isn’t available in English that I know of, but you can purchase Ryszard Krynicki’s selected poems from Bookshop.org. Your purchase helps support indie bookstores and I receive a commission.

Dunya Mikhail Diary of a Wave Outside the Sea

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Dunya Mikhail Diary of a Wave Outside the SeaOn the tenth anniversary of the 2003 US invasion of Iraq, I listened on NPR as Renee Montagne interviewed an Iraqi poet who fled her homeland and I knew immediately it was Dunya Mikhail and that I had read her book, Diary of a Wave Outside the Sea and I needed to read it again.

Plausible Deniability

In many ways, I’ve been avoiding reading about the Middle East since we invaded that sovereign nation under false pretenses. I protested the war then, weakly, and as I realized how little power I had to change our policies, I turned away and pretended that I couldn’t see that my taxes weren’t paying for the destruction of someone else’s infrastructure and the murder of other people’s children. I’m opposed to both dictatorship and terrorism, but what we did in Iraq was uncomfortably close to a Crusade.

Somehow now, 10 years later, I’m ready to begin to really look at the Middle East again—to let my political scientist side again start to question—and to confront what makes me so uncomfortable about Iraq just as I have started to question my reading tastes. Truthfully, I stumbled into Iraq a few weeks ago when we finally started watching Homeland. I didn’t actually know the show started in Iraq, but watching Claire Danes piecing together international intrigue and speaking in foreign tongues reminded me of who I used to want to be. So here I sit, holding a book filled with Arabic script, trying to reconcile these pieces of myself.

Facing the Truth

The hardest thing to see in an “enemy” is his or her humanity. Mikhail’s book starts just there, with the simple observations of a child:

In my childhood, I envied myself for being a child.
I thought everyone was created the way they were:
created as a child or an old man or a mother.

She goes on to write:

I used to count dreams on my fingers
and cry, because my fingers were insufficient!
I also cried when I saw myself in photos
and I would shout:
“Take me out of the picture!”

The book slips quickly into scenes during the first Iraq War, Operation Desert Storm, but Mikhail doesn’t show the images I’m used to seeing—Humvees lumbering across a desert or oil wells on fire. Instead she writes about how life continued:

I was not waiting by myself;
the river was there, too,
and the smoke that rose from the explosions
and from the cigarette of a lover
who contemplated his loneliness
like a pawn in the corner of a chessboard.

And I remember what it was like then for me, my friends and I—not yet teenagers—gathered around a table in a kitchen discussing whether our brothers would be drafted. Our language wasn’t as beautiful as Mikhail’s. Our bodies were so much farther from danger. But we, too, existed with this war as it shaped our lives in ways we couldn’t understand or control. Still, Mikhail’s experience was much more immediate and soon the words devoted to war outweigh those devoted to other aspects of life:

Sometimes I imagine the war has ended
and life creeps into the foreheads of the corpses
for an instant.
One instant is enough,
a moment
the size of a bullet.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Has the war stopped?
What will we do now
without enemies?

“Pens and Rifles Have One End”

The second part of Diary of a Wave Outside the Sea was written after Mikhail fled Iraq. No longer subjected to Iraqi censors, the poetry begins to use real names rather than references to Zeus. Instead of oblique references to chess and electrons that split and reunite only to destruct, she tells stories of her “war generation.” I remember that the Gulf War was not the first to touch her lifetime and her city.

The way I fled the country was like everything in Iraq:
too hard, too easy, and exactly as they liked.

The way the book is laid out feels like a metaphor. Because Arabic is read right to left, the English translation of Mikhail’s words and the Arabic original meet in the middle with only to separate them. Somewhere between these two languages, amidst the family photos and images of other important papers, is a poet and her story.

It’s time to begin digging into my own story—to stop turning away when I encounter resistance—to delve deeper when life and writing are the most difficult. It’s time to find who this person who is part political scientist, part writer, part woman, part wife, and so much more—who this person is.

Read Mikhail’s poetry for the beauty of her language, but as you are reading, listen to the conversation that happens with all great books—the one where an artist provides you the keys to help you learn about yourself.

If this review made you want to have your own conversation with Mikhail’s work, pick up a copy of Diary of a Wave Outside the Sea from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.