A Step on the Ocean's Sun || Narrative Series 01

Here begins a new series in which I will drop down into the scene of poignant moments in my life. The goal is to stretch my literary and narrative voice. Some years have passed since I have practiced the discipline of narrative memoir; forgive my rusty start.

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He and his wife were the expected guests every year. She always brought some casserole or salad or plate of pickles we had never seen before. The brothers and I would turn up our noses (as children do), and Mum would make us take a spoonful (as mothers do). She thought we were being ungrateful and rude, no doubt. The thing is: an adult finds identity in food offered and food provided, but we were kids. We loved them and we didn't want to eat mayonaissed apples to prove it.

Wearing sunshine in our hair and on our noses, we played with his grandkids. They were younger and blond and curious. We gathered shells as the sun slanted long across the beach and washed them clean in the rising tide. We built castles for imaginary princesses and filled the moat with seawater for our protective alligators and piranas. We were young and creative and alive.

Every year they were expected and every year they would come. Quiet; oh so quiet. She would talk to the ladies and he would sit back listening to the cadence in her voice. If I close my eyes and focus, I can just barely remember the sound of his soft, smiling voice. 

Years later, after he passed away his story was told. On the same southern beach I danced with his grandchildren, he was approached by an inconspicuous woman. "I am a survivor of the Holocaust," she whispered in the wind, "and I remember your face." It must have meant salvation to her to hold it so dear; he was one of the soldiers to liberate Auschwitz. 

He never talked about it; not even to his sons. They say there are some things you can't put words to. Here's to those who are too humble -- or too broken and shattered -- to even try.

Summer Reading {Novelized History}

I sort of stumbled on my first reading series of the summer. I was lent the CDs for an Erik Larson audiobook for a road trip that I took in early May. I was so intrigued that I often found myself sitting in my car at my destination, listening. The Devil in the White City was both fascinating from an architectural/ structural view but also intriguing and suspenseful. After completion, I started In the Garden of Beasts. Both books were extremely interesting and varied in their subject matter. What impressed me the most was the whole concept of "novelized history." The stories are still told with the typical arch of a novel's plot development. But Larson sticks closely to history, littering his work with historic trivia...

Pabst Blue Ribbon is called such because it won the First Place Blue Ribbon at the Chicago World's Fair. Walt Disney's father was a construction worker at the fair and told his son stories of the "White City." The enchanted boy would dream of "other worlds and fairy kingdoms" until one day, he would make it a reality for everyone else. Helen Keller met the man who created the first braille typewriter at a booth in the fair.

Hitler's favorite movie was King Kong. During the Night of Long Knives, an unfortunate cellist had the same last name as an "enemy of the state." Apparently Schmidt and Schmitt are interchangeable to SS men. Goring was an eccentric child and Diels had a remarkable sense of morality (in comparison to his compatriots).

What struck me most about the style was Larson's insistence on sticking to primary sources for dialogue. He clearly spent hours in libraries, archives and private collections pouring over diaries, letters, official memos, court notes. Each story is told compellingly backed by the certainty of truth. I did not know such a thing was possible and I applaud Larson for it. I would not recommend these books to everyone. They are oftentimes bogged down in facts and very detailed. I think you need to be very interested in the subject matter, very interested in the historic process that such a work takes, or Larson's own mother to truly appreciate these works. 

As I have satisfied my interest on the process and exhausted his collection of subjects that interest me, I am going to move on to my second summer series: The Game of Thrones.Maybe I'll scheme up some novelized history books of my own... The Boer War, anyone?