#AWP17 Conference Report — Marissa Landrigan on “Imagining the Essay”

awp#AWP17 Panel R169: Imagining the Essay

Description: Imagination, which might be defined as unfettered curiosity, a hunger for inner adventure, and a willingness to incarnate in the other, is at the heart of the essayist’s craft. On this panel, four essayists/teachers of the form (representing personal, lyric, narrative, and hybrid subgenres) discuss ways to imagine into one’s work by reconceiving structure and time, inviting contradictions and collisions, attending to the strangeness of fact, and moving aurally and physically with language.

Panelists: Rebecca McClanahan, Lauret Savoy, Lia Purpura, Ander Monson

Conference Report

I’ve always loved talking, thinking, and writing about the essay’s imaginative power, and the four writers serving on this panel are among my favorite practitioners of the form, so I was incredibly excited to attend this panel. Then, Ander Monson walked into the room wearing a Predator mask. I knew this was going to be good.

Rebecca McClanahan (the panel’s moderator, or, “liberator” as she said she prefers) began by declaring that, contrary to any perceived threat, “the imaginative essay is very much alive.” I certainly wouldn’t argue otherwise after leaving this panel, wherein each writer articulated and reflected on the vital, pulsing, wriggling nature of their work.

McClanahan focused on what she called the primary element of the essay: movement. She said that, in investigating what she admired about some of her favorite essays (citing Barbara Hurd’s “Moon Snail” as an example), she discovered the most of the shifts and turns in a good essay could be described using active verbs. The essayist may pivot, collide, zoom in or out, straddle expanses, and more. In a piece of writing not driven by plot, McClanahan said, “the rocky landscape and terrain of the mind” is more than enough to create movement. She encouraged us to welcome “ifs, ands, and buts” into our essays to create this kind of dance, and ended by saying that the most important question an essayist can ask herself is “at what point am I most divided?”

Next up was Lauret Savoy, who brought to the podium a stone and began: “I’d like to say a few words about ghosts and silence and race and the fugitive pieces of memory and history.” Savoy characterized her own work as uncovering the strata of history, told and untold, and spoke to the imaginative necessities that work often entails. She reminded us that, though we all know history is a privileged narrative, this means some stories have been intentionally eroded and obscured. The imaginative act, then, is to uncover and excavate and put the eroded world back into language.

It was during Savoy’s presentation that my sense of what this panel could be about began to shift. I came largely for craft ideas, and McClanahan’s discussion of movement was an excellent exercise I tried in my class the following week. But Savoy, and then Lia Purpura, reminded me of the larger world and the role the essayist can play in our culture.

Purpura began with a statement that underpinned most of the conference: “Well, everything’s changed, hasn’t it?” She continued by admitting to a recent struggle with the question of how and why we teach the imaginative essay in a cultural and political climate that seeks to decimate language and truth, and spent her time discussing some specific strategies she has found to guide her teaching since the U.S. presidential election. Namely, Purpura said she has been worked to make explicit a discussion of the values we uphold by writing creatively.

Living like a writer, Purpura reminded us, means resisting passive reception, and unchecked consumption; what, in the era of Trump, could be more important? But beyond simply knowing these values are a part of her class, Purpura discussed the idea of teaching specific practices that feed her students and develop their minds. She spoke, for example, of the practice of keeping a journal, not just for the purpose of strengthening one’s writing ability, but as a place to experience and explore shades of perception, to questions of oneself, to welcome doubt and uncertainty. Purpura also spoke of learning to work with art time — the slow, meandering progress of a mind creating — rather than urgent striving for simple production.

Overall, Purpura said, the values at the heart of imaginative behavior are the very things that make us human, and can therefore be a form of active resistance, a “place where the deepest roots of civically important values — empathy, curiosity, questioning — are planted.”

I scribbled like crazy during Purpura’s segment of the panel, grateful for the sense of significance she lent to our writing and teaching work. And even the panel’s closing speaker, trickster Ander Monson, walking to the podium with a mask on his head, continued to reiterate the importance of what we do.

Early in his presentation (after being forced to remove the mask so he could breathe and be heard), Monson spoke about the cinematic technique from the original 1987 Predator film wherein the camera periodically occupies the perspective of the Predator. This, he said, is the central technique of the essay: imagining ourselves into another’s perspective. He praised the “cognitive work it takes to imagine yourself inside another,” to see as another, to speak and tank a different way. And, ultimately, he reminded us that when we occupy these different imaginative spaces in an essay, we are really just exploring playing different versions of ourselves.

What could be more important, in a world that seeks to shun and silence any form of difference, than finding a way to maneuver ourselves into those silenced spaces? Of giving voice to the other and working to build empathic connections across divide?

I left feeling inspired and invigorated, to be sure, but also charged with a sense of responsibility, a reminder that the essay’s imaginative power — always valuable — may be a crucial element to preserving our humanity in these dark times.

***

Marissa Landrigan is the author of The Vegetarian’s Guide to Eating Meat (Greystone Books, April 2017), and her essays appear in numerous journals including Orion, Guernica, Creative Nonfiction, and elsewhere. She is currently an Assistant Professor of Writing at the University of Pittsburgh – Johnstown.

#AWP17 Conference Report — Kim MacQueen on “Digital Pedagogy for Beginners”

awp#AWP17 Panel: F124. Digital Pedagogy for Beginners

Description: From podcasts to Twitter essays to .gif novels, digital storytelling is on the rise. This panel is aimed at instructors interested in experimenting with this fascinating and challenging material, but unsure of how to begin. Panelists work to demystify the world of digital pedagogy by offering their experiences integrating new media into writing classes. Panelists also suggest examples, assignments and discussion topics appropriate for literature, creative writing and composition courses.

Panelists: Aubrey Hirsch, Faith Adiele, Brian Oliu, Adriana Ramirez, Erin Anderson

Conference Report

Five faculty members currently teaching digital storytelling in various forms at different institutions shared stories of both success and failure during this lighthearted, completely engaging Friday morning panel. If any one tagline can be said to encapsulate the discussion — which seemed designed to simultaneously pique instructors’ interest and calm their fears about the daunting amount of software they might have to learn in order to float a great digital storytelling class — it would be this one: Put the writing first.

“Remember who you are,” said Adriana Ramirez. “You are not animators, you are not documentary filmmakers. You are not graphic designers. Your focus is writing. Remember who you are and what your students want from you, which is to learn how to write.”

When she was first getting into digital pedagogy, Ramirez said, she “wanted to be all of these things. I would sit down and do all of the online tutorials for all of the software and I wanted to be able to do everything. And it’s not possible to do all of that and be a writer who writes.”

One way to stay focused, she suggested, is to avoid trying to achieve mastery of the tools students use to create their digital projects.

“Keep in mind that your classroom is a space where you’re teaching writing. It’s not a space where you’re teaching students how to use software. I give my students an audio clip of Sylva Plath reading ‘Daddy’ and I give them the piece of software Audacity, and I say, ‘Okay, you’re going to remix this. You have an hour.’ And they have no idea what they are doing. I throw them into the pool, into the deep end.”

The approach, she said, makes the classroom space feel like a place for play, breaks the tension and lowers the stakes.

“I find that play opens up all creative possibilities,” she said, adding that “some students will find that one effect that makes Sylvia Plath sound like a chipmunk that I did not know existed, and it brings me great joy.”

Still, Ramirez noted, sometimes things don’t go that well.

“Some of your students will not take to this. We have this idea that anyone born after 1995 must be a computer wizard. It is not true….” she said. “They’re people. Just because just because they’ve been glued to an iPad since birth doesn’t mean they know how to make things with it.”

Erin Anderson described assignments she uses in her flipped Pitt classrooms to introduce students to video essays in the style of Eula Biss and John Breland’s “Dust Off,” and other digital projects.

“I think there’s a bit of a danger when we approach the media as this tool that we just import our writing into,” Anderson warned. “Audio doesn’t really work quite the same way. Writing for the page is very different from writing for the ear.”

Writing for the page, Anderson said, allows the reader to go back and look at what they’ve seen a few pages ago. But someone listening to an audio essay ideally should be led “to follow you along the path as you’re going through an audio piece. It involves a lot more signposting.”

Aubrey Hirsch noted she was first drawn to digital storytelling after seeing Dinty Moore’s Mr. Plimpton’s Revenge, an essay told entirely through Google Maps, first published in The Normal School in 2010.

“I thought, wow. I didn’t know you could make a story like that,” Hirsch said.

She talked about the importance of helping students to realize what they’re learning about digital writing as they’re learning it, rather than emphasizing successful completion of projects that not all students are ready for. She advocated assigning written reflections on “the process of their creation, how they feel like their story and their chosen form for the story work together.”

“I ask them to tell me about their triumphs and pitfalls, because sometimes they’ll go pretty far down a road with a certain platform and it’ll completely fall apart, and they’ll have to start over and do something completely different. Which I think is great,” Hirsch said. “I want them to have that trial and error, and then I want to give them credit for having done that.”

Brian Oliu described elegant efforts toward his intention to educate students about literary citizenship using social media.

“My goal for my students is to make them recognize that the writing world is an active place that they are welcome to join,” Oliu said. “We don’t wish our students to write as a means to an end, or simply to get a good grade in a course.”

Oliu’s students actively engage in social media, whether they’re tweeting lines of stories in progress, publishing poetry on Yelp.com or following Augusten Burroughs while he live-tweets HGTV shows. The medium helps students educate themselves about their chosen vocation and realize the most celebrated writers are often just like them: “They too struggle with writing. They too order pizza. They too watch sporting events.”

Faith Adiele brought the panel home with a reminder to all writers that digital storytelling can and should reframe the whole writing and reading experience not just for teachers and students in classrooms, but for everyone, globally.

“New media ain’t new,” she said. “New media allows us the opportunity to return to ancient forms of storytelling, which are rooted in the global self.”

“I’m really trying to make my students feel that these are types forms of storytelling that resonate with what we learned around our mothers’ kitchen tables, and that they do belong to all of us,” she said. “This stuff interrupts nonlinear, Western modes of storytelling. So it’s an opportunity to really question what is storytelling about, who’s your audience, and how does writing in digital spaces then change how we’re read as well as how we craft our narratives?”

***

Kim MacQueen lives in Burlington, Vermont. She is currently a student in the Bay Path University MFA in Creative Nonfiction. She serves as a faculty advisor in Champlain College’s Communication and Creative Media division, teaches in the Professional Writing program and is managing editor of the Champlain College Publishing Initiative. She is the author of the novels Out, Out and People Who Hate America. She has published short stories in The Southeast Review and Creative Loafing Atlanta; her essays have appeared in The Morning News, The Fiddleback and The Stonecoast Review.

#AWP17 Conference Report — Anne Pinkerton on “Tell the Truth & Lie to Me”

Screen Shot 2015-04-12 at 5.17.02 PM#AWP17 Panel R129: Tell the Truth and Lie to Me

Description: What happens when a novelist obviously mines from her own life, or a nonfiction writer invents whole scenes that never occurred, or a poet convinces the reader of bearing witness to a fabricated experience? Is there an ethical agreement between reader and writer that dictates these parameters or does art conquer all? In this panel, writers from three different genres read from their own work and discuss how factual accuracy shapes their writing.

Panelists: Meghan DaumLisa GlattDavid Hernandez

Conference Report

During this first panel of the first day of my first AWP, I experienced my favorite presentation of the entire conference. I make it sound like the sessions were all downhill from there, which isn’t true. But this one, as a nonfiction writer who struggles with memory and accuracy and the problem of missing pieces — plus the desire to present the truth but also write a compelling, well-rounded story — really spoke to me.

At 9:00 a.m. sharp, in marched our three hosts, representing the three main literary pillars: nonfiction, fiction, and poetry — and all, we were told right away, close friends. The warm connections between them emanated into the room, giving a comfy, lighthearted vibe to our bunch of introverts avoiding the front row. The topics discussed weren’t particularly lighthearted, however. Ranging from a medically-induced coma to a bodily collision with a car to a brother attempting arson, the subject matter was as dark and real and as, well, true as it gets.

I’ve been a genuine #FanGirl of Megan Daum, our moderator, ever since I read her memoir My Misspent Youth, back in 2001, and even more so since she edited the collection Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision Not to Have Kids. Daum, who was as funny and wise as I’d hoped, opened by mentioning “the uneasy coexistence between real experience and writing,” a concept I’d never thought about in those words, but which made perfect sense once she said it.

She talked about the phrase ‘inspired by true events’ — “meaning we lifted real things and turned them into fiction,” she said, as well as the opposite notion, where writers fold made-up elements into a true story. Appropriately, Daum mentioned that this slippery slope is particularly relevant in terms of our current political system with its fake news, alternative reality, and “truthiness” coined by Stephen Colbert. “We’re not working as journalists, after all,” she said. “So what does this mean for literary writing? To be believable for the writer of creative nonfiction,” with our tendencies toward embellishment, toward that notion of “the truth as we see it.”

Poet David Hernandez read three of his pieces, beginning with the aptly titled, “Remember it Wrong,” which included poignant lines like, “memory is a murky thing/always changing its mind.” He would later mention the famous poem “In the Waiting Room” by Elizabeth Bishop, in which she references photos in a specific 1918 issue of National Geographic that turned out not to appear in there after all. Bishop would later confess she must have misremembered. But after all, she had stated in the piece that she was only seven years old, and that “you are an I, you are an Elizabeth,” providing a disclaimer of sorts that the perspective on the truth was her own and only her own.

Before cracking open her book, The Nakeds, novelist Lisa Glatt told us in the audience, “I really was hit by a car.” She then read an excerpt in which her young protagonist undergoes the same thing. Knowing that the event was drawn from personal experience while listening to the scene unfold was surely more eerie than reading it while thinking it fiction. Nonetheless, we got the point.

Daum finished the presentation by recalling an essay she wrote in which she attempted to recreate an actual event in which was ultimately rendered unconscious by a violent brain infection. Seemingly impossible, since despite the thing actually happening to her, she wasn’t entirely there, she told us how this might be done: by talking to her husband and friends who witnessed the occurrence, by inserting her few foggy recollections, and most fascinating, by inserting doctors’ notes from her 500 plus pages of medical records. “I mean talk about an unreliable narrator!” she joked. But because her narrator was also honest about what she did and didn’t remember, she felt utterly trustworthy.

In the energetic Q & A period, issues around James Frey’s now legendary lying in his memoir swirled around, as did the concerns raised by friends and family members about whether the writers in their lives will use them in their stories. Glatt’s brother once threatened to sue her if she did! Interestingly, in other AWP panels I attended, I would hear story after story about people who actually felt left out.

In the end, the genres and particular rules were proposed: In creative nonfiction, the writer has a contract with the reader; in fiction, one has to make things as true as possible while lying like crazy; and in poetry, Hernandez said, “I am more interested in emotional truth.”

Still, Daum ended, “there’s a spectrum of rules,” and “we’re drawing from real life,” she said, just this side of “inspired by true events.”

[Editor’s Note: Read a piece about Meghan Daum’s Unspeakable by Amanda Page in Assay’s “In the Classroom” series.]

***

Anne Pinkerton is a communications professional and a contributing writer for the Mount Holyoke College Alumnae Quarterly. She holds an MFA in creative nonfiction from Bay Path University, and her work has appeared in riverSedge Literary Journal, Write Angles Journal, and others.

Waveform #AWP17 Reading and Panel

waveform

We recently interviewed Marcia Aldrich about the new anthology Waveform: Twenty-First-Century Essays by Women.

Waveform has a Wednesday reading in D.C. and a Saturday panel as part of #AWP17. Please attend; let’s support this anthology! Here’s that information:

#AWP17 Off-site event: Waveform Book Launch, Reading, & Discussion

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When: Wednesday, February 8, 6:30PM – 7:30PM

Where: Kramerbooks & Afterwords Cafe

1517 Connecticut Ave NW, Washington, District of Columbia 20036

For full information, see kramers.com/waveform

Waveform celebrates the role of women essayists in contemporary literature. Historically, women have been instrumental in moving the essay to center stage, and Waveform continues this rich tradition, further expanding the dynamic genre’s boundaries and testing its edges.

 

#AWP17 Waveform Panel Information:

When: Saturday, February 11, 2017, 10:30am to 11:45am

Where: Marquis Salon 1 & 2, Marriott Marquis, Meeting Level Two
(Jocelyn Bartkevicius, Marcia Aldrich, Barrie Jean Borich, Kyoko Mori, Jericho Parms)
In 2014, The New York Times asked if it’s a golden age for women essayists. Cheryl Strayed gave a qualified yes. But while a wave of women’s essays is shaping the literary scene, women are underrepresented in journals and the standard-bearer, Best American Essays. Our panel explores the literary fallout from this paradox, the shape-shifting nature of essays, why it’s tricky to identify as a woman writer, the effects on our work when asked to write as women, and the complications of invisibility.
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Useful links and further resources:

Find more information and to purchase Waveform from the University of Georgia Press, here.

Use Waveform in your courses. Teaching resources and much more information can be found at the Waveform site, here.

Read Aldrich’s excellent interview with Essay Daily, “Riding the Wave: Marcia Aldrich on Diversifying the CNF Anthology,” here.

The full list of contributors: Marcia Aldrich, Jocelyn Bartkevicius, Chelsea Biondolillo, Eula Biss, Barrie Jean Borich, Joy Castro, Meghan Daum, Jaquira Díaz, Laurie Lynn Drummond, Patricia Foster, Roxane Gay, Leslie Jamison, Margo Jefferson, Sonja Livingston, Alexandria Marzano-Lesnevich, Brenda Miller, Michele Morano, Kyoko Mori, Bich Minh Nguyen, Adriana Paramo, Jericho Parms, Torrey Peters, Kristen Radtke, Wendy Rawlings, Cheryl Strayed, Dana Tommasino, Sarah Valentine, Neela Vaswani, Nicole Walker, Amy Wright.

Assay Interviews Marcia Aldrich, editor of Waveform: Twenty-First-Century Essays by Women

waveform

Edited by Marcia Aldrich, Waveform: Twenty-First-Century Essays by Women is now available from the University of Georgia Press. At Assay, we were delighted to have the opportunity to ask Aldrich questions about the anthology.

Waveform has a Wednesday reading at KramerBooks in D.C. and a Saturday panel as part of #AWP17. Learn more, here.

Marcia, thank you so much for agreeing to be interviewed for our “In the Classroom” series at Assay. Congratulations on the publication of Waveform: Twenty-First-Century Essays by Women (University of Georgia Press).

The essay selections in Waveform have diverse and surprising forms. It’s a contemporary anthology, in the best sense of our current moment, and it’s long past time that we have a contemporary creative nonfiction anthology filled with essays by women writers. Gender is not a theme, per se, though all the essays included are written by women and, as such, feminism is very much part of the project. The essays have such a wide-ranging take on multiple topics that I see the anthology working for courses from Composition to Creative Nonfiction Writing to Literature. You’ve built an accessible blog to assist teachers who use the book in the classroom, and I imagine contributors, including yourself, would be happy to Skype into courses.

Question from Assay (Renée E. D’Aoust): Is there an ideal course that you envision for this anthology? Multiple courses? (As a follow-up, I don’t want to imply that the book is only for the classroom, because it is also a super read.)

Answer from Marcia Aldrich:

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I am a fan of miscellanies and collections, those books that can’t be reduced to a theme. I always read The Best American Essays with pleasure because I can dip into the idiosyncratic mind and style of one essayist and then move onto another. Waveform provides those kinds of pleasures and surprises for the general reader of essays. Built into the anthology is the idea of classroom use. The book’s place in the classroom has been in my thinking from the book’s inception. Waveform grew out of my being a writer in the field, an editor impressed by the growing achievement of women essayists, and as a teacher who designed nonfiction writing courses. From all those positions, I became aware of an omission, a lack, an absence, if you will, of an anthology of contemporary women essayists that reflected the range and depth of the writing women were publishing. I had conversations with other women writers about the frustration we felt at the limited presence of diverse women in the collections we were using in the classroom—for example The Touchstone Anthology of Contemporary Creative Nonfiction. Despite loving the selections, it fell short in offering us sufficient diversity for the contemporary classroom.

At Michigan State University, if Waveform had been available, I would have used it in many of the classes I taught. I teach different levels of creative nonfiction workshops and I include a range of reading materials to accompany our own writing. The give and take between reading and writing is an essential component to the way I teach. Waveform offers examples of the types of essays being written today—it covers the spectrum from flash essays, lyric essays, list essays, found material being shaped into essays, narrative essays, memoir essays, epistolary essays, immersive essays, speculative essays. The formal innovation is a gold mine for the nonfiction classroom. The wide range of style and subject was carefully curated to offer students an introduction to the multiplicity of forms the essay is taking. Most students enter the nonfiction classroom with a narrow idea of what the essay is based on the kinds of composition courses they had in high school or freshman writing classes. They are genuinely surprised, and happily so, to find the essay to be a site of invention and personal expression.

I’ve taught literature classes focusing on contemporary nonfiction under the rubrics of Women and Literature, Readings in Nonfiction, Special Topic: The Essay and so on. In my teaching rotation, I move between reading courses and writing courses built around different topics in the field of nonfiction and in each case Waveform was the book I was missing. I created the book I wanted to read, the book I needed to exist for the purposes of filling out the creative nonfiction landscape, and the book I needed in the classroom. I didn’t imagine one ideal course where Waveform would best fit. I imagined Waveform as filling the gap that exists in any number of different kinds of courses in which contemporary nonfiction is being studied and written.

Question from Assay (Renée): There is a Waveform panel coming up at the 2017 AWP conference in D.C., and I’d love to have Jocelyn Bartkevicius, a panelist and contributor to Waveform, answer the following question. But, first, a little background.

I first learned about Waveform when I attended your panel introducing it at the 2015 NFNOW conference in Flagstaff, Arizona. That panel was called (and asked the question), “Is This the Golden Age for Women Essayists?” From the audience, during the q&a, Jen Palmares Meadows, who has contributed to Assay, asked “What, if anything, do your publications do to seek out or include women of color essayists in your publication, and was/is it enough?” You, Marcia, answered that you worked very hard to include diverse voices in the anthology. Brenda Miller was on that NFNOW panel and said she felt she had not done enough to include diverse voices during her time as editor of The Bellingham Review. There was a general consensus that more work needed to be done. There was a discussion about the need for women of color to submit to journals, but less about the advocacy editors must do. So we have the AWP panel coming up, and both you and Jocelyn Bartkevicius are on the AWP panel. (Jocelyn’s fantastic essay, “Gun Shy” is included in Waveform).

You were each in previous positions of power at literary magazines, Fourth Genre and The Florida Review, respectively, and now you’re not. So how do you see your work advocating for women of color changing with this anthology and the forthcoming panel? What can this anthology—and those like it—do, that cannot by done by literary journals? And since we’ll have Jocelyn Bartkevicius answer this question, she is welcome to tailor the answer to the upcoming AWP panel.

Answer from Marcia Aldrich:

This is mainly Jocelyn’s to answer, but I’d like to say something as well.

As editor of Fourth Genre, I built issues from the submissions that came in the mail. I was reluctant to depart from that tradition by aggressively recruiting essays. It was a depressing fact that Fourth Genre did not receive many submissions from writers of color, male or female. This was troubling and I became cognizant of the need to rectify the imbalance.

As the editor of Waveform my role was different and I had the opportunity to create a more balanced portrait. I felt a responsibility to construct an anthology that wasn’t just stylistically diverse but included a more representative range of voices. I was adamant about delivering on the promises of diversity and in Lisa Bayer, the director of the University of Georgia Press, I found someone who shared that commitment. In the case of Waveform, I actively recruited essays.

j_toothy_dogs_3Answer from Jocelyn Bartkevicius:

When I was editor of The Florida Review, with some regrets, I upheld the long tradition of considering work that was sent to us, rather than reaching out to writers to submit work. There was one exception: Sometimes, if I was at AWP or another conference, and I heard a compelling talk, one that worked as an essay as well as a more standard conference paper, I would ask the writer if I could have it for TFR. In that way, one two or three occasions, I was able to add some more diverse voices to an upcoming issue.

Reading over-the-transom submissions, the ethnicity of the writer wasn’t always evident. For example, one of the essays that was a finalist in our annual contest was about politics, being part of the team that traveled in advance of the President of the USA on his international trips. It was a brilliant essay. Only near the end did the writer reveal that she was a black woman. Her essay is still one of my favorites that we’ve published.

As for Waveform, I think Marcia did an excellent job of reaching out to women of color and LGBT women. The voices, topics, and forms of the essays in the book are compelling in themselves, and also reveal the complexity and diversity of women’s esthetics and concerns. My MFA students are about to discuss the book in a graduate class on craft, and I’m looking forward to their responses.

When I pitched the panel to AWP, I emphasized something that Marcia points out in her writing about the book: That in her New York Times piece on whether or not this is a golden age for women essayists, Cheryl Strayed, while answering yes, qualified that yes. Writing by women–of all ethnicities and gender identities–are underrepresented (as Marcia has reported).

My proposal emphasizes what I call the literary fallout from that paradox–getting published more than ever in literary journals, but then not reprinted in Best American Essays. So women get read, but as is the nature of literary journals, those pieces are in a sense, just a flash in the pan. Read and then recycled. I promised that our panel would explore the complications of that resulting invisibility.

There’s another angle that some of us on the panel will consider. Most of us wrote the essays included in the anthology expressly for that anthology. My contribution, “Gun Shy,” is one such example. I’d never consciously written an essay “as a woman.” That is, of course I’m a woman writing, but I’ve never thought about the ways I was creating a gendered self in my voice or style or choice of topic. So, on the panel we’ll reflect a bit on how our work is affected when we are specifically asked to write as women, and whether identifying as a woman–putting our work out there as women’s writing–is tricky, even maybe dangerous.

One aspect of the panel proposal that is invisible in the conference schedule, is the way I argued that a panel on women’s voices would be essential in Post-Inauguration Washington, DC. When proposals were due, Trump had just accused Hillary Clinton of “playing the women’s card,” and she’d taken that attack and turned it into a call for action. She listed all the issues important to women, and said, “If that’s playing the women’s card, deal me in.” In my proposal, I said that the talk of the town in DC during AWP’s conference was going to be the impact of having our first woman president, or–and at the time I thought this was a longshot–how playing the women’s card meant women would be silenced once again.

Last week, I attended the Women’s March on Washington and discovered that I was right and wrong in that proposal. The new administration strikes me as one that is working hard to destroy rights that women have fought for over the last few decades. I actually read a Facebook post I found not just offensive, but terrifying, written by a man in in my town whom I’d thought was just an ordinary Republican. He said that electing Trump was going to allow us to deport all the “brown women” [his term] because now we’d get the white women out of the board room and back into the bedroom where they belonged. At the Women’s March, hundreds of thousands of us spoke out and resisted. We screamed resistance. So here’s another paradox for our AWP panel to consider: As the elected officials erode our rights, and hack away at free speech, will women’s voices become silenced or louder? And how will we, as women of all races, ethnicities, gender identities, and political priorities, join together to make sure the voices that are heard are multiphonic.

Question from Assay (Renée):

Back to Waveform, specifically. Many of the essays are thought-provoking and heart-wrenching, and I would like to highlight Torrey Peters’s memorial to trans people killed around the world in “Transgender Day of Remembrance: A Found Essay.” Peters created the essay from a document that listed all the deaths of transgender people from 2013 to 2014, which is why it is called a “found” form. I wondered how you found this particular essay—how it came to your attention.

Answer from Marcia Aldrich:

I discovered Torrey Peters’s essay “Transgender Day of Remembrance: A Found Essay” in Brevity’s special issue on gender, published in May 2015. This was one of the first times Brevity devoted an issue to a special topic with guest editors and I had been looking forward to its arrival. I found Torrey’s essay to be the standout of the issue. It did not escape my notice that the essay fell way outside Brevity’s word limit which suggested the editors believed sufficiently in the work to waive the word length requirements. There are several things to say about this essay and why I selected it. First I had been following Torrey’s evolution as a person and a writer. When Torrey was David and a graduate student in Iowa’s Nonfiction Graduate program, he had submitted the essay, “The Dressing Room” to Fourth Genre in my first year as its editor. The interns and I had collectively been reading submissions for weeks and were disappointed in the quality. And then “The Dressing Room” arrived. I remember one of the interns shrieking as he was reading the essay: “Yes, yes, this is it. This is what we’ve been looking for.” We passed the essay from one to another, reading with genuine excitement. It was the first submission we all agreed was a clear acceptance and an example of the kind of essay we were hoping to receive. For the rest of the submission period, we compared every other essay to “The Dressing Room,” which may have been unfair, but it was our way of asking whether this essay deserved to be published alongside the essay we all considered exemplary.

So when I saw Torrey had contributed an essay to the special issue, I was excited to read it. “Transgender Day of Remembrance: A Found Essay” couldn’t be more different than “The Dressing Room” except that they are both searing and brilliant. Perhaps my training in poetry makes me especially appreciative of “the found” in art, that is the way art can take found materials and shape them in such a way that their inherent power is revealed. I’ve taught Torrey’s essay twice, both in introductory level nonfiction writing classes, and in both instances students chose it as their favorite essay read in the semester. The student presentations on this essay were both outstanding, followed up by the best discussions we had in either class about the relationship between form and content. Why does this form work so powerfully to memorialize and haunt readers?

I am particularly happy to have two mini essays about “Transgender Day of Remembrance: A Found Essay” on the Waveform blog, one by Torrey herself who speaks candidly about how she feels about the essay now and a reader response by one of the students who “taught” the essay to our introduction to creative nonfiction class in the fall of 2015. These materials on Torrey’s essay were just what I envisioned including when I had the idea to create a blog that might be a teaching resource.

Question from Assay (Renée):

There is an excellent interview conducted by Zoë Bossiere (with you) about Waveform at Essay Daily, and I’d like to direct readers to that interview (see link below), if they haven’t seen it yet. I’m also mindful that there’s no need to repeat what you cover in that thorough interview. But I would like to follow up on one of your answers. You note that in Waveform you “wanted to depart from a thematic or subject driven approach and instead highlight the way writers interact with subject through elements such as style, voice, tone, and structure, and allow the subjects to fall where they fall.” Along these lines, what effect do you hope Waveform has on the genre, on the way women write nonfiction?

Answer from Marcia Aldrich:

This is the most difficult question you have posed to answer concisely. Historically women writers have struggled with cultural tendencies to pigeon-hole their work along thematic lines. Modernist poets like Louise Bogan and Edna St. Vincent Millay, for example, chafed against labeling them as poets who wrote about love. While both poets did write about love, this characterization reduced their accomplishments and pushed them into the sentimental or domestic tradition of women’s writing rather than placing them in the modern poetry stream. There is a place for the thematically organized collection and I have used them in the classroom–often students come to read women’s writing through a thematic lens. In 1996 Wendy Martin edited The Beacon Book of Essays by Contemporary American Women. I happened to have an essay included in the book under the heading Essays on Self-Identity. It’s a wonderful collection and historically important but Martin had a different intention than I had with Waveform. Martin was interested in the essay as a map of the territory of women’s lives in the second half of the twentieth century. She was much more attuned to the experiences represented than the form or development of the essay itself. Twenty years later, I wondered what would happen if I put together a collection of women’s essays that weren’t packaged thematically and weren’t chosen because of their thematic content. It’s quite freeing to not assemble a book of essays based on content and not have to select material based on a principle of thematic coherency. It almost feels as if it is a subversive act.

I remember working with Charlie Altieri, a modern poetry scholar, in graduate school in an independent study where I read various theorists and the assignment was this: what does this method of analysis make possible in your reading of this poem and what doesn’t it make possible. He was interested in my discovering how different ways of reading literature are made possible through different methodologies. With a thematically organized collection, the reader immerses herself in how different writers approach a common theme, all the while deepening her overall experience of the theme. A worthwhile experience: coming at a theme from a variety of angles and voices. The theme provides a scaffolding.

On the other hand, if you take away the thematic organizing principle, I asked what do you get instead? In a sense, you take away a crutch. You must discover what the essay is concerned with—you must be more active in figuring out how the essay works. And by interacting more actively with the essay, you immerse yourself more in the form of the essay to discover its content.

I’ve reversed the ways of reading by depriving the reader a thematic hook or guidepost. They’re on their own to grapple with the essays. This grappling mirrors my own experience of reading essays in the last twenty years. The essay landscape has been broken wide open in the last twenty years; it has moved away from being predominantly a narrative or persuasive form and embraced wholesale innovation and unpredictability. Perhaps it was never an easy matter to say what an essay was or define how it operated, but today what we call an essay is a multi-splendored thing.

I don’t have an aesthetic agenda to push with Waveform—I’m not championing the lyric essay, for example, over the narrative essay or pitting one school of thought over another. Perhaps the book reflects my own mobility as a writer and teacher—to write and read all over the essay spectrum from flash to lyric to classic meditative forms. As a teacher, I offer my students a wide array of essay examples as well. I like to surprise myself; I like to be surprised. I’m hoping that in the great mix of the essays in Waveform, readers will find something to love, something that speaks to them and helps move them forward in their own lives and writing.

From Assay (Renée):

Thank you so much for your time—and for your long support of writers in our genre. We look forward to your panel and reading at #AWP17!

Useful links and further resources:

Find more information and to purchase Waveform from the University of Georgia Press, here.

Use Waveform in your courses. Teaching resources and much more information can be found at the Waveform site, here.

Read Aldrich’s excellent interview with Essay Daily, “Riding the Wave: Marcia Aldrich on Diversifying the CNF Anthology,” here.

The full list of contributors: Marcia Aldrich, Jocelyn Bartkevicius, Chelsea Biondolillo, Eula Biss, Barrie Jean Borich, Joy Castro, Meghan Daum, Jaquira Díaz, Laurie Lynn Drummond, Patricia Foster, Roxane Gay, Leslie Jamison, Margo Jefferson, Sonja Livingston, Alexandria Marzano-Lesnevich, Brenda Miller, Michele Morano, Kyoko Mori, Bich Minh Nguyen, Adriana Paramo, Jericho Parms, Torrey Peters, Kristen Radtke, Wendy Rawlings, Cheryl Strayed, Dana Tommasino, Sarah Valentine, Neela Vaswani, Nicole Walker, Amy Wright.

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Marcia Aldrich is a professor of English at Michigan State University. She is the author of Girl Rearing: Memoir of a Girlhood Gone Astray and Companion to an Untold Story (Georgia), winner of the Association of Writers & Writing Programs Award for Creative Nonfiction. She is the former editor of the journal Fourth Genre: Explorations in Nonfiction.

Jocelyn Bartkevicius has received the Missouri Review Essay Award, The Annie Dillard Award in Creative Nonfiction, the Iowa Woman Essay Prize, the Vogel Scholarship in Nonfiction at Bread Loaf, and the 2016 John Guyon Literary Nonfiction Prize. Her work has appeared in anthologies and in such journals as The Hudson Review, The Missouri Review, The Bellingham Review, The Iowa Review, Fourth Genre, TriQuarterly, Crab Orchard Review, Gulf Coast, Bridges, and Sweet, and has been selected for the “notables” list in The Best American Essays. Her essay “Gun Shy” is included in Waveform: Twenty-First Century Essays by Women, edited by Marcia Aldrich. She is working on a memoir about the Lithuanian diaspora and secret mass deportations in Soviet Lithuania. She teaches in the MFA program at the University of Central Florida and is the former editor of The Florida Review.

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Assay’s Managing Editor Renée E. D’Aoust’s book Body of a Dancer (Etruscan Press) was a Foreword Reviews “Book of the Year” finalist. Follow her on Twitter and visit her author page.

The Context of “Disobedience” — by Michael Estes

I teach English Composition at a diverse community college, and for the past few years I’ve asked my students to read Thoreau’s “Civil Disobedience.” Teaching “Civil Disobedience” excites neither me nor my students with the thrill of encountering an innovative text, but surprisingly, the context of my teaching has made it new.

The first layer of novelty lies in the fact that most of my students haven’t heard of Thoreau. Whatever they’re teaching them in those high schools (pronoun vagueness intentional, and I’m a former high-school teacher), Transcendentalism isn’t high on the list. Both Thoreau’s beard and his diction are unfamiliar to my students, but with the help of a quote from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s autobiography lauding Thoreau’s eloquence on the importance of “noncooperation with evil,” we quickly discover that he’s preaching a familiar theme: what’s legal is sometimes the opposite of what’s right.

ThoreauA second layer of novelty stems from the relevance of a 165-year-old essay to my students’ educational paths. As we read Thoreau’s description of the inferiority of the American government to the American individual in statements such as “This American government . . . has not the vitality and force of a single living man” and “[The American government] does not keep the country free. It does not settle the West. It does not educate [emphasis original],” it’s hard not to think of the stories my remedial Composition students have told me about complacent English teachers in their pasts, and we discuss whether or not the current American government educates and how much vitality it seems to have to invest in the cause of keeping the country, or its citizens, free. In my students’ experiences and those of their peers, is the public-school system more invested in dismantling the school-to-prison pipeline, or constructing it?

This leads to a final source of contextual novelty for “Civil Disobedience”: race. Thoreau exhorts his readers to be jailed if necessary before they contribute their poll taxes to a government that, in his view, wishes to use tax money to conduct the Mexican War and thereby spread slavery. His experiment in civil disobedience occurred in the inevitable context of his status as a Harvard-educated white male, and he spent one night in jail. Imagining for a moment that black men had the option of paying poll taxes in 1849, how would Thoreau’s experiment have been received at the time if he had been black? What laws and legal practices today are immoral, and what happens to those who resist them?

Three quotes from “Civil Disobedience” that have been particularly relevant to my students’ discussions of law, morality, and the relationship between police and citizens:

•  “It is not desirable to cultivate a respect for the law, so much as for the right.”
•  “A very few, as heroes, patriots, martyrs, reformers in the great sense, and men, serve the state with their consciences . . . and so necessarily resist it for the most part; and they are commonly treated as enemies by it.”
•  “Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine.”

Before reading Thoreau, my students write an essay about an event in their own lives that changed who they are, and I’ve learned from these essays that the contexts of many of my students’ lives are very different from my own. I don’t pretend for a minute that bringing “Civil Disobedience” to their attention is a form of letting my life be “a counter friction to stop the machine” of social inequity that characterizes some of their lives. But as a teacher, using “Civil Disobedience” in the context of a classroom mostly filled by people whose lives somehow demonstrate civil society’s disobedience or betrayal of the social contract has proven valuable. Pedagogically, it’s exciting to see students respond passionately to an essay they had no intention of having a meaningful encounter with and discover its connections to the contemporary world. Personally, I would love for it to have the potential to help, in Thoreau’s words, “prepare the way for a still more perfect and glorious State, which also I have imagined, but not yet anywhere seen.”

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Estes photoMichael Estes teaches English in Louisville, Kentucky, in the company of his wife and two daughters. His poetry has appeared in Boulevard, RHINO, The Potomac Review, and elsewhere.

Martin Luther King Day 2017 — Online Teaching Resources

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In English Composition courses, I usually assign Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” I’ve heard from students that they really appreciate having that reading included. My students also respond very strongly to “Learning to Read and Write” by Frederick Douglass.

It’s possible to listen to MLK read “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” which is especially useful in an online-learning environment. Stanford University’s Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute has other excellent resources and curriculum suggestions.

Ned Stuckey-French provides fantastic analysis and context of Martin Luther King’s “Letter” here.

Thank you to Nancy Peck for suggesting the inclusion of original source documents. You can access MLK’s documents through http://thekingcenter.org/archive.

For contemporary and current resources, this NPR report is a useful start: “Ferguson in the Classroom: How One College Took Up Race and Policing This Semester.” The November 2015 NPR report discusses this NYU class developed by Professor Frank Leon Roberts. You can find Roberts’s #blacklivesmatter syllabus and other resources here.

In additition, here is a link to “13 Significant Books on Civil Rights for Martin Luther King Jr. Day.”

For creative writing courses, and departments, it’s essential to consider Claudia Rankine’s keynote address at AWP/LA (2016). Rankine adapted that address into an essay for The Writer’s Chronicle, found here. Rankine’s masterpiece Citizen: An American Lyric (Graywolf) should be considered essential reading.

Please also consult the Syllabus on Black Feminism from Melissa Harris-Perry, here.

Here at Assay, you will find our resources and pedagogy articles useful. Here are a few suggestions:

On James Baldwin:

On Civil Rights:

On Empathy:

If you have other classroom resources that you wish to share, I’ll add them to this post as I receive them. Many thanks!

On Shifting the Narrative by Taylor Brorby (Writers to Read: Brian Doyle)

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You and I know this story, it’s the story of Sandy Hook Elementary. We know the outline, we know what happened. But what Brian Doyle does in “Dawn and Mary” is not only dazzling, it is deeply moving—he shifts the narrative focus. For many of us, Sandy Hook is a day of terror, and Doyle helps reveal, sentence by sentence something deeply human: courage, too, existed that day.

The piece begins in simple description, “Early one morning several teachers and staffers at a Connecticut grade school were in a meeting. The meeting had been underway for about five minutes when they heard a chilling sound in the hallway.” As readers, we’re there. We know this place—we’ve all been to school—and immediately we, because of our own imaginations, start filling in the details of what it looks like—though Doyle employs a type of powerful minimalism of detail to allow us to create our own imagery.

We’re told that most people dive under the table, which later we’re told is what we’re all trained to do. But Doyle narrows the focus of the piece: “But two of the staffers jumped, or leapt, or lunged out of their chairs and ran toward the sound of bullets.” We know that these two people are important and, little by little we learn about them. Dawn is the principal; her husband proposed to her five times before she said Yes, “she liked to get down on her knees to paint with the littlest kids in her school.” We then learn about Mary, the school psychologist; she has two daughters—like Dawn—she loves to go to the theater, and she’s due to retire in a year.

But somehow—because we know how this story ends—we know that won’t happen.

In the first six paragraphs we are given simple description about the school, about Dawn and Mary, about their personal details. But the sixth paragraph marks the end of one section and begins Doyle’s focused work on helping shift the narrative. After the sixth paragraph, he brings the reader into the piece:

You and I have been in that hallway. We spent seven years of our childhood in that hallway. It’s friendly and echoing, and when someone opens the doors at the end, a wind comes and flutters all the paintings and posters on the walls.

He doesn’t tell us what the hallway looks like, but he doesn’t need to. We’re already there—we can see the linoleum, we know the lowered sinks in the bathroom, the little tables and desks. We have been there, and we are there again with Doyle.

Our breath quickens and Doyle writes,

Dawn and Mary jumped, or leapt, or lunged toward the sound of bullets. Every fiber of their bodies—bodies descended from millions of years of bodies that had leapt away from danger—must have wanted to dive under the table. That’s what they’d been trained to do. That’s how you live to see another day.

The entire weight of human history is brought into focus in this section—there is nothing other than this moment. We are in Sandy Hook Elementary with Dawn and Mary.

And then Doyle, is a display of pure humanity, brings the piece to an end. Instead of focusing on the shooter, whom Doyle calls “the boy with a rifle,” we learn that in the particulars of this horrific day, courage lived alongside evil:

The next time someone says the word hero to you, you say this: There once were two women. One was named Dawn, and the other was named Mary. They both had two daughters. They both loved to kneel down to care for small beings. They leapt from their chairs and ran right at the boy with the rifle, and if we ever forget their names, if we ever forget the wind in that hallway, if we ever forget what they did, if we ever forget that there is something in us beyond sense and reason that snarls at death and runs roaring at it to defend children, if we ever forget that all children are our children, then we are fools who have allowed memory to be murdered too, and what good are we then? What good are we then?

“Dawn and Mary” is a piece to read over and over. In ten paragraphs, Doyle does more to shift the narrative focus of this tragic event than any piece of news or journalism. By the end, not only does the reader weep, but knows deeper that a piece of humanity has been restored. We know what’s possible, we know what happened, we know that the story of courage is messy and complicated and a necessary tonic to help us go forward with the rest of our days.

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Screen Shot 2014-10-08 at 11.07.44 AMTaylor Brorby is an award-winning essayist, and a poet. A fellow at the Black Earth Institute, Taylor’s work has appeared in numerous journals and magazines, including Orion, High Country NewsThe Huffington PostTerrain.org, and has received numerous recognitions through grants and artist residencies. Taylor travels around the country regularly to speak about hydraulic fracking, is a co-editor of the country’s first anthology of creative writing about fracking,Fracture: Essays, Poems, and Stories on Fracking in America, and is Reviews Editor at Orion Magazine. His poetry collection, Crude: Poems, is due out this summer, and an essay project, Coming Alive, is due out in February.

Reading List: Essays that Define the Essay

The following is a list in response to a request for suggestions of “an essay, accessible to undergrads, defining the literary essay (not academic or comp/rhetoric).” Thanks to Dinty W. Moore and so many others who took part in this Facebook thread. If you have other suggestions, please leave a note, and I’ll add it to this list. (Of course, we were pretty excited to see suggestions from our pages, too!) Where possible I include a link to the piece.

Atwan, Robert. “Notes Towards the Definition of an Essay.”

Didion, Joan. “On Keeping a Notebook.”

https://www.penusa.org/sites/default/files/didion.pdf

Jessica Handler’s “Favorite Essay to Teach” about assigning Didion’s “On Keeping a Notebook” might be useful. Find it here.

Hampl, Patricia Hampl. “The Dark Art of Description.” (Indirectly defines the literary essay.)

–. “Memory and Imagination.”

Harvey, Steven and Ana Maria Spagna. “The Essay in Parts.”

Hoagland, Edward. “What I Think, What I Am.”

Lott, Brett Lott. “Toward a Definition.”

Ozick, Cynthia. “She: Portrait of the Essay as a Warm Body.”

Sanders, Scott Russell. “The Singular First Person.”

Stuckey-French, Ned. “Our Queer Little Hybrid Thing.” (Lots of suggestions to use this for undergrads and grad students. Some report greater success using this with higher-level undergrads & grad students.)

We’d love to see more essays that define the essay. Consider submitting one to Assay!

Favorite Essay to Teach: Sui Sin Far’s “Leaves from the Mental Portfolio of a Eurasian” by Brenna M. Casey

When I teach Sui Sin Far in my classroom, I start with indignation.

Far was a woman of firsts. In the second half of the nineteenth century, she was the first writer of Chinese ancestry to be published in English in North America. Far was one of the first voices writing from newly forming Chinese and Asian American communities. These communities, themselves, were a product of the forced migrations of workers in the brutal coolie trade, indentured and carried across the Pacific on retrofitted slave ships to fill the gaps in labor left by the abolition of slavery at the end of the U.S. Civil War. Far was the first writer to acknowledge the presence of Chinese women and children living in burgeoning Chinatowns, billed all too conveniently by the U.S. and Canadian governments as the temporary sojourn of bachelor laborers. Born to an English father and Chinese mother, Far is one of the earliest thinkers to contemplate multiraciality in an American context. She remains a smart and prolific writer whose work across multiple genres—reportage, fiction, and essays—ushered in the twentieth century. Her currently uncovered works (many of which were penned anonymously or signed with a pseudonym including her given name, Edith Maude Eaton) number some 250 published pieces in over 40 periodicals throughout Canada, the U.S., and Jamaica. Sui Sin Far’s work should be as prized and familiar as Henry David Thoreau or Mark Twain. And yet, no one of my students has ever heard her name.

This, I tell students while pantomiming a frustrated flip of the seminar table, is an all too familiar story for women writers in America. Especially, I say waiting a freighted beat, for women of color.

editheatonphoto1“Leaves from the Mental Portfolio of a Eurasian” is organized as the title suggests: a palimpsest of thoughts, memories, conversation fragments, and anecdote that, taken together, form the collagic and painful coming to consciousness of Far’s own racial difference. Despite her ability to pass as a white woman, Far is insistent on enunciating her Chinese heritage. This insistence often results in Far’s immediate vulnerability in the dangerous era of the Chinese Exclusion Act. The form bespeaks the content. Identity formations are a process; the effect of Far’s prose is cumulative. Only as a catalog of Far’s own excruciating education do seemingly inconsequential social interactions take on the stifling weight of Far’s feelings of being between, “something different and apart.”

The essay was written for the New York Independent in 1890, but its content is eerily prescient. Students transiting in their own early adulthood identify with the formative experiences of childhood cruelty and mean-spirited inspection by their peers. Without fail, students of all different backgrounds table a two-part question ubiquitous on college campuses: “Where are you from?” Then: the coded, casual, and insidious racism of the follow-up, “No, where are you really from?”

Far also insists on particularizing her experience as a woman. One episode of “Leaves” relates an unwanted sexual advance from a naval officer who visits Far uninvited. He wants to tell her, he says, about all “the sweet little Chinese girls” he met while stationed in Hong Kong. While we never learn how this incident ends, the menace of its beginning lingers. The officer laughs a little when he introduces himself and Far writes, “The laugh doesn’t suit him somehow—and it doesn’t suit me, either.”

I love to teach this essay because it isn’t perfect. In its do-gooder enthusiasm, Far sometimes reasserts the prejudice she seeks to dismantle. As in the moment when Far is confronting her own ethnic biases and writes that two Chinese men she glimpses in a store are “uncouth specimens of their race.” In another anecdote, Far is tracing commonalities between herself and the black population of Jamaica—a radical moment of interracial solidarity—but never questions the infantilizing characterizations deployed upon a servant class. These encysted bigotries, are not without their merit. They demonstrate to students that ethnic and racial identities are not fixed. Rather, they are untethered from individual bodies, visually unsurveillable, and consolidated only through careful engineering—made and remade by whomever is controlling the narrative.

“A bird on the wing is my emblem of happiness,” writes Far, encouraging her reader to leave natal places and known landscapes. Her travels across North America reveal national differences and parochial similarities “After all I have no nationality and am not anxious to claim any,” Far concludes, wresting indignant control of her own narrative, “Individuality is more than nationality.”

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Photo credit James Bernal

Brenna M. Casey is a writer and educator based alternately in Prague, Czech Republic, and Durham, North Carolina. She teaches literature and creative writing at Duke University where she is completing her doctoral work in the Departments of English and Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies. She holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from the University of Notre Dame. She is currently a regular contributor at Ploughshares and you can read her work here.