Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer.
Why do I want to write fiction? Because I am a great believer in its powers. Am I naïve to think that fiction can make the world a better place? That it can increase the quantity of kind and generous interactions that occur in the world so that human beings don’t hurt each other as frequently or as badly?
I’ve learnt recently, actually not so recently, I’ve been learning it my whole life of course, that human beings, even the ones who intend to do no harm, do hurt each other unpredictably and without warning. But fiction, I hope, I believe, I trust, can heal that, minimise it, prevent it.
I think fiction absolutely prevents me from hurting and harming others more than is necessary. Good fiction, good stories, I mean memorable stories, they stick. They stick into me and sometimes around me so that I see the parallels in my own life and tread gently with others.
For me, those special “sticking” stories are often the ones about gentle treatment of children. Markus Zusacks, Raymond Gaita, Keri Hulme and JK Rowling in The Casual Vacancy managed something that I’d like to achieve. They all managed to portray a generosity towards children, and oh man, if our society could do that more often I really think we can move forward.
Actually that’s not the common thread between those four. It’s something else I think…
Perhaps I’ll tackle them one by one:
Markus Zusacks The Book Thief. I can’t remember the phrasing but it was to the effect that the male carer character knew the importance of ‘being there’. The scenes where that character sits by the bedside of the young girl, regularly and patiently, because “being there” was the thing she needed. It chokes me up every time. And in my own life I don’t hear or see, either through words or actions, many people saying that it’s OK, and beautiful, for an older man, unrelated to a young girl, to sit beside her bed as she struggles through nightmares. But I heard Zusacks say it. Through his fiction.
Raymond Gaita (not fiction I know but he happened to have a lived a story he could share) said things I don’t hear in my daily life either. It involved beds and children as well. (As a wacky, serial ‘co-sleeper’ myself I wonder if there’s a theme here?). In Romulus My Father ,he told me that as a child he would rather be with his depressed mother than anywhere else, even as she lay in her bed for days, when she couldn’t transition from horizontal to vertical. But he relished being there with her and lying in that bed together gave him a warmth and contentment that of course, he wasn’t able to get at other times in his life. That rings true to me. I’ve taught many children who want to be with their mothers when they’re depressed and seen the adults around them not honour that. Raymond Gaita said it much more eloquently than I’ve eve been able to in a room full of righteous social workers.
JK Rowling also said things that people didn’t want to hear when she wrote The Casual Vacancy. She too advocated for mothers and children being together even when many deem them unfit. The truth bell rang once more as I read her words and I wanted to hurrah out loud and I felt optimistic that hardened souls would read this book and start to thaw their thinking. Again, I’ve taught young people who’ve chosen to “leave” their parents. It happens and I’ve always honoured that, but it’s rare, and in my experience there are many more young people who would rather stay with their imperfect parents than be separated from them. How hard must it be to disagree with the “professional” adults around you when they are telling you that the best thing for you is to be away from your parent.
And Keri Hulme. It’s been a long time since I’ve read The Bone People but she was again brave enough to show me, and others, that even when your parent hits you, you can still love them and not want to be apart from them. I don’t hear people acknowledging that in my every day travels to school staff rooms, supermarkets and netball games.
In all, I guess I admire writers who speak brutally honestly about adults and children.
My Mum knows all of the above and showed me some of these truths, with her and she interpreted the world out loud to me through childhood and adolescence, despite her peers disagreeing with her. I’ve seen her advocate for children in supermarkets, swimming lessons and when she’s having a ciggie with random fellow smokers. People look at her sideways and sometimes choose never to speak to her again or label her as ‘a woman with strong opinions” but geez I admire her for it and geez I think we need more compassion in our society. Can fiction be a way to do this? I hope so. I really hope so.
And then again perhaps I want to write fiction to make people cry. Perhaps it’s just another way of wanting to bring people to strong emotions, buckle at the knees and make the story “stick”. I guess I’ve just got to try it and find out…