Tags
#story #storytelling #books, #writing, Books, communication, history, justice, language, meaning, reflection, review, story, storytelling
As an avid reader since I was young, I have (mostly) always appreciated the ability of stories to transport the reader to a new setting. I grew up with a Fantasy bent more than Sci-Fi, with the obligatory interest in Stephen King-grade horror. In my 20’s – 30’s I expanded to some general fiction, historical non-fiction, but not really bios, autobios, and such.
Since going to grad school later in life, my exposure and experience to a broader range of writing has brought more voices to the mix. My range of reading has expanded in a fashion similar to the growth of enjoyment of different musical genres. In seminary, I got the preliminary understanding of how stories, especially including sacred scriptures, were written and passed on with a certain perspective and intention, and how, to paraphrase a poorly remembered professor, “The winner gets to write the story of what happened.” It was the first time I was challenged to consider from a different point of view the stories I knew and had a familiarity with.
In my current career, this shows up in how different family members, co-workers, friends, or neighbors, etc. share stories and experiences of a particular person. These episodes can vary widely, even if the same “event” is being recalled. Each one of us carries our own versions of memories, because we experienced them as who we were and how we were affected by them personally.
Fast-forward to 2022-2023. While I have a “to read” list that perpetually outpaces my ability to actually read, this notion of the power of stories shone through powerfully in two different works: Kalpa Imperial: The Greatest Empire That Never Was, by Angélica Gorodischer and translated by Ursula K. LeGuin, and Thistlefoot, by GennaRose Nethercott.
Kalpa Imperial had been on my list for some time, after having been loosely recommended by acquaintance. It took so long, because I simply couldn’t find it at any local libraries or used bookshops. I finally purchased a copy, and I was not disappointed. It is not a single, unified narrative. Instead, it is an anthology of tales from different ages through the rise and fall of “an” empire, which comes out seeming like not all the same empire. The most curious and engaging part is all the stories are in the voice a storyteller, who may or may not have their own influence over the telling of the tale. The tales that are told are not necessarily the heroic epics of conquest, but rather the mundane stories through which the reader/listener experiences “empire.” Stories within stories.
Thistlefoot, on the other hand, is a genre-busting work that spans horror, folklore, myth, history, and a bit of fantasy. It’s one family’s story about the inopportune discovery of family history and it’s effect on their contemporary lives. It’s filled with discovery, nuance, meaning-making, and the lingering impact of trying to forcibly erase or eradicate some stories.
Without giving away the story, the above quote comes near the ending resolve of the tale. At this point, the malevolence that seeks to eradicate history in order that certain voices are permanently silenced and their stories lost forever has been fully revealed and understood.
We each carry within us a completely unique story, one that only we could write and/or tell. While there may be untold variants from outside observers, we are our stories, good, bad, or otherwise. While they will ultimately succumb to the persistence of time, let time be the only thing that causes our stories to be lost, rather than being unspoken, untold, erased or eradicated.
For contemporary, historical examples of the power of storytelling, I highly recommend the following works: “How The Word Is Passed,” by Clint Smith III; “Four Hundred Souls,” edited by Ibram X. Kendi and Keisha Blain; “The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity,” by David Graeber and David Wengrow. These have all served to remind me to continually look and listen to which stories are being told, how they’re being told, by whom, and who is being left out or possibly under/mis-represented.