The Void

Vladimir Nabokov's autobiography "Speak, Memory" opens up with a memorable quote; "The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness." This quote, with the intense focus on the concepts of an "abyss" (void) and "light", reminds me of the writings of two other authors writing in the 20th century, albeit one is about 20 years previous and the other about 20 years later-- Franz Kafka & Italo Calvino.




In Italo Calvino's work "Invisible Cities" he often flirts with the ideas of places suspended above the nothingness, cities built on nothingness, and cities that define the space they are given, even if it is only points of light in nothingness-- the brief crack of light in the darkness. In this work Calvino imagines every city there could possibly be as he explores the depths of possibilities. However, as the book progresses Khan begins to understand that perhaps Marco Polo hasn't traveled to all these places but he may be explaining the depths, focusing the intricate rays of light of his native Venice.

Franz Kafka's "The Castle" begins with an intense description of place that evokes much of the same imagery of Navokov; "It was late in the evening when K. arrived. The village was deep in snow. The Castle hill was hidden, veiled in mist and darkness, nor was there even a glimmer of light to show that a castle was there. On the wooden bridge leading from the main road to the village, K. stood for a long time gazing into the illusory emptiness above him." An intriguing difference between Nabokov's and Kafka's understanding of the void the void's relation to the subject. Nabokov imagines hanging over the void, suspended, something to beware of falling into. Kafka however envisions the void above the subject as something to get to, something to investigate and attain, as is true of many of Kafka's works perhaps most notable in the short story "Before the Law".




The most notable similarity between the two is Nabokov's and Kafka's supreme interest in investigation. Each author pursues their works with a magnified and careful eye. Kafka's characters Joseph K. ("The Trial") and K. ("The Castle") try to explore their situations from every perspective in order to better their position; Joseph K. pursues discovering the nature of his trial in order to appropriately diagnose the best course of action in his defense. K. pursues every avenue of entering the Castle to attempt to understand the nature of his employment. Nabokov investigates the world through a scientifically trained eye. Each detail is noted and important, even the ones that often seem the least important.

The void needs to be considered an important characteristic of the writing of Nabokov and other writers exploring space in the 20th century. It can symbolize something that many of these authors such as Nabokov and Kafka struggle with-- defining the undefinable, approaching infinity, and exploring the abyss.




*Here is a passage from a story I wrote called "A Grove in the Barren". I feel that this story deals with this concept Nabokov puts forth about "our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness".

It was cold and the snow whipped around my face in tight curls. I had been walking alone in The Barren a long time, as long as I could remember, and never found anything or been found by anything. I used to hold my hand out to feel my way along, to try and strike a solid wall, but always when I outstretched my hand it reached infinitely far, contacted nothing and became lost in the crystalline white void. Some time ago, during my bouts of vertigo, I would drop to my knees and vomit, but even then it looked blank and white and the bloodspots were instantly buried deep in fresh snow...

*Read the rest of the story at http://adambenson.blogspot.com/2009/08/grove-in-barren.html

Pinky

Pinky



I try to rummage through my memories and sort the useful from the useless like the separating of wheat from chaff. Locating the singular memory I consider my first feels impossible in the jumbled chronology of the past. I ruminate and probe the various flashes of recollection that present themselves as my first, most important memory only to return to the thought of my dad’s missing finger. Considering my childhood memories in accordance with my dad’s missing finger raises memories of the flowering of my understanding of humor, frustration and a myriad of humanity. Each sprouting from the space on my dad’s hand where there should be flesh and bone but there is none.

Since I can remember my dad has had five fingers on his right hand and four and a half on his left, the pinky being lopped off at the first joint past the knuckle. This stub became a tool for provoking me endlessly. I would ask him how he had lost his finger and he would tell me the story. I became confused when his stories began to contradict one another; each story being different every time he told me of how his pinky had become to be half intact, half lost. Soon, I could recognize the pattern he crafted his stories around. The story would surround the situation that we both were in and at the end he would abruptly hold up his hand, framing the pinky in my view, and give a signature, quick flash of a smile. This half-finger story became even more interesting when I noticed his insistence on telling a tale to complete strangers: a cashier, a waitress, some students in his Spanish class. Always masterfully twisting the story around the situation but always ending the tale by holding up his hand and giving a quick smile.

Among my friends the telling of these tales became something of a legend. My dad would craft the tales to fit in to our teenage ramblings when he drove us up skiing. He had cut it off on the edge of a snowboard, broke it off by slamming it in a cash register, and it had been sliced off on a guitar string just like a piece of salami. My friends intrigue of this story went so far as for one of my friends to suggest “Adam, it’s your destiny to lose a finger just like your dad and tell stories.” I laughed and brushed off the remark. I stated how absurd that was, how much I liked having ten fingers and how I expected to for a long time to come.
I’ve made inquiries with friends of his, fellow high-school teachers that know him, and even my mom. Somehow they all react with cryptic knowledge. Not revealing any useful information and giving me a sly smile, honoring a tradition they all know; a tradition that precedes my birth.

To this day I still do not know the “real” reason why my dad has nine and a half fingers instead of the standard ten. I do not know if he’s embedded clues or some version of the truth in the stories he has told me. I do not know if I will ever find out. I do not know if I want to ever find out. But I do know that the imprint of these tales sway across my childhood memories like my dad dangling a plastic finger attached to a key chain in front of my eyes.

Technique Response-- Point of View

*I wrote this for a Creative-Nonfiction class. The assignment was to read Sherman Alexie's "Superman and Me", select some passage, pick out a technique I liked, discuss how it works and give a short example of how it could work in my writing. As the year rolls on I will post a few more of these so don't be alarmed to see more of them in the near future.*




“This might be an interesting story all by itself. A little Indian boy teaches himself to read at an early age and advances quickly. He reads "Grapes of Wrath" in kindergarten when other children are struggling through "Dick and Jane." If he'd been anything but an Indian boy living on the reservation, he might have been called a prodigy. But he is an Indian boy living on the reservation and is simply an oddity. He grows into a man who often speaks of his childhood in the third-person, as if it will somehow dull the pain and make him sound more modest about his talents.” (Selection from Sherman Alexie's "Superman and Me")



Although this is not a concise passage to examine it does offer some fantastic play with point of view and meta-commentary to create an effect that confronts the reader on many fronts. Until this passage Alexie has dealt with the narrative from a more traditional stance, providing the story from the first person of one who is recollecting, confronting the images from memories and doubts that come with memory recall. Writing from the first person point of view lets the reader come close to the author and invite the reader into a world of possibilities, full of room for discussion and human discourse; mainly, first person offers an understanding of the author as a person to relate to. However, changing the point of view to the third person creates instant space in our understanding of the author as a person to relate to. Third person narratives shove aside closeness in favor of the power of assertion. When Alexie shifts to third person it seems he is telling us not about his story but an imagined story where the value of the story is not in the relationship between the reader and author but in the authority of the author over the reader.


In my own writing I often seek ways to manipulate the space and closeness the reader feels between himself/herself and my voice. I often find myself, stuck at a point in some narrative, where I want to deploy a dramatic effect: create distance, close distance and use the notion of space between reader and author to my advantage. Practicing the technique of a well-placed shift in point of view would add another useful tool into my author utility-belt.