Hi everyone and welcome back to ASTU! In the same vein as our class discussions, which continue to explore the broad theme of memory and trauma that we studied last term, many of the blogs I read from this week focused on Jonathan Safran Foer’s novel, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

I decided to focus on the blogs that gave emphasis to Foer’s use of a child narrator, which, as many of you expanded upon, is the case in two of the other novels we read, Persepolis and Obasan. Specifically, these blogs analyze the impact of child narrators on how trauma is portrayed and remembered in Foer’s novel, which is developed by the bloggers’ focuses on the themes of fear, chaos, and 9/11 exceptionalism.

Both Raphael and Peija focus on the impact of Oskar’s narration on the development of a fear culture that surrounds 9/11, specifically racial fear and discrimination. Raphael develops the idea that “[i]n the use of children as the primary narrative source, the ways in which the traumatic issues are explored may be seen as different”, which helps to describe Peija’s interest in Oskar’s expression of the “blunt and weird thoughts that…[Foer] wouldn’t otherwise to able to in an adult character.” Fear is one topic that is described so bluntly. Peija gives the example of the racial fear and discrimination towards Arabs after 9/11: she noes that “[t]he things Oskar said about Arabs were probably some of the thoughts thousands of Americans were thinking after the attack – but they couldn’t directly say it”, and “in that sense, Oskar could have been an outlet to express the thoughts and opinions  Americans might have had at that time”. This helps to clarify and develop Raphael’s personal thoughts on the effect and progress of this fear and discrimination: the “saddening” fact that fear and discrimination have created the “radically fearful state” that we now live in.

Raphael also develops upon on the use of a child narrator in its ability to explain the incomprehensibility of trauma. He writes that reading from Oskar’s point of view is effective because we “get a sense of how large of a challenge coping can be…and how the scale of it is something that Oskar can’t quite get around or fully understand”. This unpredictability and chaos that Raphael describes is analyzed by Taylor’s post on the details of the novel’s structure. In her post, she analyzes Foer’s strategies in emphasizing the chaotic affects of trauma, explaining that he creates a confusing, pieced-together structure in order to provide an indirect, yet continual emphasis on the theme of chaos. In this way, chaos defines the foundation of the book—its structure—rendering Foer’s tactic very effective.

Developing on the larger significance of these themes, Mariana and Jacqueline examine the novel’s commentary on the “9/11 exceptionalism” that grew out of the fear and chaos that characterizes the aftermath of 9/11. Jacqueline’s post is focused around her argument that Foer’s novel “humanizes a tragic event that has since been sensationalized” in the media. Going broader in the discussion of Foer’s use of a child narrator, Jacqueline contemplates the individuality that personal narrative in general embodies, which contributes to the exceptionalism argument. However, she stresses the ambiguity of this scenario, for personal narrative has conflicting effects: in Foer’s novel, the use of a personal narrative supports 9/11 exceptionalism, but also has humanizing effects. As Jacqueline argues, “[i]f the humanization of an event allows the reader to gain insight to the humanity in other equally horrific events then theres nothing exceptionalist about it.” Mariana develops this side of the argument, taking it in the direction of unity. She argues that “[p]eople can feel unspeakable trauma and it connects them with others…[e]vents like these are not supposed to set borders between people…by making connections with other people’s stories…[Oskar] was able to understand himself and the world around him better.”

This week’s blogs went into detail on the prevalence of the themes of fear and chaos in Foer’s novel, while also expanding upon their larger implications in the creation of the concept of 9/11 exceptionalism, a topic that is now widely debated. As Jacqueline discusses, Foer may present both sides of the argument: that 9/11 and those affected by it (arguably, a majority of the citizens of the world) is part of a larger community, but is also unique in itself. What is your opinion?

Until next time!

Kristen Lew

This week in ASTU, we began our exploration of Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis, a story of growing up in the midst of the Islamic revolution and the Iran Iraq war. One of the most notable features of this graphic memoir is this graphic element: its portrayal of the plot, characters, and themes through comic-style images. Considering the effect of this specific visual choice led me to think about the significance of every decision an author makes in choosing how to tell their story. Every author is in constant consideration of which medium, style, emotional approach—even word choice—will best portray his or her message.

Interest in Satrapi’s choices as an author—how she tells her story—seems to be a common theme throughout my classmates’ blogs as well. Jacqueline explores the effect of Satrapi’s use of personal narrative to achieve her ultimate purpose of countering negative perceptions of Iran. Jacqueline asserts that personal narrative is more powerful than factual accounts of an experience, such an op-ed or a historical narrative; in multiple cases, the personal element is more striking to an audience. An example of this is Stefan Zweig’s The World of Yesterday, a memoir written in similar circumstances to those of Satrapi; as Jacqueline writes, “both authors had been made powerless, silenced by the conditions of their environment”. Similarly, Kristen presents the connection between the experiences and recollections of Marji and those of Anne Frank. As she argues, both are in a situation of “liv[ing] in a dynamic fear”, yet still “[advocate] the need for a voice against the whole of society”. On the topic of personal narrative, Kristen also finds it effective, for “having the story clarified by a young child or teenager is a whole different story”. These connections between Persepolis and other literary works demonstrate the universal effect of personal narrative in adding deeper dimension to our perception of a historical event. The similarities that Jacqueline and Kristen address transcend different cultures and time periods, conveying unknown and otherwise unpublicized experiences.

Peija furthers this idea by describing the impact of personal narrative on her perception of many historical events. In her words, “I never really could relate to past historical events – I was just someone reading about it and then forgetting it. That is until I heard multiple perspectives of historical events”. Here, we see the true power of personal narrative: it allows one to understand history from a first-hand perspective, allowing the reader to relate on a deeper level.

But it’s not just how we choose to tell our stories that holds significance. Focusing on the literary works produced by each of my classmates, it’s interesting to see what issues were focused on. Brought to light by Mariana’s discussion of the bias of political news, this hints at another essential question: what do we chose to tell? Intertwined with their comments on how Satrapi achieved her purpose, many of this week’s blogs explored the various power struggles that we encounter in society. Touching on the internal struggles in society between tradition and revolution, Diego extends Satrapi’s themes of rebellion against tradition and societal norms to our society today, referencing the gay rights movement, photo sharing media such as Snapchat and Instagram, and the rise of professional gaming as ways that we rebel against and change social norms in a positive way. However, Priya focuses on the wars and political repression in Persepolis—acts that stem from social rebellion—as a negative force: they rip from children the joy and freedom of childhood, as we see in Marji’s often premature adult behavior. Still, Kristen touches on the possibility that, when the dust is settled, perhaps a rebellion brings peace. She references the work of Craig Kielburger, a young Canadian activist working to eradicate child labor. She argues that it is Canada’s past rebellions and establishment of our society today that gave Craig the resources to make a positive impact. Anne Frank or Marji may not have had the same opportunities, though they possessed the same courage and passion for change.

Why do these essential questions—how an author writes and what he or she writes about—matter? It’s the effect of the author’s choices about what to say and how to say it on the reader that give literature so much significance and power to help us understand the chaos that is living in our insanely diverse world. Going back to Peija’s blog post, I was struck by how much I related to her experience with the genre of personal narrative—it has an effect on our understanding of and emotional connection with any story. Here, we find connections: similarities within our differences.

It’s also how it provokes our thought processes. Reading the blog posts this week really made me think about how power and rebellion affect us. Are these forces good or bad? We are presented with an intrinsic duality—they bring both negative and positive effects to the table. So then how do we balance that? It’s something to keep in mind.

To another good week!

Kristen Lew