To open, three questions:
Reflect on a day in the recent past when learning about a catastrophe that impacted a total stranger brought you to intense sadness, rage, or grief.
Did you take an action to distance yourself from the emotional experience of grieving another’s suffering?
After distancing yourself from grief, where did you arrive?
What is one reason you might choose to return to the place where you grieved another’s suffering?
* * *
Writing here, again. If you’re reading this, thank you for being here. This blog is important to me because my self-publishing practice helps me continue to write more honestly, which requires that I write about the things that matter most. Therefore, continuing to write about Palestine in public is also of central importance to me.
The most important book I read this year was Isabella Hammad’s bookRecognising the Stranger: On Palestine and Narrative.
What I had previously been taught--by authority figures, canons, and hierarchies of award/reward/power--about narrative was that every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I was taught that meaning is a shape that forms between these three crucial milestones, and most crucially, I was taught that it was not only possible to correct to embrace what meaning can be generated by a book without regard for the material impact the work generates in the actual world beyond its pages.
Crucially, Hammad’s work in Recognising the Stranger: On Palestine and Narrative grounds our focus beyond the easily-centered topic of narrative sequence. Rather, her writing reminds us that if art is to be meaningful, we must reckon with narrative’s actual consequence, and specifically the consequence that exists in the “moment of recognition”, which she writes of as a “turning point”:
“In the language of both law and literary form, then, recognition is a kind of knowing that should incur the responsibility to act for it to have any value beyond personal epiphanies, or appeasing the critics of the one doing the recognizing.”