Tragedy or comedy?

Somewhere in my study of literature at BYU, or maybe it was before that, I was told that in the historical Greek sense (or was it Shakespearean?) Aristotle's writings, a comedy was a play that ended with a wedding, and a tragedy was a play where everyone died a Great Man who suffered a Great Fall. I'm sure I'm slaughtering the idea ... maybe dear reader M can help jog my memory in the comments. (Thanks, M!) Those divisions are historical, and obviously not followed with any strictness nowadays as they were in the past. But they came to mind after finishing Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. Ms. Patchett also wrote Run, which I read and recommended earlier this year.

Bel Canto is the story of a kidnapping gone wrong, turning into a months-long hostage situation. It is the story of love, of relationships, and of art and beauty. For part of the time I read the book, I felt as if I was in a room filled with rose-colored light. Some of the story was so achyingly beautiful that it was as if I had caught a snowflake in my hand and was able to closely examine all of its intricuit wonder in slow-motion without it melting at all. But, as you can probably guess by the question of comedy versus tragedy, and the information that the book is about hostages, the snowflake does melt, the story does end, and the ending is not at all beautiful. The book does end with a wedding between hostages after their release. And that, I think, is what threw me in reading the book. Even when I knew things in the story were going to change and get worse, the ending was beyond my expectations.

It is hard to read books where you fall in love with the characters only to be denied a ending that is happy. For the Greeks, tragedy provided a chance to expereince great emotion in a controlled environment--the same reason some people watch horror movies today. Even knowing that, I'm not sure of the purpose of the tragedy in this book. In other books I've read recently, the tragedy in the story has been awful, but has taught me how I do, or do not, want to behave were I ever in a similar situation. With Bel Canto, the tragedy was externally driven, so I don't feel that same acceptance of it. Although I can't neatly wrap up this tragedy, I'm glad I read this book for the beauty and love of the happier times.

Stories and writing, again

One more post on stories and writing for this week, based on two things that came across Google Reader today.

(By the way, do you use a RSS reader like Google Reader to follow your blogs? It is a fantastic tool that I highly recommend.)

First, the blog Scribbit, written by an LDS woman living in Anchorage, Alaska (but whom I've never met) hosts monthly writing contests complete with prizes. All contestants get mentioned in the blog, so it is also some blog publicity, if you're in to that sort of thing. This month's theme is "Grateful" and the prize is a selection of goodies from Bath and Body Works.

Then, today's post on Blog Segullah, a community of LDS women with near-daily posts, I read a post on life stories and transformation narratives. Leslie, the author, recommends a fascinating article from the New York Times: This Is Your Life (and How You Tell It). If you only read one link from this post today, I highly recommend this one.

In her post, Leslie talks about the amazing, changing events in stories, and asks:

"Is the power in the event being so dramatic or in the realization and meaning we assign to it? Is it in how we craft the story around the events, in framing them as narrative, in allowing them to impact our future? Do our moments seem unimportant, un-story worthy because we simple fail to see them in a context and find some meaning, moral, or future guiding motivation in them?

"How does thinking about life as an epic story, a composite of transformative events change us? When we place ourselves in the the role of heroines how much more meaning does it have?"

She concludes by mentioning two transformative events in her life, her time as a medical missionary in her early twenties and her current work as a stay-at-home mom, and invites blog readers to comment on their own stories and transforming moments.

I think Leslie is on to something in thinking about the transforming moments in our lives, especially in light of the New York Times article and its conclusion about personal stories told in first- or third-person. More things to think about as I work my way through NaBloPoMo and think about the National Day of Listening.

National Day of Listening 2009

I wrote about StoryCorps National Day of Listening last year. This year, I'm giving all of us a heads up: National Day of Listening 2009 is November 27, the day after Thanksgiving. StoryCorps challenge is to spend an hour recording--audio, video, or pen and paper--a conversation with someone important to you.

This, too, is part of capturing and keeping memories. For many of us, Thanksgiving is a time spent with family and friends, a time where we share stories and memories with each other, even if they are just about the small things.

During my four years in Provo, I spent three Thanksgivings with my mom's family. One of my memories from those Thanksgivings was helping my grandma prepare the meal and set the table. Just before dinner, as she set out the canned cranberry sauce, she mentioned her method was the same her mother had used. I never had the chance to meet my great-grandmother, but that small story and small act is a link between us.

Most of the our own story telling focuses on the interesting stories. And when you are entertaining a group, it takes skill to turn simple interactions into those interesting stories. On the other hand, maybe the simple stories of interactions are the ones that stay with us longer, become part of us. For me, I think about my grandma and her mother every time I think about cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving.

November and memories

Happy November! Just possibly my favorite month, in one of my favorite seasons. I love November for birthdays and Thanksgiving, seasonal food and family. And, for the third year in a row, I'm signing up for NaBloPoMo--a month of posting every day. Clint laughed at me when I said I had to blog tonight because it is November. I should be better about blogging throughout the year, instead of almost doubling my postings for the year in one month--but every year, I tell myself I do NaBloPoMo to get in the habit so that I actually do better in the comming year.

The latest bee in my bonet is all about cleaning and organizing. I'm going slowly, partly because I am tring to be brutally honest with myself. If it isn't something I've used in the last year, even if it is a project I fully intend on doing, I'm putting it in a pile, and if I can't rescue it soon, it's gone.

One of the boxes I worked on recently had various notes and papers from the end of high school and my college days. I found the photographs and wedding invitations for friends and roommates, and letters from my brother while he was on a mission. I also found the first note Clint ever left for me after our first date. I found the program from the play we went to on our second date after I found his note and was brave enough to call him back. I found old talks and notes from lessons I taught in Relief Society, some over six years old. I managed to avoid most of my two traps in going through the box--keeping too much for sentamental reasons and getting bogged down in the sorting process by all of my re-discoveries.

But I was surprised in my sorting about how much I had forgotten about my own life, especially in terms of how I felt or what I was thinking. Many of these objects jogged those memories, and made themselves valuable--and keepable--for those reasons. Thinking about stuff and memories made me wish I had kept better record of those thoughts and feelings at the time, so that the objects didn't matter as much. And when it all boils down, that is the reason I want to keep writing. It is so easy to get busy living life in the moment that it is easy to forget how that moment is different from the ones that have come before. Blogging isn't the perfect answer to how to keep writing--it too public for many personal thoughts, and too impersonal for others. Ideally, I would write for myself and keep my records that way. On the other hand, it is easy for me to get carried away by writing, and to leave good things left undone so I can write. That is not the answer either. For now, blogging for a small community of friends and family is the best I have, and it at least is one more way to keep memories.