Skip to main content

Narrative is My Superpower...What's Yours?




I've always been fascinated by stories. For as long as I can remember, stories got me through most of my life. The Harry Potter series helped me deal with trauma and my relationship with my biological father, Persepolis gave me insight into the importance of cross-cultural lit, and David Sedaris, Mitch Albom, and more helped me cherish the happier moments throughout childhood and adulthood. Over time, I began telling and sharing stories of my own, and others; that knack for narrative blossomed into years of prose and poetry interpretation, enthusiastic family gatherings, and several degrees that are somehow connected to literature.

Narrative has become my superpower, and I couldn't be more happy. 

Narrative has the uncanny ability to emotionally and mentally affect audiences in a manner that requires audiences to improve/reconstruct/navigate/introduce cultural conditioning. I've witnessed it within the pages of Persepolis as well as in the classrooms of Russia and Japan. And, I'm sure, you all have witnessed this phenomenon in different ways, as well. Lindsay Miller discusses her relationship to narrative and it's powers in "The Cultural and Political Power of the Personal Memoir". 

"The Cultural and Political Power of the Personal Memoir"

Among other things, Miller points out how mesmerizing and mentally effective cultural conditioning can be. She cites the 2011 debates in Italy over whether the veil should be banned, and explains that because of the narrow, deciphered view held by mass media, many viewers immediately believe the discursive comments being made about the situation. 

Never judge a book or person by their cover or body, right? 

I picked this article because I think Miller does a great job explaining why we, as a people, need to incorporate more narrative into our daily lives, and in what ways narrative works within memoirs. Miller is correct in saying that memoirs have rich cultural and (if need be) political power to inform readers about what is going on in the world around us. I don't know about all of you, but I really enjoy reading about someone else's experiences--I sometimes learn more from memoirs than I do from talking to people. These stories, these cultural, societal, and emotionally charged narratives, give more significance and broaden the views that I have grown up in during the past two decades. 

Have you ever read a memoir or heard a personal story that made you do a double-take? 

Have you ever read a memoir or heard a personal story that made you alter your perception of yourself? Of the world around you? 

Miller chooses Persepolis, Things I've Been Silent About, and another Iranian memoir as examples to back her claim. She writes this thought near the end of her article:
"They begin from a place of very little cultural currency, of almost no real power, but they have the power to move us, to reach us, to create a little thread of telepathy through which their emotions become ours" (2011). 
Memoirs do all the above and more, for me. 

Narrative, and in extension memoir, is a potent emotionally and mentally persuasive tool to use in life. Using memoir as an outlet, a narrative, and narrator, work together to situate a reader in a specific time, place, mental state in order to do (or not do) something. Though this article is eight years old, its message still rings true: narrative bridges cultural gaps. Narrative brings about agency. Narrative makes us all a little more involved, a little wiser, and a whole lot more powerful. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"You don't look like your dad!" Tales of Legal Adoption

"You don't look like your dad. You must be the spitting image of your mother!" or "Your brothers look just like your dad! I bet you take after your momma." I heard these statements a lot growing up. And it's true. I don't look like my dad. And for a while, I didn't really look like my mom. I do now, but that isn't the point. You see, my dad adopted me when I was around six or seven years old. He had been a part of my life, for, well, all of it. When my mother and biological father (sometimes I refer to him as my sperm donor, because I think it's funny, but his name is Chris), got divorced, my dad, Kenny, married my mom resulting in a blended family of me, who was biologically my mom's, and my two brothers, who were biologically his. Suddenly I went from being the only child to being the middle child in a family dynamic that takes a lot of explaining to do. They say divorce and the things I supposedly went through in my early childhood...

Melanie and Melanie: Growing up with Separated Lesbian Moms in the South

I came from a sperm bank, well I came from a vagina, but first I came from a sperm bank. That’s not generally my opener, but we need to make it clear. My moms discovered their sexuality long before I came along in 1992. When I was three, they separated. Gay marriage had not been legalized up to this point, so there was no divorce process involved. However, my mama, Sharon, she gave birth to me, and she wanted full custody of me. My other mom, Sylvia, worked tirelessly to pay for my existence and Sharon’s pregnancy care; she loved me, and I was her child no matter what. They went to court, and Sylvia became one of the first lesbian parents in the state of Texas to receive shared custody of a child that was not biologically hers. In some cases, this still doesn’t always happen, particularly in cases with gay and lesbian parents, regardless of how involved the parent is in their child’s life. “Who do you want to live with?” Flash forward seven years or so, and I’m being given more...

I'm adopted and I have trust issues. Here's why:

I grew up knowing that I was adopted. I’m a fair-skinned freckled brunette who never grew past 4’10” so I fit in photographs just fine with my brunette mother and blonde father who adopted me at birth. When I was little, they told me stories about how God had sent me to their arms, how they had chosen me, how special I was because I was adopted. The story of Moses was especially prominent, as was Tarzan. I grew up in middle America where everybody still goes to church on Sundays and Wednesdays like clockwork and trusts Disney to raise their children during TV time. My mother was (and still is with my daughter now) a firm believer in keeping children innocent as long as possible. She adores small children and works with them exclusively at the church where she directs the children’s choir and runs the after-school program. My father always had a nonchalant attitude towards these things. He wouldn’t go out of his way to introduce us to things that might be a tad inappropriate, but he...