Saturday, December 7, 2013

So where did we end up?

Last week in History of Mennonites in America, our readings focused on the creative arts within the Mennonite church, and a couple of the sources brought up interesting points about art in the Mennonite community. One source we looked at, Mennonite Artist: The Insider as Outsider: An Exhibition of Visual Art by Artists of Mennonite Heritage by Priscilla B Reimer, featured a number of Canadian Mennonite's works and also contained quotes from many of them. I felt this one by Dale Boldt sums up well the importance of art, "that's what's nice about it - about making art - you are continually growing and changing. And that's what's wrong with the Mennonite Church, in my experience. Mennonites don't want to grow; they don't want to change". The intro also brought up an important question, "why is it that a group which espouses values of community and social justice finds it difficult, if not impossible to embrace its artists?" Another source I read was Road Signs for the Journey: A Profile of Mennonite Church USA by Conrad L. Kanagy. This book is a quantitative study of Mennonite Church USA where Kanagy combines biblical passages with sociology to comment on the current state of the church. One quote I thought pertained somewhat to our class said "the challenge for modern and postmodern persons is to overcome the tendency to analyze ourselves into oblivion and to get on with God's mission to the world."

In the 18th century, Mennonites were focused on John Brenneman's writings and the importance of humility. Part of this meant creating a wall between Mennonites and the rest of the world. In order to avoid the temptations of sin, Mennonites cut themselves off from the world. Part of building a church, or really any building is building walls. In the 19th century Mennonites were forced out of these walls by the drafts during WWI and WWII. In the 1950's and 60's Mennonites continued venturing outside these walls and as a result of that began writing books, some of which we read throughout this class. Mennonite literature has grown significantly since the 1960's and with the literature a new understanding of Mennonite identity has begun to unfold. This understanding of the Mennonite identity is constantly changing in the way Boldt suggests, and I like that. I like that the Mennonite church has developed less rigid definitions, because human limitations will never allow us to create universal rules that work. That being said rules are still important, because they hold society together. 

This is where the Kanagy quote and a general criticism of Mennonite literature comes in. Most of the works we read this semester are somewhat critical of their Mennonite communities. In Peace Shall Destroy Many Peter Blocks character demonstrates the problems of patriarchal male society, and Joseph questions pacifism. A Complicated Kindness also contains an aggressive patriarchal figure who does not appear to express love in the way I would expect of a Mennonite. Di Brant in her poem with the first line "but what do you think my father says this verse means if it's not" also struggles with the patriarchal role of her father. Julia Kasdorf's poem "The Interesting Thing" also criticizes patriarchy, in perhaps the most serious way, exposing her former neighbor who sexually abused her as a child. In "Menno Pause Revisited" criticizes male authority at Goshen College, in the administrations explosion of the four students who created Gadfly. Katya also contains a male authority, Abram Sudermann, who has been corrupted by wealth and power.

Although most of the targets are male, I think all this criticism centers most of all on power and inherently the systems that support it. All of these works confront social injustice within the Mennonite community, and for that I thank the writers who took the risk to write them. Recognition of a problem is the first step in any healing process. I also think Kanagy brings up an interesting point, particularly about "the tendency to analyze ourselves into oblivion". This comment seems to speak somewhat to the work done in all these books. It's good to be critical, but at some point all of the criticism turns into distrust of the system, and then the system might start to break down. Kanagy also comments in his book that he has no interest in going back to the way Mennonites were before. I think all the literature we read this semester is extremely valuable, but I also think it's important as writers and members of the larger conversation to take care of our roots.

In In Praise to the Lurkers: Who Come Out to Speak Jeff Gundy creates an interesting image of the poets role in society as this character who lives on the edge, and does not quite fit into reason and social order. He describes one lurker in particular, a man named John Nachtigall, who in Keith Ratzlaffs essay "The Poet as John Hachtigall" lived in the middle of Henderson, Nebraska but talked to nobody. This man made Ratzlaff feel different with his presence, instead of through his words. I think this story speaks to the power of silence. This reminded me of something G. C. Waldrep said in his interview with me,

"There is the occasional poem that I decide not to share, much less publish. (And yes, as a person of faith I find the question of where, how, and whether one publishes to be much more fraught.) Some poems turn out to be private poems. When I am writing, I don't think about audience at all. But later, in revision and once a poem is done, I do think about it--and even pray about it, as necessary. But really these are quite few. I generally try to work out any spiritual problems in a poem during revision, to the best of my ability."

I think everything we've read in this class was important and meaningful, but I also think this idea, that some things are personal and should not be published is important.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Miriam Toews: A Complicated Kindness

When I first started reading this book I thought it was funny. It seemed like a typical teenage angst story like Juno, Superbad, or Catcher in the Rye, but this book turned out quite differently, because the conflict didn't resolve itself in a neat little Hollywood ending the way it normally does. It sort of just leaves us with this sense of emptyness; the main character sitting on the floor wondering what is going to happen to her and remembering when her family was still there.

I'm particularly disturbed by the note that Ray leaves for Nomi. Why list her name with only the first initial? This makes it harder to find her, should anyone come looking. And what work do they have to do? It seems so bizarre, and in a strange way totally Mennonite, that Nomi is not angry at her family for leaving her. She does not blame them for leaving, in fact she sees their leaving as an act of selflessness. She says Trudie left to keep Ray from losing his faith. She says Ray left to keep from losing his love of her. I'm not sure what really happened but this explanation doesn't make any sense. If they loved each other why didn't they just move somewhere new, together?

It seems ironic because Ray is such a good man by Mennonite standards. He is so obsessed with order that he organizes trash at the local dump. He takes the time and care to organize everything the world has defined as worthless. This seems to me like some strange interpretation of the first shall be last and the last shall be first. Ray seems to search for worth were ever it is not found.

A couple choice lines from the last chapter;

"How did he leave? Walk? Hitchhike? How do you leave a town with not train, no bus, no car?"

"The Mouth had suggested once that my mother might have killed herself out of guilt and regret. I think it was the ending he most enjoyed. The typically grim outcome that made sense to him.

Let's be realistic, he said, which had made even my dad laugh out loud. But it did make me wonder. If she had planned to travel far away from this pace why had she left her passport behind in the top drawer of her and my dad's dresser? Was her body at the bottom of the Rat River, her hazel eyes wide open, staring in eternal mock horror at the flailing limbs of fifteen-year-olds being forced underwater in baptism by her brother, The Mouth? Or was she alive and well and selling Amway or something in some tourist town on the Eastern Seabord? Or maybe she had finally managed to get to Israel and was working as a courier in Tel Avia?

Had my dad really gone to pick garbage off mountains or was he also at the bottom of the Rat - no, I preferred the first story, the one about sacrifice and pain, because it presented opportunities of being happy again."

This is the question the author leaves us with. Are Nomi's parents dead and if so is she better off living with her lies? In this way her life asks a question about her Mennonite community? Is it better that the community keeps living with its lies?