Memory
I think it happened on a Tuesday. Alan had been out for most of the day wandering around town in search of a job, and I had been trying to read. My attempt was not wholly successful, because the phone kept ringing, or I would get up to check my email. I was in an expectant mood, and concentration is hard to come at such times. Lunchtime passed and I went back to the couch and tried to fix my eyes to the book, ignoring the digestive murmur of my just satisfied stomach. A particular character in the book had been getting on my nerves for some time. He seemed so sure of himself, and yet from the perspective of everyone else he was obviously wrong about many things. He regularly would say and do things that were just plain embarrassing to encounter. Books have at times a peculiar power over me. A book can draw me deep into its world, so much so that I feel like an invisible character; this particular book was no exception, and the result was sometimes painful. I felt my ears redden after the self-confident character’s exclamations. My feelings were a combination of embarrassment for the antagonist and irritation at him as well—after all, it was his fault that I felt embarrassed for him. Why couldn’t the man think a little more before he talked? Why couldn’t he respect others more, and hence gain some respect for himself? All at once my ears grew even hotter. From red to crimson, I’m sure. I felt like I was seeing my doppelganger, and I trembled at the apparition.
It is funny how memory works. Little snippets of information prick the brain in the oddest places and wake up things that have been sleeping for years. Some of those things maintain life in the mind in a state of exile, in a state of self-imposed coma, and when they awake, it is with all the discomfort of joints aching with disuse and the resulting adhesions. We remember why those things were laid to rest and usually do all that we can to lull them back to sleep. And there I was sifting through time with a book, pricking my memory with bits of irritating text. It was then that I realized who I had been. I sat still; quietly wondering at the uncomfortable familiarity with which I was able to discern the antagonist’s every move. Past scenes flickered brightly. Now that the truth was visible I could understand the expressions and reactions of others much better; perhaps I had never noticed them before? At least not then.
Who can say but that those books and people who awake discomfort exist for our own redemption? Those moments of rich embarrassment, of lonely shame, seem like an awful penance to pay; and yet, I have a feeling it is the awful moment of recognition that brings salvation.
—-
The above passage is from Alexander I, my novella in progress, though you will not find it published on my etherandtea blog as I have ceased publishing my novella to a blog.
Nov 27th 2005
Je l’aime. Well done, as usual. (:
Nov 27th 2005
hmmm–very tricky–writing from first person . . .
not sure what to make of it yet–need to read more, in fact.
why first person?
Nov 27th 2005
The story will not be written entirely in first person.
My plan is to compose the novella out of character vignettes. The people in the story will bbe connected by events and ideas whether they are aware of the connection or not. Rather than describing such connections and interactions from a bird’s eye perspective I want to try and look at the ideas through the lens of the people involved. Of course, some people are so twisted that they cannot comprehend their surroundings. Their lives will be narrated and described, because their insight is too lacking to enable them to describe their own reality.
Of course, perhaps the same idea would come across if I let their characters write. Hmm.
Idea = lots of characters: many of them write about themselves and their surroundings and ideas; some of then cannot and so are written about. The narrator interjects here and there with snippets that tie everything together.
I suppose it’s more of a free-flowing collection of fictitious essays and journal entries than anything else…
Nov 28th 2005
Why is (are) the character(s) speaking in the past tense? Have they already experienced the story and are looking back knowing what will happen next?
Nov 29th 2005
Every person’s identity is built upon a foundation of things that have already happened. The decisions that we make in real time are informed by our perception of history (of our own personal history and of the history of others). To really understand the characters in my story it is necessary to delve into their history to a certain degree. However, the story is not one giant flash-back. Some times the characters will speak in past tense, other times they will not. The idea is to integrate the past and the present to explore an emerging future. And in that regard the characters have no idea what will happen next. No one ever has any idea what will really happen next.