And even before Bush's reign got ugly, imagine my astonishment when I realized that Wesleyan University, my father's would-be alma mater (he instead ended up "majoring in" some Scottish lass, which required "studying abroad" in Edinburgh,) was a haven for politically-minded, confused, cynical people with rich parents and tight pants. So there existed a place inside America where Americans could talk openly about how they hated their fellow countrymen while under the guise of being politically correct and tolerant of everybody else. A kind of self-deprecating modesty, if you will. Could that mean it was possible for them to, if provoked, speak openly about how they hated other countrymen? If we were so liberal, surely we had the balls to criticize humans, not just Americans. What was the difference between 'having political balls' and getting chastised? There was only one way to find out.
I had a column during my senior year at Wesleyan in the bi-weekly paper, the Wesleyan Argus. It ran the course of one semester, and it endured even after a piece in which I barraged Jonathan Safran Foer for his angelic, politically immune book topics (for those of you who don't know, Foer's first book was about the Holocaust, and his second, September 11th.) Was Foer, I asked, consciously plotting to discuss topics he knew people would enjoy? And, by enjoy, I mean relish the opportunity to talk mournfully about it until the cows (soldiers in Iraq) came home? OK, if it wasn't conscious, could it have been subconscious?
As it turns out, Foer is a sweetheart who doesn't eat meat, is modest and shy, and loves his grandmother. It took a live reading at Barnes and Noble for me to realize that. I still refuse to read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Up Close, the less popular 9/11-themed follow-up to Everything Is Illuminated, which I did read. That doesn't mean I don't respect it, you know, the way I respect my ex-boyfriend's current squeeze. Hey, good for you for moving on, but I don't want to hear anything about your "follow-up," especially how politically correct it is.
As it turned out, there were people attuned to Foer's good-natured, do-gooder, goody-two-shoes persona(lity) long before I was. Correction: there was one person. A girl who could not speak English very well wrote a "Wespeak" (read: liberal rant) in the paper in response to my column, telling me how "extremely amazing and incredibly good" Jonathan Safran Foer's books were. Needless to say, I was not convinced. She seemed to be protesting too much. And what I got the most of after that brief fallout was applause. People in computer labs at three in the morning would lean over in their swivel chairs and whisper, "I loved your piece about the Jews."
Article comments
1 - Aaman
While 'you' were sleeping, the world has been getting flatter.
Interesting ramble, but remember, they also serve who stand and wait.
2 - sharon
i couldn't agree less.
3 - Ruvy in Jerusalem
Elizabeth,
I don't mean to sound obtuse, but what were you writing about? The only term that seemed to have any relevance to what I was reading was the term "blogorrhea".
4 - Liz
Ever heard of constructive criticism, Ruvy?
5 - Ruvy in Jerusalem
Liz,
I apologize if I seemed harsh, but I had a very hard time making heads or tails of what you had written.
Obviously you had an intent in what you wrote, but aside from a long collection of vaguely interrelated thoughts, I could not make out that intent.
6 - Liz
Ruvy, I'm sorry you feel that way, but your comments about this post are easily more negligible than the post itself. Look elsewhere if you want to needlessly criticize someone. This isn't a competition, or a venue for personal attack. You must have something better to do than rack up your Blogcritics comment score.
7 - greg from daddytypes.com
If Raeburn's essay is nothing but vapid sentimentality, then what are the murders and tragedies and moralizing speculations and pontifications that fill the cable news networks night after night? So Americans are prone to rubbernecking and relish a chance to wallow in someone else's intense emotional trauma, fine, but I just can't agree with your argument that Raeburn should fall under your blanket condemnation of sentimentality or melodrama.
Certainly the piece is shot through with emotion, but it seemed to me that he marked, evaluated, and rejected a good portion of the easy, banal, and expected cliches of grieving that are so prevalent in the personal tragedy narratives you're so weary of.
Personal experience is a commodity, by definition, but the self-awareness required to understand it, and the facility to communicate it with words are not. I thought Raeburn articulated a far greater sensitivity to the emotional landscape of parents (and expecting parents) than many/most parents whose kids are still alive.
That said, how self-absorbed and narrow to assume the function of a piece of writing is to get someone to feel sorry for the writer. Never mind that Raeburn's starkness and anti-sentimental passages seemed to reject even the possibility of such an objective. Isn't the point of writing--particularly about a personal experience--to explore and shed light on that experience, to make more sense of it for oneself, and then/also/ultimately to translate that into words in such a way that someone who HASN'T had that experience can better understand it? Or so that she can better understand herself and her own POV and how she communicates it?
Because ultimately, the cynicism and flippancy of this post--and the very idea that one writer's account, whether it's Hemingway, Lahiri, or Raeburn's, is somehow "enough" can't be serious (RIGHT??), but has to be just a provocative argumentative tool--betrays some kind of deeply unsettled sense of self. It shows a highly developed sense of self-absorption, and a classic lib.ed. obsession with self-examination, but there are still some real blind spots. So good luck with that.
8 - andrea thies
as the mother of a stillborn daughter, I would never wish my pain on anyone. However, Raeburn's article no matter how poorly conceived, written, or riddled with poor grammar to your opinion can take away from the comfort it has given to many.
Once you experience such loss and saddness you begin to not care so much about the little things.
9 - cyndi
First time reader here. I think personal stories (truthiness) are the real ones...and you may say we're sentimental (I think we're barbaric, where's the uprising & moral outrage over Guantanamo etc?) but what's the other option? To look the other way? We're good at that. Maybe you don't like truthiness, pain, or other people's pain.
It's good for people to know this is still a common problem. When I had my stillbirth I think many were shcoked, at a loss, etc. If nothing else, the story brings the commonality of the experience to light and may help friends and family to understand something their loved one has gone through.
It's also an interesting issue in terms of prolifers etc because as laws change I may have been left to die of an infection as my child died inside me.
Gross? Sure. Unsavory? Yes. Thats's life.
And lest you really piss off a female friend one day, a miscarriage is NOT a stillbirth (re: your Lahiri comment.) Lots of stories about love, life, death, so no reason there can't be a huge library of birth tragedies either.
I just don't understand what bothered you except that the story is depressing.
10 - Melissa
As the mother of a stillborn child I truly believe your thoughts will change when a stillbirth affects you or your family. For the families stillbirth affects hearing someone elses story is part of healing. Who cares if the grammer is poor? When someone else shares their darkest moment we should be careful of passing judgement on them... it could be you someday.