Stories We Tell is a fascinating study into the connections between truth and memory. I find it so interesting that Sarah was such an important presence in the film without ever speaking directly to the audience. In class we talked about an illusion of “unauthority” – by removing direct communication, Sarah makes it seem like she is less of a mediator than she actually is. This was effective, at least for me; I didn’t actually think about the implications of the fact that Sarah had edited and written the film herself until one of her interviewees brought it up. Still, I find that the film is very honest about the consequences of these layers of mediation around the story of Diane. The fact that Sarah made a point to address these issues helps the film to seem like that much more of an honest attempt at understanding storytelling and the effects of time and memory.

I keep thinking about what Harry said regarding the comprehensive “truth” of the piece. At one point in the film he expressed to Sarah his anxieties about the film never “touching bottom”. That is, he was worried that the story of Diane would be told by so many people that no real Truth could be exposed through the action of telling. I can understand his perspective; after all, no all-inclusive Truth regarding Diane is exposed through the telling of this story. There are still questions and uncertainties regarding how she really felt.  However, I think the film conveys truth in other ways. As a consumer of the film, I see the value in interviewing multiple people about Diane. I was struck by how effectively Stories We Tell conveys the notion that the same story can mean different things to different people. Although some details of the story changed from person to person, each interviewee was in some way affected by Diane and how the story of her affair unfolded. I think this idea of subjective truth is important to understand at when studying the action of storytelling. It must be recognized that the same story can affect people in entirely different ways; meaning will be found in varying parts of a memory, depending on the person. Harry put importance on the fact that Diane loved him, whereas other interviewees put more importance on the fact that Harry loved Diane. Was it better for her that she loved, or that she was loved? Or was she always in love with Michael, as one interviewee suggested? Listening to different versions of the same story may make it difficult to get at the “Truth”, but it also reveals the richness of meaning that can be derived from shared memory.

Our discussions of Maus over these last couple of weeks have raised a number of points that I have found interesting. Something particularly intriguing came up in our group discussions last week when we were exploring our first impressions of the books. It had to do with Spiegelman’s presentation of “Prisoner on the Hell Planet” in Maus I between pages 99 and 104. My group members and I were discussing the metanarrative functions of the comic within the larger comic. While examining page “100” during our discussion I noticed for the first time that Art’s hand was depicted at the bottom left holding the pages of “Prisoner”. I had read this particular part in Maus I a couple of times previously to this because I had found it a particularly interesting part of the book, but this was the first time I had noticed Art’s hand there. Some of my group members had a similar experience with these pages in Maus I and we went on to discuss the implications of the fact that we are seeing “Prisoner” through Art’s eyes.

I keep thinking about how Art’s hand is presented and how I initially missed it when reading those pages. I realized as we were discussing that I probably didn’t see it at first because my own hand was obscuring Art’s; I was holding the book in such a way that my hand was making the exact same shape as Art’s. Besides making me think about the metanarrative implications of “Prisoner on the Hell Planet”, this observation forced me to confront myself as a reader of Maus and as a participant in the “meta” functions of this scene.

The inclusion of “Prisoner on the Hell Planet” is of course an indication of metanarrative; readers see directly through Art’s eyes and onto the pages of “the comic within the comic”. My experience with discovering the picture of Art’s hand forced me to think of readers as another layer of depth in this metanarrative. We are actively engaged in consuming this story; we perform the gesture of holding the pages up to our eyes, just like Art does with “Prisoner”. We bring the narrative in and experience it. It is interesting to note that there is a picture of a hand in a similar position holding the photo in the top panel of “Prisoner” as well. This gives us three distinct layers: one hand drawn in “Prisoner”, the other inside Maus, and lastly the hand of the reader, holding and reading the physical copy of Maus. I find it fascinating how the reader participates in the building of this “meta” moment, becoming part of the layered imagery relating to the consumption and analysis of a narrative.

Walking through Speaking to Memory: Images and Voices from St. Michael’s Residential School at the Museum of Anthropology yesterday was a very sobering and unsettling experience. Because we are studying memoir (specifically testimony) in its different forms, I wanted to be aware of how the stories and memories were presented in the physical space of the exhibit as well as in the context of “voice” and reconciliation. With these ideas in mind, two things were of particular interest to me as I walked through the exhibit: the physical representation of the various apologies for the IRS, and the photos taken at St. Michael’s by the young girl with the Kodak camera.

For me, the apologies were a very interesting part of the exhibit from a physical perspective. They were printed and hung up on long, white sheets of paper in front of a large window in the exhibit space. Because the words were printed in such a small typeface on such long sheets of paper, the large space underneath each block of text was emphasized. To me, this really drew attention to how short many of the apologies were. It was also indicative of the fact that, in regards to the horrors of the IRS and the movement towards reconciliation, a written or verbal apology is just the beginning; there is much space left to fill. The presentation of the apologies side-by-side highlighted the difference in lengths between them, as well.

The photos on the wall beside the apologies were also interesting as aspects of the exhibit. While I noted that visitors to the exhibit could use markers to name the figures in the photos, I couldn’t help but think about the person behind the camera in each photo, and about photography as a form of testimony that gives “voice”. There was one photo in particular that caught my eye in this respect. It showed a couple of young students of St. Michael’s standing together; to their left the shadow of the person taking the photo could be seen stretched across the ground. It really reminded me of the presence of the photographer as an agent of testimony and how even though there were no words communicated through this form, we are still seeing through someone’s eyes, and thus being brought into their story.

The exhibit as a whole was very interesting in light of our readings from the TRC. I look forward to hearing what everyone else thought.

Our short paper assignment on paratext inspired me to look up reviews of Missing Sarah on Goodreads. I wrote my short paper on a different book, but I was interested to read what people were saying about Missing Sarah as well; I wondered if any of them brought up similar ideas to the points that came up in our class discussions.

One review on the first page jumped out at me right away. Lesley says: “To be honest, the book jumps around a lot and if I wasn’t reading it for book club I’m not sure I would have finished it. Not because the book wasn’t well written, but because the subject material (while never graphic) is a difficult one with no easy solution.”

During our studies of life narrative, we have discussed how memoir is presented and marketed, as well as what readers expect memoir to be. I am interested in this review particularly because it seems to imply that the reviewer felt the absence of a comfortable answer or ending impacted their experience of the book in a negative way.

When we talk about the work that memoir is doing in society, we discuss life narrative as a tool for exploring history, offering different perspectives, and bringing to light certain ideas. Part of Missing Sarah’s work as a text is to educate about a very important issue affecting real people and real communities in Vancouver. I think that the book does this very well; it forces readers to confront something that is often swept under the rug or not dealt with at all. I wonder to what extent the book defies some of the expectations of readers by being so upfront with the subject matter it is dealing with. I think that it is very telling that Leslie gave the book four out of five stars and a generally good review while also stating that, if she had the chance, she wouldn’t have finished it. Missing Sarah is a good book to read, but it is not a comfortable book to read. It does not deal with its subject matter in an indirect or indistinct way. I can’t help but think back to our discussion of “filter bubbles” in search engines and news feeds. If we aren’t confronted with issues that are uncomfortable, our ability to enact change will be impacted. Missing Sarah, while presenting a moving and eye-opening life narrative, also breaks through real-life “filter bubbles”.

As we were discussing Six Word Memoir and PostSecret in our class on Thursday, I started thinking about an interesting discussion I had with a close friend in high school. As a teenager, reading the Sunday Secrets on the PostSecret website was a part of my weekend routine. The secrets were a popular topic of conversation in my high school, and my friends and I would always discuss the project over lunch on Mondays.

One day at school I was discussing PostSecret with a friend, and she made a comment that stuck with me. She wasn’t as impressed with the ideas behind PostSecret as many of our other friends were, and during our conversation she told me that she believed many of the secrets to be untruths. This impacted her view of the project enormously; PostSecret was of little or no value to her because she couldn’t be certain whether or not the secrets reflected reality.

This seems to be an issue that many visitors to PostSecret have thought about. On PostSecret’s Frequently Asked Questions page, one of the questions PostSecret addresses is, “Are all 500,000 secrets true?” The reply states, “… I think of each postcard as a work of art. And as art, secrets can have different layers of truth. Some can be both true and false, others can become true over time depending on our choices.”

I am interested in the “contract” of honesty that readers of memoir and life narrative feel they have with an author, and whether or not this contract is impacted by form or anonymity.

We discussed the controversy surrounding James Frey’s memoir A Million Little Pieces briefly in our class as an example of the outrage that can be created through the embellishment or alteration of reality in a published life narrative. Many readers had issues with Frey’s book because he implied absolute truth by not explicitly saying he had altered the facts. As Edward Wyatt points out in his article for the New York Times:

“It is not at all uncommon to see new books marketed as nonfiction containing notes to readers saying the author has altered the time sequence of events, created composite characters, changed names or otherwise made up details of a memoir. ‘A Million Little Pieces,’ however, contains no such disclaimer.”

I think the reply to the question about truth on PostSecret’s FAQ page acts as a “disclaimer” in many ways. The answer puts forward the idea that uncertainty is unavoidable and that the postcards should be seen as art; the “truth” of them lies in their consumption and their interaction with readers. The secrets can become true, or make you realize truth– ideas that are central to PostSecret as a community and movement.

Do you think that one form of memoir carries a more powerful honesty “contract” than another? Would you expect the same “truth” from Six Word Memoir as you would PostSecret? What about Facebook or memoirs in print?

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