Metamorphosis

I’ve been feeling as if I’ve been undergoing some sort of internal metamorphosis of late, and for some reason was drawn to re-read Kafka’s short story by the same name. I last read this as a senior in high school. Thirty-five years, and a good bit of life experience, lends quite the fresh perspective.

I read the story as an 18-year old as part of an assignment to compare it to Tolstoy’s Death of Ivan Illych. I may, yet, have to revisit that tome, as well. But as for the present, I’d like to use (my new favorite term of late) “fresh eyes” to examine Kafka’s work. After a disagreement – more emotional than substantive – with a dear friend earlier in the week on the value of a self-help book, it occurs to me today that one of the things that make great literature just that is its ability to continue to speak to us through different times and different readings. With no attempt at self-help, great literature simply speaks, and the reader uses his or her own filter to listen.

As an 18-year old, I suspect I probably focused superficially on Gregor’s death and casual disregard by his family. As a 53-year old, struggling with bouts of emotional self-doubt, poor self-image, and an intense need to be “seen” and accepted for who I am at my core, my filter in the re-read was somewhat different.

Gregor’s transformation into a cockroach or beetle of epic proportions gave him “fresh eyes” as to how his family viewed him. When he became unable to provide for them unquestioningly, his attractiveness and needs were suddenly suspect. They responded to his “change” with shock and a feeble attempt to meet his most basic needs.  It appeared, however, that this response was in the dim hope that he would become his “old self” again, meeting their needs, and placing few, if any, demands on them to return the favor. Even his sister grows weary of her early sensitivity in caring for him, as she becomes more self-sufficient. As their hope for resolution of this calamity wanes, so does their resentment of, and disgust for, Gregor increase.

Even in his most awkward state, Gregor attempts to negate his own discomfort by protecting his family from their own. He hides his unsightliness under the couch, and further, under the drape of a sheet, lest their fear and disgust be intensified. How many of us hide our “unpleasantness” from those around us out of a misguided concern for protection, comfort giving, or some other high minded virtue designed to keep others happy, content, and properly cared for?

The bedroom, the closet, the couch – too many of us withdraw into these for the sake of others, at risk of losing ourselves. A friend shared a Parker Palmer quote with me the other day – “Solitude does not necessarily mean living apart from others; rather, it means never living apart from one’s self.” I’m going to continue to do the hard work addressing my own personal demons and learning to live with myself. If you need company to do the same, come out from under the couch and join me, and perhaps we can accomplish what Gregor found impossible, and try to pick the apple off of one another’s backs.

Summer Reads - My Reviews from Goodreads

Every Broken Trust: A Mystery by Linda Rodriguez
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Linda Rodriguez' second Skeet Bannion novel accomplished what I had hoped.  While I enjoyed the first novel, Every Broken Trust offers greater depth of plot, more satisfying development of the characters, and drew me even more intimately into the story.  The city of Brewster grows, along with the characters, and fulfills its own role in the story which is satisfyingly full of plot twists, flawed individuals, and suspense.  As a resident in the Kansas City metro, an alumna of a liberal arts college in a KC suburb, and a former college professor, I enjoyed both the geographical and occupational setting of the novel, and appreciate the way Rodriguez connects both the urban and suburban parts of the story.  Every Last Secret, the first novel in the series, was well written and enjoyable, but I finished Every Broken Trust feeling a much stronger bond with Skeet, Brian, and their cohorts, a stronger sense of place with Brewster and Chouteau University, and looking forward with greater anticipation to the third novel in the series. I am hopeful that some peripheral, but strong, characters that were introduced - namely the US Attorney heading a human trafficking task force and Skeet's grandmother - will take on more prominent roles in third book.

Cover of Snow by Jenny Milchman
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Cover of Snow does not read like a "first novel."  Milchman weaves one of the most intricate and suspenseful stories I have read in recent months. Her command of language is descriptive and engaging, without being pandering or distracting.  I found myself drawn into the story from the very first paragraph, and my brain darted in many directions as I sought to solve the mystery along with the protagonist. Cover of Snow is intelligent and challenging, yet still a fast read. Its readability does not diminish the clever and suspenseful way in which it is written.  Set in winter in the Adirondacks of upper New York, the mystery surrounding the suicide of a local policeman will keep you guessing until the very end.  My only criticism is that I didn't think much of the main character. She seems woefully unaware of and/or uninterested in rather crucial details of her husband's life until after he has died. One begins to wonder why she feels much sense of loss at all, except that it makes her rather quick attraction to the local newspaper reporter a bit more explainable.  I generally would prefer to like the protagonist of the story.  I didn't in this case.  And it is this element that gives away that this is a first novel.  Yet I still very much enjoyed exploring the many secrets kept by the people of this small town, and this is a credit to the author.


View all my reviews

Nightmarriage - by Chad Thomas Johnston - IMHO

Chad Thomas Johnston’s book Nightmarriage is anything BUT a tome describing marriage as a bad dream. If the book is to be pegged at all (and this may be a disservice), it is a comic celebration of finding one’s way through dimly lit first, and often unexpected, experiences in young marriage and child rearing. In a style reminiscent of David Sedaris, Chad allows us to join him on the journey of negotiating compromise and revelation in his marriage to Becki and the birth of their daughter.  His writing is clever and creative, but never caustic – and this is perhaps the true gem of his abilities as a storyteller.  I found myself smiling almost constantly as I read Nightmarriage – when I wasn’t laughing aloud – but never at anyone’s expense. And I was so immediately engaged, that I read the book in one sitting. There is a wide-eyed innocence in the way he weaves together this memoir, not unlike the tall tale of a precocious child. Johnston is clearly in touch with his inner precociousness, and the reader cannot help but be simultaneously amused and captivated. I eagerly await the future antics of the Johnston clan. 

Introverts in the Church, Part 1

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. 
"Pooh," he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet."
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand.
"I just wanted to be sure of you."

My friend Greta posted this Winnie the Pooh photo and caption as her Facebook status this morning, and I brazenly stole it and shared it as mine. I had  taken a brief coffee respite from reading Introverts in the Church by Adam S. McHugh, and this little excerpt from one of my favorite childhood series of books was like a timely visit from a dear and trusted friend. I had this little epiphany that these characters were always so near and dear to me precisely because so many of them were introverts. Tigger and Roo were extroverted exceptions, and Eeyore - well, Eeyore was just cranky. But then again, he may have had to spend too much time around Tigger and Roo . . .

So . . . before going back to my book (Tiddlee-pom, tiddlee-pom), I reflected just a bit longer about why I found Piglet's words so moving. It seemed to me that Piglet expressed in just a few words what my introverted self has been trying to discern about my relationship with God in a number of wordy blogs. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

I suppose it would be nice if I would just let Piglet have the last word on this one, but as I am reading in McHugh's book, introverts often have a need to write things down while they find "further clarity and coherence." The subtitle of the book is "Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture," and while I am only half-way through the book, not only have I learned and affirmed much about myself, but I feel certain that if you are an extrovert living with an introvert you would find many, many mysteries revealed about the introvert in your life. And introverts, there are helps aplenty about surviving life with your extroverted other with your sanity and your relationship intact. What follows are a few excerpts to encourage you to read this excellent book.

I began this blog again recently precisely because I felt a desperate need to process my thoughts about life, teaching, relationship and especially my relationship to the organized church. It was affirming to me to read McHugh state: "Introverts benefit from regularly setting apart longer periods to gather up the fragments of their lives and thoughts, and to present them to God through prayer or journaling. To rest and reflect are countercultural activities in our world, and they enable us to step out of the hurried, relentless activity of our culture and to observe the larger direction of and patterns in our lives."

Even as I read Introverts in the Church, my life continues to play out more like an Introvert-OUT-of-the-Church-Trying-to-Figure-Out-the-Church. This morning as I read I began to understand myself as I relate to the church, shed a bit of guilt for myself and withdrew a bit of blame from the church.  If I didn't understand this about myself, how can I expect the largely extroverted church at large to recognize it? McHugh says, "The journey of introverts into a community, however, is better conceptualized as a spiral. They take steps into a community, but then spiral out of it in order to regain energy, to reflect on their experiences and to determine if they are comfortable in that community. They move between entry, retreat and reentry, gradually moving deeper into the community on each loop. . . . Sometimes introverts need to step outside of a community for a period of time, even after years of faithful participation. . . . These outward movements are often not an indication of spiritual atrophy or waning enthusiasm, but they are simply part of normal introverted patterns. . . . They can lose themselves in community and need to retreat to solitude in order to be restored into shape and to find the power to give themselves fully to others when they reengage."

I need more reflection on this, and am eager to get back to the book, so with that, I will give McHugh the last word.  For now.

Must Read Memoir by Kelly Barth

I went to church yesterday.  Not in the literal, time honored sense, but I finished a book I've been reading and felt as if I had been to church.  The book is ironically named My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus by Kelly Barth.  Told with sincerity, honesty, and humor, this memoir could have been my life on so many levels - not so much in specific details, but in many of the passages Barth traveled on her journey as a gay woman of faith.  I like that better than describing her as a woman of faith coming to grips with her gayness. For while she hesitated to publicly acknowledge it, she always knew she was gay.  Her journey was in discovering how to reconcile that fact with a faith that went through so many permutations, only she and "Imaginary Jesus" could really discover the truth and substance of that faith. 

As I've been reflecting on the book last night and this morning, I've chuckled again at Kelly's ability to describe her experiences with a humor that avoids insipid superficiality.  And admirably, for this reader, she is able to reconcile both her sexuality and her spirituality with a depth that defies many of the more shallow memoirs I have read of late.

Perhaps the most touching moment in the book for me was after she "came out" to her parents, and met with them for the first time after that revelation in her childhood home.  The image of her parents with their "powerful" clipboards of questions, Kelly sitting as a dutiful child in a chair where they "both could see her," and the clinical, yet far more tender way these two parents attempted to both understand and respectfully protect their child after having received news that no doubt turned their world upside down is one of the most moving moments of the entire memoir.  For these parents, nothing changed the fact that they loved their child, and no matter how their previous acts or words may have indicated otherwise and how unsettling the news may have been for them, they ultimately wanted only that their daughter know that she was loved and accepted.  "'You're ours and we love you. Nothing wrong. We just go on from here.' . . . Daddy picked up his clipboard, found a clear sheet of paper, and started a letter to Lisa, welcoming her to the family."

Acceptance by my own family and close friends - many of whom I feared simply wouldn't be able to make the leap - was very similar. As was my partner's.  I had worried overmuch about their reactions and potential rejections. My therapist even suggested that perhaps I didn't give my parents enough credit.  I'm not naive enough to believe all people are so lucky in their coming out experiences.  I know they aren't and that lack of family acceptance is one of the key causes of suicide among LGBT teens.  Perhaps we "late bloomers" have a greater capacity for dealing with the ramifications, or maybe we are just fortunate to have the families we have.  

I'll not say more on the book because I could not possibly do it justice. But this I will say, this book isn't just for gay people of faith - although, it will speak deeply to them.  It is not just for families of gay people of faith.  This is a book that anyone on a faith journey should read.  It is a book about a person. Someone with an aspect of their personhood that isn't readily accepted by everyone else - yes.  But isn't that true of us all?

Glass Castle - the Lecture

In some far earlier blog, I raved about my "find" of Jeannette Walls' memoir, The Glass Castle. Last month I discovered, somewhat by accident, that she would be giving a free lecture as a part of the Humanities Lecture Series at KU. As luck would have it, my evening was free and I got a prime seat - middle center. I was as enamored by Walls in person, as I was by her book, and managed to scratch out a few of the more quotable quotes. I can't guarantee that I recall her words exactly, but I think they are close. I pass them on for anyone who needs an extra "pearl" for the day.

"In protecting children from obstacles, we may deprive them of the gift of learning to navigate those obstacles."

In reaction to her observation of a friend she envied for his food and heat, whose father hit him on the head for drawing, she commented:
"We might not have had food, and we might not have had heat, but my parents would never have made fun of my dreams."

Regarding her shame growing up and her need to write the memoir . . .
"Secrets are like vampires. They can suck the life out of you, but they only exist in the dark."

"Don't be ashamed of your scars. Scars are a sign that you survived."

Her mom's comment when Jeannette questioned how she could have had a "good day" because she fell off a horse. . .
"Anyone can ride a horse. It's knowing how to fall off that's the real talent."

Throughout, she reaffirmed that she learned how to dream from her dad, and learned to be optimistic from her mom.

My favorite - After she got her first big journalism job, she was constantly afraid people would find out about her past and did her best to hide it. One of her co-workers, who had grown up quite privileged and went to private schools, asked if she would like to join her on an Outward Bound experience. She said she didn't know what it was, and asked the girl about it. The girl replied, well you spend several weeks roughing it in the wild, no plumbing, no electricity, foraging for your own food . . . She looked at her and thought, "The first 17 years of my life were an Outward Bound experience." She could hardly wait to call her brother and tell him, "You won't believe this, but rich people actually PAY to suffer!"

Good Reads

I'm hooked on goodreads.com. Who'dve thunk it? A social networking site of sorts that I actually consult on a regular basis. Recommended by friend Nathan, I'm loving this online option of tracking what my friends are reading, letting them in on my favorite books, and reading and writing some reviews. The reviews are more than just recommendations, as they are also often the stimulus for a chat about the book. I can't seem to find time to join a local book club, yet this site offers the luxury of being in a virtual online bookclub with friends who don't live nearby. And it's always neat to get a new twist on a book you liked (or didn't) by reading what one of your friends thought about the same tome. It is also a great way to keep track of books you want to read sometime, but either can't afford or don't have the time at the moment. I can't recall how many books I've spotted in Borders that I "intended" to buy sometime, then forgot all about. This way I can track them, remember them, and maybe even see what friends thought of them, before I forget them! I'm adding the link to my blog - so check it out.

Summer Sloth

Ok, sloth is perhaps too harsh, but as my mother always delights in telling me, "if you had real job, you'd have to work in the summer - and holidays - and spring break." I don't know . . . I kind of think that after catching a couple of horny teenagers "practicing" the wrong art form in a practice room, I'm due for a little break.

The Frau and I have invested a good bit of time and money this year in making the new casita "ours," consequently, we have no money to go anywhere this summer. As the more ardent traveler of the two of us, I have surprised myself at my willingness to be more of a homebody this summer. I am loving working in the yard - not exactly slothful. And being able to curl up with a good book on a rainy day - ok, somewhat slothful. I can feel more virtuous when I'm reading about boy soldiers in Sierra Leone in "A Long Way Gone," but I've morphed into finally reading the Harry Potter series. I'm halfway through the second book, and I had to go to the gym to work out this a.m. to assuage my guilt. I'm also doing some schoolwork here and there - on my terms, though.

Staying put is giving me the opportunity to take part in a number of things I don't normally do - like have my carpal tunnel surgery (left wrist healing nicely, right wrist on deck for late July), schedule my overdue mammogram (always a joy), and "play" on the faculty softball team. Since my unfortunate bop-in-the-nose incident and 1st round of wrist surgery, I've been keeping score, but the doctor cleared me to start playing this week. If yet another tragedy strikes on the field, I may just burn my glove and call it a game. I'll keep you posted on that one.

Speaking of mammograms - someone close to me - who shall remain nameless (at her request) (like you won't figure this one out . . .) recently had her mammogram. She forgot and wore deodorant (a no-no for the uninitiated). She wiped that off, got squished, then proceeded to dress. She noticed a spray can in the changing room and thought, "how nice, they keep deodorant in here." She happily sprayed it on, only to realize it wasn't deodorant - but hairspray. Thus began the "de-application" process yet again. Typical mammogram - life saving, perhaps, but one humiliation after another. I'm sorry, gentlemen. While I'm sure the whole "bend over and cough" thing is less than underwhelming - at least you don't have to stick little BB's to it and have it smashed two different directions - with or without a heating pad.

But I digress. And it's my feeding time. And I'd really like to catch up with my friend, Mr. Potter. So I shall slothfully take your leave. For those of you who have "real" jobs, I wish I could say I'm sorry . . . :-)

Please Read . . .

. . . my new favorite book by Jeannette Walls entitled, The Glass Castle. It is hardly your standard memoir. It hooks you from the very beginning, and reverberates within long after you finish the written text. I couldn't shake its hold on me for many days, and continue to wonder to what lengths people (especially my students) will go to conceal their true circumstances, or how much people have actually overcome (or denied) in their lives just to find "normal."

I'll do the book an injustice if I try to describe it in more detail. You will do yourself an injustice if you don't read it.

March . . .

Who would have thought a short novel written as a Civil War diary could be so timely? I'm about halfway through this little gem by Geraldine Brooks which details the cognitive dissonance of "Mr. March" - the father of the "Little Women" in Louisa May Alcott's novel by the same name. An Abolitionist and pacifist, March finds himself at war, both with the South and with himself. One can't help but recall Peter indignantly stating that he could never betray Christ, and finding himself in just such a position only hours later. March is written much like a journal that includes portions of sanitized letters to his wife and girls. I just reached a chapter that begins by debating the difference between courage and cowardice, and his struggle with these two words is illuminated in the following paragraph. I know a President of a large country who needs read this . . . (or have it read to him . . . I'm not sure he reads):

"Who is the brave man-he who feels no fear? If so, then bravery is but a polite term for a mind devoid of rationality and imagination. The brave man, the real hero, quakes with terror, sweats, feels his very bowels betray him, and in spite of this moves forward to do the act he dreads. And yet I do not think it heroic to march into fields of fire, whipped on one's way only by fear of being called craven. Sometimes, true courage requires inaction; that one sit at home while war rages, if by doing so one satisfies the quiet voice of honorable conscience." [March - Geraldine Brooks - Penguin Books - 2005, p. 168]

Forget it (reading it to "W") - the words are way too big for him to understand, and the ideas are even bigger . . . But YOU should read it.