Lauren’s thought provoking post drew my attention to a line in the short story Redployment by Phil Klay that says: “Getting back feels like getting your first breath after nearly drowning”(Klay 9). This is the main characters description of finally coming home after serving in the military overseas. I find this comparison absolutely terrible; knowing how that first breath feels all of a sudden makes this story more relatable. Since reading this story, I’ve had a new appreciation for veterans. I have always been so thankful for the work that they do but lately I have found myself trying to imagine what they went through rather than just passing it off as ‘unimaginable’. Re-reading the quote mentioned above hits me hard each time.

Devon Coady

Wow. This post really made me think. Jen explores the question of why visual art is often rejected more than poetry following a traumatic event. She states that the image of the young Syrian refugee who was washed ashore “sparked a conversation that no one wanted to talk about so much before”. I think that phrase opens up why visual art is so much more controversial. No one enjoys being told what to think and visual art has a way of doing that, such as the falling man image that circulated the world following the attacks of 9/11. However, poetry allows for interpretation, giving people the freedom to alter meanings that better suit them, rather than having to simply accept something as it appears. Do I believe this is right? Not necessarily. I understand that trauma brings forth a multitude of emotions however, certain things have to be discussed in order for change to be made or mourning to move forward.

Hey readers!

These past few weeks in our ASTU class have been heavy…your blogs definitely reflect that. We started the second term by reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, a novel discussing the traumas surrounding 9/11. We then carried on to read articles by Saal and Butler, forcing us to delve into deeper emotions surrounding how we perceive traumatic events and what we even label as ‘trauma’.

Matthew’s blog intrigued me through his response to Butler’s ideas of narrative framing and how they can be detrimental. However, Matthew responds by saying “I have stopped trying to get rid of my frames, in favour of identifying them.” I was very moved by this statement. Our perspectives are inevitable; they are not going away. Rather than trying to abolish our personal narratives we should work towards the ability to acknowledge our perspectives simply as what they are: our own perspective. The ability to understand that our perspectives are not shared by everyone is a very powerful tool.

Mariana’s blog also introduced me to something I haven’t really thought much into , she pondered what it must have been like to be the individual that knew their life was coming to an end and “how they lived their last minutes”. That’s a very loaded proposition. Some people must have known that this was it while others must have been unaware as to what exactly was happening. Fiona shares that on September 11th, 2001, her uncle was flying from Hong Kong to Vancouver. After hearing of the attacks, her entire family was beside themselves wondering if her uncle was safe. Meanwhile, her uncle was completely unaware of the trauma that was being created. I believe that many of the victims that lost their lives that day were oblivious to what was actually happening. The confusion they must have experienced is unfathomable.

Reading all of the blogs this week was quite a privilege, trauma can be a very personal topic so it was very interesting to have an intimate view on your experiences and thoughts.

I’m looking forward to more discussions!

Devon Coady

Olivia’s more recent blog post provided some very thought provoking questions inspired by Judith Butler. When Butler first introduced me to the idea that lives we do not mourn are lives that we never really acknowledged in the first place, I was very frazzled. To be completely honest, I felt like a terrible person. However, I then realized that my lack of mourning over people I have never met or have no connection to makes me human. I believe that it is our human instinct to form allies, thus, creating a difference in who we are capable of mourning. Just because we, in Canada, do not mourn all the deaths in the Middle East does not mean that we never acknowledged them as lives; we just didn’t connect with them the same way that we do with other Canadians. Butler proposes a very ideal situation in which we are all able to connect and interact with each other, although I do not see that happening anytime soon.

I really enjoyed reading Olivia’s post!

Devon Coady

Wow, Amy you hit me hard with your post “Emotionally Immobilized”. I wish I would have had the chance to read that very personal letter written to Joy Kogawa. I completely agree with you in the sense that “emotionally mobilized” is exactly how I felt reading Obasan and being unaware to so many of the tragedies that took place in my home nation. Every page of Obasan made me cringe, and not just because the Japanese-Canadians were treated horribly but because I simply didn’t know how to react. I am still stunned that I was so unaware of this for the majority of my life thus far. I feel as if a lot of us B.C. students are able to understand exactly what you are articulating when you pull out such powerful words like “emotionally mobilized”.

Devon Coady

Hey guys!

Michael’s entry surrounding the question of whether or not memory can be personal anymore has really got me thinking. He acknowledges how when you see something with your own eyes there is no room for questioning because you experienced it first hand. However, I believe that the time after you experience something is more important than the immediate moment that you witnessed it. You cannot remember something in the moment as it has yet to become a memory. I believe that how you remember that moment has much more to do with who you surround yourself with, as Farhat Shahzad charts, your “interpretive communities”, rather than how you experienced it in the immediate moment. Understanding this, I am very confused in what I know to be personal and what I know to have been influenced by others.

I know that wasn’t much help, but it got me thinking!

Devon Coady

Lauren’s post regarding the Joy Kogawa fond hit on a very interesting point. She discusses how through the compilation of documents we were able to see the “creative bursts” that Kogawa experienced. These ‘bursts’ were expressed through short poems or outlines written on the backs of scrap paper, providing a very personal glimpse into what was going on in her life at the time. Seeing these little scribbles made me feel like I was almost eavesdropping in on a secret because it seemed like at the time that Kogawa was writing down these things, she never expected anyone else to read it. This got me thinking about all the “creative bursts” I’ve had that I need to express quickly and how they would add up to help someone to better understand where I was coming from. I think that there is something incredible private and honest about articulating thoughts the moment they come into your head, something that would allow people to understand you much more.

I loved reading your post Lauren!

Devon Coady

Hey class!

So as we are all aware, the past few weeks have been filled with discussion surrounding the novel Obasan by Joy Kogawa. Obasan introduced us to a variety of themes such as silence and forgetting and the different ways in which one chooses to remember. Last Thursday, we explored UBC’s Rare Books and Special Collections Library fond on Joy Kogawa. This fond contained everything from very personal letters to documented exchanges between herself and the Prime Minister at the time, Pierre Trudeau.

It is quite the privilege to be the class blogger this week because I had the chance to understand what you each took away from our mini field trip! I found myself relating to Jen Paxton’s blog as she articulated that it was very interesting to see the progression of Kogawa’s work through the numerous drafts that we discovered. Jen states that she “often finds [herself] pouring over words and phrases in books that seem so effortless, but at the same time so impactful,” and I could not agree with her more! However, viewing all of the rejected drafts from publishers across the nation showed that those seemingly effortless phrases were usually fought over for months on end. Personally, seeing Kogawa’s ‘rejects’ made her more relatable; it proved that we aren’t the only ones that spend hours trying to create something worth reading.

Ben Ross also spoke upon a topic that I found particularly intriguing; the sense of gratitude that was expressed through personal letters from adult readers. Ben acknowledges that Obasan “broke the almost forty year silence that Japanese-Canadians experienced since the brutal actions committed by their own government.” This leads me to believe that Joy Kogawa’s representation of silence throughout Obasan relates to many other Japanese-Canadians who may have not spoken out about their experiences, due to personal choices or simply because they did not know how to address the topic. I can not begin to imagine the sense relief that Obasan brought them, opening up a seemingly ‘closed’ conversation.

Obasan continues to raise many questions for us, ones that we can hopefully continue mulling-over together. Reading all of your blogs was a blast, thank you for the intellectual entertainment!

Cheers!

Devon Coady