Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Empathy

     Dictionary.com defines empathy as the intellectual identification with or various experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another. A Student's Dictionary defines empathy as the ability to share the feelings of another person. I define empathy as a person's capacity to feel and understand the feelings and situations of others. No matter which one we use, though, one word will inevitably appear in each definition: feelings. Elizabeth Strout's 2008 novel, Olive Kitteridge, offers deep and in-depth descriptions of a unique and troubled cast characters and the feelings, traumatic internal conflicts, and attempted resolutions of each. Strout, a former citizen of Maine, harbors a deeply-rooted understanding of the need for empathy and, through the workings of her novel, attempts to share this understanding by painting the reader a portrait of the way she sees the world.  Throughout the first third of the novel, I can see that Strout believes that, in order to live life to the fullest, we must hold a certain consideration of the feelings of others, pursue feelings of empathy, and realize that each and every person suffers from their own pressing internal conflicts. Some of these conflicts we may not understand, but, the way Strout sees it, we must make every attempt to see life through everyone else's eyes. Even before reading this book, I had the same views as Strout--I believe that empathy overshadows all other qualities in value and importance. I believe that to fully understand another individual one must realize that, no matter how happy they may seem on the outside, each person will inevitably internally suffer from their own conflicts at some point in their lives. In the lives of the characters in Olive Kitteridge, I noticed that each character's suffering stems from one particular event or series of events, and then the internal confliction and memories of the pain come back to haunt the characters in their old age. In the case of pianist Angela O'Meara, for example, two particular events triggered this internal conflict: the loss of a love and the unwise and selfish decisions of an overbearing, overprotective mother. The entire section that Strout writes about her goes into detail about these particular events and how each affects her in her old age. Before offering this detail, however, Strout describes Angela's face and notes that "nothing harsh--it seemed--had happened to [it]" (49). She goes on to disprove this later in the chapter when discussing these traumatic events and the internal conflict following each. By showing the audience that things do not always appear as they seem, Strout advances her assertion that we tend to focus in only on our own struggles and ignore those of others, especially if others try to keep them hidden or do not feel comfortable discussing them. We may lose sight of the fact that each person fights their own unique battles with their own unique problems. The fact that we all constantly fight against these pent-up demons draws us all together and proves that we, along with the characters in the story, have more in common than it may seem. Likewise, as Olive lies on the bed after her son's wedding, she ponders the meaning of life and the sources of genuine happiness. She comes to the conclusion that something as simple as a "friendly clerk" or a waitress who "knows how you like your coffee" can brighten someone's day and make them temporarily forget whatever struggle they may currently face (69).  If Olive, the character who faces the most internal conflicts throughout the course of the story, can find happiness through these simple acts of kindness and friendliness, then Strout believes that we should make sure to treat everyone with kindness and take the time to get to know everyone because we do not know what kind of emotional trauma they may be facing. If we can do something simple to brighten their day, that act of kindness will remain in their memory and continue to brighten their seemingly dreary and dismal days to come.

Plain Dumb Cowardice

      What purpose does a father serve in the life of a child? The answer to this question will inevitably vary from child to child, father to father, and family to family.  Ray Bradbury wrote his much-loved novel, Something Wicked This Way Comes, in the early 1960s, a time during which families saw their father figures as the disciplinarians of the family.  Will Halloway's father, however, does not by any means fit this description. Throughout the book, Mr. Halloway's experiences drastically change him and mold him from a relatively pathetic, deeply saddened character to one of great confidence.  He does, however, harbor a sense of wisdom that remains constant throughout the novel.  This sense of wisdom proves invaluable to his son, Will, in teaching him life lessons and fulfilling in his own way his paternal role. In my opinion, the most important passages throughout the story appear in Mr. Halloway's monologues and occasionally in his conversations with Will. One such passage occurs after Mr. Halloway brings Will home from the police station after he and Jim turn themselves in for supposedly stealing Miss Foley's jewelry.  Will, feeling compelled to get a more clear perspective into his father's life, questions him about the difference between "being good" and "being happy" (134). Mr. Halloway, though reluctant at first, goes on to give his son a detailed explanation of his views on happiness, goodness, evil, and sin.  He informs a shocked Will that "men do love sin" and that, contrary to Will's belief that people who live their lives in goodness seem the happiest, people who appear guilty and sinful often live the cleanest and purest lives.  This statement sets the tone for the rest of the story; Bradbury goes on to explore the depths and levels of sin and how they affect the way certain people live their lives.  Further into his monologue, Mr. Halloway hints as to why he does not seem happy. He explains that, in trying to always act like a good, pure person, he missed out on so many other necessities. He does reveal, though, that he blames "plain dumb cowardice" for causing him to miss out on such things as "rivers never swum in" and "cake never eaten" (136). He includes this in his response to Will to subtly imply to him to take full advantage of his youth and have fun instead of making the same mistakes that he did. The last important point Mr. Halloway makes in his monologue seems to me the most surprising and also the most insightful.  When Will asks his father what does not make him sad, Mr. Halloway replies with death. He tells Will that "if there wasn't a death, all other things wouldn't get tainted" (137).  He further explains that death does nothing but scare.  This statement surprised me, as it seemed like Mr. Halloway, who at this point in the story still seemed fairly pathetic and frightened, would find death the most frightening of all.  His acceptance of death prompts Will to think further about comparing life to death and good to evil and how each relates to the carnival and their lives.  Will sees death, as his father did, as something frightening, and life as a temptress.  This revelation sets the stage for the rest of the novel, as the conflict between life and death swirls around sporadically throughout the rest of the book. Mr. Halloway's statement also prompted me to contemplate death and the validity of his statement. At first, I did not agree with him--I believed that death, as well as scaring people,, also caused great despair and heartbreak to those involved with the tragedy.  As I read further and considered his thoughts more and more, though, I realized that none other than fear appears at the very root of this despair and heartbreak. When a loved one dies, the despair we feel stems from a fear of living without them and going on with life just as nothing happened. We fear grief, sadness, and this emotional pain more than anything.  Death, as Mr. Halloway stated, acts as a catalyst in invoking fear and causing the worst kind of pain in the world.

A Timeless Tale of Tragedy

    Time.  A simple word, yet an unbelievably complex concept.  Some of us choose to ignore the never-ceasing ticking of the clock, some of us accept it, and even more of us fear it.  Because, inevitably, with the passing of time comes aging.  Ray Bradbury thoroughly explores the depths of the internal conflicts that arise with the passing of time in his novel, Something Wicked This Way Comes. This timeless and universal conflict appears in several forms throughout the story--most notably, though, in the form of the mysterious carousel at the haunted carnival that comes to Jim Nightshade's and Will Halloway's hometown. One ride on the carousel, if no mistakes occur, will restore one's youth--a concept irresistible to many.  Additionally, though, a ride on the carousel can speed up time; this specific manipulation of time appeals mainly to children who have yet to discover the fears that come with the tragedy of growing older. Will touches on this subject when discussing the carousel with Jim and mentions that the merry-go-round does sound “keen,” but he also realizes the consequences of prematurely advancing one’s age: “You don’t really want to be twenty” (127).  The wisdom that Bradbury delegates to Will reflects his own opinions on this specific portion of the conflict—while growing older may seem alluring to young people, reality has proven that aging rarely ever works out well, and constantly wishing to speed up life will cause nothing but wasted time and disappointment.  The other, perhaps more pressing part of this conflict appears when older people reflect on their lives and want to become young again.  Charles Halloway, Will’s father, embodies this specific part of the conflict.  From the very beginning of the novel, Bradbury indirectly characterizes Halloway as wistful and painfully reminiscent of his youth.  When he watches Jim and Will go off to play, he “was suppressed with a sudden urge to run with them” (17).  Later, he reveals to Will that the thing he hates most about adulthood “is not being able to run anymore, like [Will]” (131).  As a full-grown adult, Mr. Halloway offers to us a glimpse into the world of adulthood and the depression, so to speak, that comes with age.  Seeing his son run around and do things that he once could do and now can not acts as yet another catalyst in this slow realization that age inhibits qualities and abilities that youth kept alive.  Will, in his youthful wisdom, notices his father’s unhappiness and asks him what he can do to make him happy once again.  Mr. Halloway longingly replies that he will only find true happiness if Will tells him that he will “live forever” (137). Bradbury not only stresses the importance of this raging internal conflict by referring to it numerous times but also by foiling Will to his father and juxtaposing Will's youthful wisdom to Mr. Halloway's pathetic desires and cliché reaction to the timeless tragedy of aging.

In the Spirit of Adventure

      Through various personal experiences and routine life events, I have found that most people harbor a seemingly inexplicable aversion to all things unnatural and surreal to the point of aberration. I, however, can not say that I have ever felt that way toward such things. Some of my earliest memories involve me giving into my constant curiosity to take unnecessary risks and explore the eeriest of places.  For these reasons, Ray Bradbury's 1962 novel, Something Wicked This Way Comes,  has particularly intrigued me. As I began the book and read about the mysterious, haunted carnival and the haunting happenings that Jim Nightshade and Will Halloway unearth, I have to admit that I felt a little jealous of them having adventure of their lifetimes. Throughout the beginning portion of the novel, I contemplated each new character, their personality traits, and the likely undertakings that each would engage in.  It did not take much consideration on my part to realize that Miss Foley's nephew (Mr. Cooger) clearly seemed like the character that I would most want to embody, not because of his less-than-normal personality, his unnatural means of existence, or his reputation as "the evil boy," but because of his many adventures with the carnival and the life of mystery and adventure that he leads (84). For his own reasons, Cooger has connections with this bizarre carnival while still acting as Miss Foley's beloved nephew.  The secretive, adventurous life full of risk that he leads, while at first thought somewhat undesirable, seems explicitly appealing to me.  The young Cooger's personality, however cold and devious, often proves cunning and clever--two traits which also appeal to me.  When Jim and Will return to Miss Foley's house after having sat in their rooms for hours as punishment for supposedly staying at the carnival too late, Cooger realizes that they pose a certain threat to him. To ward them off, he tosses a "rain of tinkling, rattling glitter" from his place on the balcony onto the lawn toward Jim and Will (98). When Miss Foley comes to the window and sees the two boys with her jewelry, she naturally and logically assumes that they had stolen it, just as Cooger had intended. This quick and conniving act of hatred and perhaps necessity on Cooger's part made me admire his quick wit and ability to act spontaneously.  Despite his considerably harmful intentions to the protagonists and my better judgement, I still found myself wanting to spend some time in his shoes to, for the first time, experience a real adventure complete with the risks and inevitable thrills. So, in the spirit of adventure and spontaneity, Cooger's younger persona appeals most to me.

The Absence of Light

     I associate everything with colors. Everything. Every number, letter and word has its own specific color in my mind. I have no idea how this strange little phenomenon started, and frankly I thought I would grow out of it. But... that has yet to happen.  Each color, to me, has its own special qualities and sparks unique feelings in each place in which it exists--each color but gray. For some reason, gray seems like it represents absence--absence of light, absence of feeling, absence of happiness. The color of neutrality and sorrow.  For these reasons, and also due to the fact that the book's cover is gray, I think gray seems like the most appropriate color for the novel. While I did enjoy reading The Submission by Amy Waldman, I found several aspects of the story line extremely disturbing. As a student who will take my third year of Arabic this fall, I found the stereotypes and prejudices against Muslims, or even people who simply look like Muslims, shocking and saddening. I realize that Waldman wrote this as a work of fiction, but I know that some of these stereotypes still exist today (Ironically, when I think of the word "stereotype," I think of the color gray).  I found one moment particularly saddening: When Khan decided that, in order for the American population to fully accept his monument, he needed to "downplay any Islamic influence" (245). For anyone to feel that they need to hide their culture and ethnic background in order to gain the approval of others makes me extremely uncomfortable. The fact that he chose to do this to appeal to his American audience also embarrasses me and makes me feel inexplicably guilty. Guilt, to me, also has an aura of gray surrounding it. I also felt guilty when Claire Burwell, one of the sole supporters of Khan's monument, announced that "'Americans, many of them, are afraid'" (268). Fear, in addition to guilt, has an aura of gray surrounding it.  Fear, guilt, and the absences of happiness and light seemed to swirl around throughout the novel.  Additionally, when I imagine skyscrapers or big cities in general, I think of gray--it not only represents the color of most buildings but also the color of pavement and therefore the color of the absence of nature. I felt that absences played a subtle yet essential role in this novel--as I read, I found references to the absence of toleration, the absence of peace, the absence of empathy, the absence of acceptance and the absence of enlightenment, all of which hold that constant, depressing aura of gray.

The Power of Empathy

     For me, the hardest part about giving advice comes up when I have to decide how and when to give it. I find it difficult to pinpoint the most appropriate time to give it in relation to how effective I hope to make the advice. Fortunately, though, giving advice to a fictional character proves much less challenging. While reading the second section of Amy Waldman's The Submission, I found Sean's plight particularly problematic--not so much in what he did, but specifically in his thoughts and feelings toward Claire Burwell.  While contemplating Claire's seemingly extravagant lifestyle, he thought, "maybe money makes you feel less" (130). I do not agree with this, nor do I believe that money has anything to do with one's feelings--especially toward the death of a loved one. The death of Cal, Claire's beloved husband, seemed understandably traumatic to both Claire and her children. The juxtaposition of Claire's financial status to Sean's makes it slightly more understandable for Sean to believe something like this.  Both Claire and Sean, however, lost family members in the tragic attacks on September 11th, 2001, and seeing Claire's "mansion" made it easy for Sean to judge her (129). Sean, in his jealousy, saw Claire's money and house as a way to escape from reality.  Waldman makes the assertion here that feelings of jealousy can and usually do overshadow any trace of empathy or compassion towards others in in similar situations. While reading this specific passage, I wanted to tell Sean to try his best to feel empathetic. He and Claire have much in common, more than he realizes--both had close family members die in the 9/11 attacks and still suffer from the losses every day. People do not yet realize the full extent of the unconstrained, unleashed power of empathy in our society. A little compassion instead of jealousy can go a long way, and, in Sean's case, he has the potential gain a powerful ally. While I realize that one can not simply push aside all feelings of jealousy and resentment to make room for a sudden, new-found sense of empathy, I also realize that taking small steps on the road to compassion will, in the end, become astonishingly effective.

The Root of all Prejudice

     While aftermath of the 9/11 attacks undeniably left Americans feeling stunned and resentful, it also left them with a powerful anti-Muslim sentiment. Amy Waldman skillfully writes about this sentiment in her novel, The Submission, along with how it affects the construction of a monument honoring those who died in the attacks on September 11th, 2001. Shortly after the tragedy, millions of people sent anonymous submissions to a committee in New York City who would eventually choose one design as the new monument. After choosing the winner, however, they soon learned that the monument had been designed by a Muslim, Mohammad Khan. When reporters revealed the name to the public, pandemonium broke loose. How could anyone in their right mind choose a Muslim's design for the monument? According to one member on the committee's jury, if they would decide to confirm Khan as the victor,"they [the Muslims] will feel like they've won" (19). This juror acts as a synecdoche for the majority of the New York City population--she believes that all Muslims strive to harm Americans, and therefore to construct a monument designed by a Muslim, no matter how beautiful or meaningful, would not only give the Muslims a sense of satisfaction but also add a sense of irony to the process in that a Muslim had created a monument in memorial of a tragedy caused by Muslims. Claire Burwell, a member of the committee who lost her husband in the attacks, so far appears as the only supporter of Khan's memorial. When she first heard the disapproval of everyone on the committee, she announced that her "husband would be appalled" (23). In bringing her dead husband into the argument, Claire implied that the prejudice against the Islam religion that these attacks brought about seemed unfair and unjust. She argued that, if the attacks had not happened, to choose a Muslim as a winner of an architectural contest would not even begin to raise questions regarding ethics and ethnicity. As I got further and further into the book, I found myself siding more and more with Claire. The majority of Americans took what a small group of radical Muslims had done on 9/11 and applied their opinions of them to the entire Muslim population. Because of this ignorance and fallacious reasoning, following 9/11, some Americans treated all Muslims unfairly. I believe that such prejudice existed merely because "people are afraid"--afraid of the differences in religion, ethnic background, and values (75). Ignorance of other cultures creates fear, which inevitably sparks prejudice. In order to avoid this ignorance, which, as Waldman exemplifies in her novel, appears at the root of prejudice, we need to educate ourselves as much as possible on different cultures and their values, actions, rituals, and beliefs--anything that may differ from ours. While we can never totally eliminate all prejudice from our society, by educating ourselves and others we can drastically and effectively reduce it.