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How I Became a Ghost
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From: Sarah Hamburg <srhf92_at_hampshire.edu>
Date: Sat, 22 Feb 2014 15:01:59 -0500
I just wanted quickly to say that I think it's interesting that so much of the discussion of this book came back to the question of whether non-Natives might be excluded in some way-- not allowed to tell someone else's stories or illustrate them, or not explicitly written for and taken into consideration as an intended audience. I'm still not sure exactly how any of those fears relate to How I Became a Ghost, but I do think their irony might be telling?
I was wanting to listen to the discussion about the book, but I hope it's still okay to add some thoughts, too. In reading How I Became a Ghost, it felt in many ways to me to be a story about what it takes to hold onto one's sense of self, as human and with others, in the most de-humanizing of circumstances... or maybe, too, while carrying a de-humanizing history.
There is the wonderful scene others pointed out, early in the book, where Isaac and his father and brother become play snow monsters. This felt like not only a moment of needed levity in the story-- a way to survive the telling-- but a moment of survival for Isaac. There is intention here-- his father takes them away from the horror of what's happening to have this moment of play. And in pretending to be snow monsters-- frightening, but really just themselves-- they also get to take control over the monstrous. It's a profound moment of humanity, in the midst of experiences and against others who threaten to take away that humanity.
It reminded me a little of something from my own experience (or story). My grandparents, aunt and uncle were survivors of Bergen-Belsen, and through an awful deal that saved their lives, but not the lives of most in their families, they were held in a special part of the camp and released before the end of the war to Switzerland. I recently found a book by another survivor that describes life in that part of the camp, including stories about my grandfather: the whole group organized a school for the children, and delivered lectures on various subjects for the grown ups-- including ones my grandfather gave-- and held elections for its own internal government. One woman described this all as an effort to hold onto their own sense of themselves as human... But she said, "if we'd stayed any longer, we could not have remained human."
There was so much in How I Became a Ghost that I saw (my own reading) as being about that story of remaining human. There is such care: in the community, in families, between families, from ghosts who remain, and in the telling itself. Isaac becomes Nita's big brother, and takes care of her, and she takes care of him too: "The cold was easier to endure with Nita close by." Even though he cannot keep her from dying, that care remains. Against a horrific backdrop, the two families sing the Choctaw friendship song. All hold onto their humor. Joseph uses his own powers to escape the soldiers, and he, Isaac, Nita, the members of the Choctaw Council, and the bonepickers use their collective powers to rescue Naomi as well, even if they are powerless to control the brutality inflicted on her and others. "'I am not by myself,' Naomi said." This community effort to rescue her is also not just for one individual, but for the community. And this community, humanity and sense of self do not end with death, either. The help, and acknowledgment of help, comes from ghosts, too. There's that moment after Isaac is attacked by the wolf, when he sees ghosts, each one carrying something. "They wanted me to know that we were still Choctaws, always Choctaws, and that games and hunting and fishing still happen, even in the world of Choctaw ghosts."
There is the powerful moment, too, as Leader is taking his revenge, when Isaac tells everyone how they are stronger than the soldiers. And the generous moments when seeing Nita's body, and the bonepicker who has fallen, humanize the soldiers as well. In the end, Naomi and Joseph keep that shared humanity when they choose to save Leader.
In some ways this is also what makes the smallpox blankets so particularly horrific: that they are a malicious perversion of care.
I wondered if maybe this relates to the storytelling as well-- and even to what it means to inherit this story. Isaac says, "sometimes I know too much." But the story-- that painful, frightening knowledge--doesn't come by itself, it comes within that humanizing community of care: there are all of the ghosts who don't leave, and the living who share humor, comfort and help. There is the gutting moment when Isaac is walking with torn feet, and his father tells him, "...you cannot keep your eyes on the bloody footprints you have left behind you. You must keep your eyes on where you are going." The story is a looking back at those footprints, but within a context of care that also helps ease the weight of looking forward. Especially for child readers, including a child like Isaac with that "too much knowledge," this feels like an embracing, care-full lesson in survival, too.
Date: Sat, 22 Feb 2014 15:01:59 -0500
I just wanted quickly to say that I think it's interesting that so much of the discussion of this book came back to the question of whether non-Natives might be excluded in some way-- not allowed to tell someone else's stories or illustrate them, or not explicitly written for and taken into consideration as an intended audience. I'm still not sure exactly how any of those fears relate to How I Became a Ghost, but I do think their irony might be telling?
I was wanting to listen to the discussion about the book, but I hope it's still okay to add some thoughts, too. In reading How I Became a Ghost, it felt in many ways to me to be a story about what it takes to hold onto one's sense of self, as human and with others, in the most de-humanizing of circumstances... or maybe, too, while carrying a de-humanizing history.
There is the wonderful scene others pointed out, early in the book, where Isaac and his father and brother become play snow monsters. This felt like not only a moment of needed levity in the story-- a way to survive the telling-- but a moment of survival for Isaac. There is intention here-- his father takes them away from the horror of what's happening to have this moment of play. And in pretending to be snow monsters-- frightening, but really just themselves-- they also get to take control over the monstrous. It's a profound moment of humanity, in the midst of experiences and against others who threaten to take away that humanity.
It reminded me a little of something from my own experience (or story). My grandparents, aunt and uncle were survivors of Bergen-Belsen, and through an awful deal that saved their lives, but not the lives of most in their families, they were held in a special part of the camp and released before the end of the war to Switzerland. I recently found a book by another survivor that describes life in that part of the camp, including stories about my grandfather: the whole group organized a school for the children, and delivered lectures on various subjects for the grown ups-- including ones my grandfather gave-- and held elections for its own internal government. One woman described this all as an effort to hold onto their own sense of themselves as human... But she said, "if we'd stayed any longer, we could not have remained human."
There was so much in How I Became a Ghost that I saw (my own reading) as being about that story of remaining human. There is such care: in the community, in families, between families, from ghosts who remain, and in the telling itself. Isaac becomes Nita's big brother, and takes care of her, and she takes care of him too: "The cold was easier to endure with Nita close by." Even though he cannot keep her from dying, that care remains. Against a horrific backdrop, the two families sing the Choctaw friendship song. All hold onto their humor. Joseph uses his own powers to escape the soldiers, and he, Isaac, Nita, the members of the Choctaw Council, and the bonepickers use their collective powers to rescue Naomi as well, even if they are powerless to control the brutality inflicted on her and others. "'I am not by myself,' Naomi said." This community effort to rescue her is also not just for one individual, but for the community. And this community, humanity and sense of self do not end with death, either. The help, and acknowledgment of help, comes from ghosts, too. There's that moment after Isaac is attacked by the wolf, when he sees ghosts, each one carrying something. "They wanted me to know that we were still Choctaws, always Choctaws, and that games and hunting and fishing still happen, even in the world of Choctaw ghosts."
There is the powerful moment, too, as Leader is taking his revenge, when Isaac tells everyone how they are stronger than the soldiers. And the generous moments when seeing Nita's body, and the bonepicker who has fallen, humanize the soldiers as well. In the end, Naomi and Joseph keep that shared humanity when they choose to save Leader.
In some ways this is also what makes the smallpox blankets so particularly horrific: that they are a malicious perversion of care.
I wondered if maybe this relates to the storytelling as well-- and even to what it means to inherit this story. Isaac says, "sometimes I know too much." But the story-- that painful, frightening knowledge--doesn't come by itself, it comes within that humanizing community of care: there are all of the ghosts who don't leave, and the living who share humor, comfort and help. There is the gutting moment when Isaac is walking with torn feet, and his father tells him, "...you cannot keep your eyes on the bloody footprints you have left behind you. You must keep your eyes on where you are going." The story is a looking back at those footprints, but within a context of care that also helps ease the weight of looking forward. Especially for child readers, including a child like Isaac with that "too much knowledge," this feels like an embracing, care-full lesson in survival, too.
---
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Received on Sat 22 Feb 2014 02:02:57 PM CST
