Annie Dillard, "Flying in the Middle of Art"

I just realized that I didn't do my blog for this essay last week, so here it is now!

I have TONS of favorite lines from this essay, but this one really made me think:
"Nothing on earth is more gladdening that knowing we must roll up our sleeves and move back the boundaries of the humanly possible once more." (Dillard, 360)

Okay, so not only does this relate to writing creative nonfiction (in the sense that we are constantly on the look-out for seeing life in new lights) but it also relates to what we want out of literature in general: a clearer, more detailed understanding of the human condition. So, basically, what Dillard is saying is that even after writing (and just living) for so many years, she still has moments where she has to sand back and say, "Woah. I never thought about that before--I never even knew that was possible." And I guess that's a really good thing. After all, sensing these moments helps us to open our eyes and our minds. When we see new things, it helps us to remember that we will see new things, if only we allow ourselves to. Nice.

Christopher Merrill, "Sarajevo I"

After reading this chapter excerpted from Merrill's book, I'm glad I had already read his companion essay (an essay about how he formed the book), "Every Hell is Different: Notes on War Writing." It definitely helped me to have a deeper level of understanding through the text and an appreciation for Merrill's writing process. I can't even imagine writing about war. So, I guess getting an inside look into Merrill's head was a really good thing for me (as someone who is trying to explore the genre of creative nonfiction) to see. He's got some really great writing in this chapter and I love the way he uses scene interwoven with background on the political situation in Bosnia during that time. It's awesome. And I have the feeling that this is what it's all about--it's what puts the "creative" in creative nonfiction. Once again, I'm having a really hard time trying to find a specific line to reference here. So, I'll just choose one that was really poignant:

"The hospital floors are streaked with blood--no water can be spared to clean them--and the refridgerated space in the morgue is too small to handle all the dead."

This is the kind of detail that we don't get from watching the news. This is the kind of detail that really makes us feel like we're there, that makes us see it through Merrill's eyes. We can almost smell the irony-sour smell and imagine ourselves walking around pools of human blood to get to those still trying to fight off death. These are the details that make us care, that make all of the political talk resonate in a way that says: these are not faceless, nameless creatures--they, these people, are sons, best friends, students, three-year old children. They delight when water runs through their pipes, they are gunned down for trying to find food, they mourn their loved ones, they cry out when their important institutions are destroyed.

Merrill's style and use of detail make this a piece that's not about "war" as a distant and high idea, but about the people who feel it's effects.

Christopher Merrill, "Every Hell is Different: Notes on War Writing"

This is a pretty short essay (only three solid pages in the anthology), but I am still having a rediculously hard time trying to pick out one sentence that really struck me. I guess I can go with a couple of lines from the conclusion, because here Merrill brings home his point of the whole essay:

"My travels in Bosnia had only begun, and I would have to read hundreds of books of history, politics, and literature in order to better understand what I had experienced in these various war zones. But I had glimpsed a way to write the book."

I guess when you're living this experience, for Merrill it was living in the middle of war-torn Bosnia, it's difficult to see past the horror of what is going on around you and try to orginize your thoughts on writing about it. Maybe it seems too overwhelming. So, I guess what we can learn from reading this essay is the fact that developing creative nonfiction about difficult issues isn't just going to write itself--it's not going to come easily--we're going to have to coax it out of our experiences and our thoughts. And maybe a little bit of distance will help us to do this.

Carolyn Forche, "The 'New' Literature"

Forche quotes Kapuscinski:

"As a writer you have experienced this event in your own skin, and it is your experience...that gives your story it's coherence"
(p 112)

I think this quotation really gets down to what creative nonfiction embodies that journalism cannot. The writer is always present--they have voices that are clearly subjective, even if they try to be as honest as possible.

Beverly Lowry, "Not the Killing but Why"

"On the way, I sat on the back bench of the bus, got sick from carbon monoxide fumes, threw up on my skirt...That was about all I knew of Oklahoma."
Beverly Lowry, "Not the Killing but Why" (pg.99)

I love what Lowry is doing with this description. In addition to using it as a basis for: look at how little I knew about this place; she is also creating a bond with the reader. By sharing something embarrassing with us, she shows us that we can trust her. Trust is very important in nonfiction.

Alan Cheuse, "Finding a Story, or Using the Whole Pig"

May favorite thing that Cheuse does in this essay is located in the penultimate paragraph (I never get to use that word! How exciting!). Cheuse writes: "everything I've said in this piece is true to the best of my knowledge, except that my mentor...did not make the following statement, which, in the spirit of his advice, I am about to ascribe to him" (Writing Creative Nonfiction 37) . This is great! It's a perfect example of how to make things up in creative nonfiction: you can only do it if you let the reader know what's going on and if it furthers your essay in some essential way. So, in using this technique, Cheuse creates a narrative circle--he unites the intro with the conclusion and makes us smile at the same time. Wonderful!

Gerard Ch 1

So, I finished reading the first chapter of Philip Gerard's book Creative Nonfiction and I wanted to draw attention to my absolute favorite line from what I have read so far. On page eleven, Gerard describes what is almost impossible (well, maybe just difficult) to produce. He says: "Good writing is elegant--cleanly arresting rather than gaudy or merely decorative." Which, in itself is a clean, concise way of writing. Ah, the simple ease of reading elegant prose. Isn't that the goal? But then, it is so difficult to actually do--you leave too much out and you sound like a seven-year old. But you put too much in and you sound like an arrogant ass hole. What we need is a poetic balance. Something that is work to produce and complete ease to read. Nicely said, Gerard. That's definitely food for thought.