Empty Characters

This past weekend I attended the American Association of School Librarians conference and one of the many sessions I attended was a panel discussion on boys reading and fantasy, consisting of the following authors:

Jonathan Auxier
Jon Scieszka
Adam Gidwitz
Neal Schusterman
William Alexander
Tony Abbott

So it was bound to be good, right?

This idea came up in the discussion about rich characters and empty characters. But "empty" wasn't a bad thing. An empty character is one that, yeah, might be hard to describe other than "heroic" or something like that. But, because the character is "empty" the reader can see him (or her) self as that character. Examples mentioned were Harry Potter and Luke Skywalker. Their friends are all rich characters, but these leading men don't have quite as much that defines them, and that's a good thing. The speaker even mentioned Tintin, who is drawn with minimal detail, even though the rest of the illustrations are detail rich. The reader can put himself in Tintin's shoes.

Of course this made me think of the stereotypical, archetypal characters that come out of the oral tradition. They usually have only one or two defining characteristics and are not very complex. The wrath of Achilles, anyone? Walter Ong describes how writing has allowed us to come up with more complex, more psychological characters. And yet, we still love our empty heroes.

Is it because we are nostalgic for the epics of the past? Is it because the ancient bards were on to something? Is it because we need to be connected to, to be a part of, our stories?

Another question came up about building upon folktales, myths, legends, etc. and one of the authors told the following joke:

A magician became so great a magician that he told everyone not to call him a magician anymore, but to call him a god.
The God of the land heard about this and they decided upon a duel of the gods.
The God of the land grabbed a handful of dirt, spit in it, molded it, blew on it, and away flew a bird.
The man who was once a magician grabbed a handful of dirt, and just as he went to spit in it, God said, "Hey! Use your own dirt."

The point was that all stories are built on what came before. No one is using their own dirt.

I think this was easier to see during the oral transmission of stories, because there was less focus on the author of a story. Think of how we don't know the author of most folktales, and there are so many different versions. They aren't written. They are collected.

Each telling of a story was slightly different. Stories were constantly both old and new. Connected to an earlier time, but being what they needed to be in this time.

The empty character is an invitation. The storyteller, the writer, knows he has used someone else's dirt. Now he is inviting the listener, the reader, to use his. Come on, he says, be my character.

Scriptura Continua

It's hard for us to imagine today, but no spaces separated the words in early writing. In the books inked by scribes, words ran together without any break across every line on every page, in what's now referred to as scriptura continua. The lack of word separation reflected language's origins in speech. When we talk, we don't insert pauses between each word - long stretches of syllables flow unbroken from our lips. It would never have crossed the minds of the first writers to put blank spaces between words. They were simply transcribing speech, writing what their ears told them to write. - The Shallows by Nicholas Carr, pg. 61

Carr goes on to explain that early readers experienced a "cognitive burden" trying to pick out the words from the continuous line of letters. Spaces were introduced to make reading easier. Hyperlinks and other distractions on the Internet are again creating a cognitive burden, according to Carr, by forcing us to make decisions while we are reading (do I click on the link?) rather than focus on what the words are telling us.

One of my arguments for writing being further from meaning than the spoken word is that writing is a graphical representation of sounds. It refers back to the spoken word, not to meaning. D-O-G tells you how to pronounce the word "dog," it doesn't tell you what a dog is.

The spaces between words, however, are not there because people pause between each word when speaking, but to help readers understand the text more quickly.  They ease the cognitive burden. It is so hard to understand the written word, so laborious, that we have to add things that aren't there so that we can comprehend a text at a speed that approaches our comprehension abilities with the spoken word. And, it is not just spaces we have added. We have punctuation, we have altered word order, we have italics and bold and big and small. All in an attempt to make writing as readily understandable as speaking.

Then there is this business of the Internet. Are we moving further from meaning as we further technologize the word? Um...yeah.

We worked to ease the cognitive burden of reading so that we could spend more time thinking about meaning and less time thinking about deciphering. But the Internet is increasingly distracting - increasingly burdensome. We get so caught up looking for information, we fail to pay much attention to what we find. (This is the main thrust of Carr's book. Forgive me for making these bold claims without elaborating on them. He's done that for me.)

The digital word isn't trying to be like the spoken word. It isn't trying to be easily understood. It is like a living thing, trying only to propagate itself. The digital word is all about more and more and more digital words. But if we are too distracted to pay attention to what these words say and certainly too distracted to remember for more than a few moments - then they don't say anything.

Maybe this is all a little dramatic. Clearly, I like the Internet. Hello out there blog readers, I hope you are enjoying all my tasty digital words! Just try not to forget me when you click on the next link...

Making a Difference

I have had the same kind of thing happen twice now after telling stories even though the stories were very different. One is a story about menstrual cups (audio here) the other is a story about ghosts, note-passing, and kindness from an unexpected source.

The menstrual cup story, which I call "Give Her a Large," was one I was nervous to tell for a long time. I knew it was hilarious, but worried over how to find the right audience. Then, when the Carapace theme was TABOO I thought, "I guess they're asking for it." Now "Give Her a Large" is, I think, my most (in)famous story. I've performed it live twice more already and have plans for two more performances at least.

Not a single person has come up to me to say, "I can't believe you said those things. You're gross!" (Maybe some people were thinking it. I have no way of knowing.) However, I have had a number of people want to talk to me about menstrual cups. This is one of those topics people don't talk about (taboo!) but once you are brave enough to talk about it, people want to talk to you.

Well, then I was the lay leader at church on Sunday, giving a sermon entitled "Open to the Impossible." As part of this sermon I told the story of how I didn't get in trouble for passing a note about ghosts in fourth grade. (I call the story "Unexplained.") The point of the story is how meaningful it was to me that my teacher didn't dismiss my belief in ghosts like pretty much every other adult did. Being "open to the impossible" can make you more open to other people.

The experience I had after the service was very like my experience after the first time I told "Give Her a Large." Lots of people wanted to talk to me about ghosts, aliens, and the paranormal! And being open to the impossible I, of course, entertained all of these conversations. Once again, I had popped the seal on a taboo topic and gave others a chance to say things they don't always feel free to say.

I would like to think that by telling stories I am not "just" having fun; I'm not "just" entertaining people; I'm making a difference. And this is the difference I am making: I'm saying things out loud so that others can, too.

Feelings without Words

I've been trying to keep up with reading a meditation by Krishnamurti each day. It is a book I purchased a while ago and recently found. I decided it was better for me to grab that first thing in the morning than my cell phone.

A recent meditation urged the reader to try to feel without naming the feeling. Krishnamurti says naming what you are feeling immediately separates you from it. It makes you an observer instead of allowing you to fully experience the emotion.

As someone who constantly examines what we have gained through the technologizing of the word and what we have lost, it is interesting to me to think of the word itself as the beginning of that chain of technology.

Writing, the printing press, the Internet - each of these technological advancements has allowed us more connectivity but each one challenges us to remember (and think?) less. Did the development of a spoken language have similar costs and benefits?

We need words not for ourselves, but to connect with each other. We use words to tell each other what we feel, to use Krishnamurti's example. And as long as we can't actually be in each other's minds, talking to one another may be the best way to try and understand how another person feels.

Now think about this - we created language to communicate with each other. But, how often do you think without words? I almost never do and I find it very difficult. So why are we always talking to ourselves? Why do we name what we are feeling, when we have the real genuine feeling going on inside of ourselves right this minute. Why look at the substitute instead of the real thing?

Words are funny. They can help us come closer to meaning, but they can also separate us from it. Maybe as a librarian and storyteller I'm not supposed to say that. Really, I think there is a place for all these things. The digital word, the printed word, the spoken word, and no word at all.

The Folklore Around Growing Up

I was thinking recently about one of the rhymes my friends and I used to say during hand-clapping games when I was in elementary school.

Miss Susie had a steamboat.
The steamboat had a bell.
Miss Susie went to heaven.
The steamboat went to...

Hello, operator,
Please give me number nine.
And if you disconnect me,
I'll kick you from...

Behind the 'frigerator,
There was a piece of glass.
Miss Susie sat upon it,
And broke her little...

Ask me no more questions.
I'll tell you no more lies.
The boys are in the bathroom,
Zipping up their...

Flies are in the meadow.
The bees are in the park.
I saw two people kissing,
In the D-A-R-K, D-A-R-K,
Dark, dark, dark!

Dark is like a movie.
A movie's like a show.
A show is like a TV.
I know, I know, I know.

I know I know my ma.
I know I know my pa.
I know I know my sister,
With the eighty meter bra!

First of all, notice how sound-reliant this is. "Naughty" words are implied at the end of most sections. We know what these words are thanks to the context and the expected rhyme. But then the next section begins with a word that sounds similar.

What I also think is interesting about this rhyme is that it reveals some of the curiosity children have about growing up. It is exciting just to see people kissing. Big sister wears a bra and would probably be embarrassed by the suggestion that it is eighty meters long. Or maybe it just seems that big compared to the training bra of a pre-teen.

This got me thinking about other child folklore that is specific to this transitional age. There is a joke I remember from my childhood that I've wondered whether I would hear from a student. Of course I haven't. It is too "dirty." I'm sure some of them know, if not this joke, one like it. But they aren't about to repeat it to a teacher. (Probably a good thing for them and for me).

An American traveling in a foreign country came to a city ruled by a king. The king had one daughter and no other children. He was very concerned with continuing his family line. So, he had decreed that whomever could get his daughter pregnant could marry her and become the next king.
The American thought he would give it a try. The king spoke some English and they were able to make the arrangements. The daughter did not speak English, but she understood what was going on, so the American figured that wouldn't be a problem.
He spent the night with the king's daughter. They started having sex and the young woman cried out, "Na-panly!" [The joke-teller makes up a foreign-sounding word.] The American didn't know what that meant, so he kept going. She cried out again, "Na-panly! Na-panly!"
In the morning the king asked the American how the night went. The American answered that everything seemed to be fine and he expected he would prove to be the next king. But, he did have one question. The king's daughter had repeatedly said, "Na-panly." He wondered what that meant.
The king gave the American a critical look and told him he would certainly not be the next king. "Na-panly" means "wrong hole."

As an adult, I find this joke fascinating. It relies entirely on an inexact knowledge of sex for it's humor. With the exception of those so mystified by the female anatomy they honestly believe someone could mistake one orifice for another, most adults realize this mistake simply doesn't happen. But a tween who knows just a little bit about sex could totally buy it.

Children who are on the cusp of growing up seem to create their own category of folklore that allows them to "talk" about slightly uncomfortable topics without really talking about them. They aren't getting good information this way, but maybe laughter is helping to ease their tension.

The White House

I love jokes because they are an element of modern folklore that still circulates by word-of-mouth. When I teach folklore, in addition to reading (and telling) folktales, I talk about jokes and urban legends. I have the students tell me jokes.

I hear some of the same jokes from year to year, some new ones, and some that have been around since I was a kid.

I do have to coach the students not to tell jokes that are culturally insensitive. I'm not talking about viciously racist jokes. I'm talking about jokes that make fun of how someone talks. The kids haven't quite figured out yet that that is inappropriate. Also, do consider the fact that all jokes are making fun of someone (maybe even the listener!), so for a young person it might be difficult to distinguish when it is harmless to make fun of another person and when it is hurtful. I'm willing to help them to start considering these things.

One particular joke came up this year that was interesting to me because I think it has been around for a while, and it wasn't so much about race when it originated, but it kind of is now. How offensive the joke is also depends on how it is told.

The blue man lives in the blue house.
The red man lives in the red house.
The orange man lives in the orange house.
Who lives in the White House?
Answer: The President

This is, I think, the original version of the joke. You could make an argument that it always had some racial undertones, since it is referring to people by color. But it seems mostly harmless.

Now that we have a President "of color" it is a little more problematic, though. Because the joke is setting the listener up (this is one of those jokes that is "on" the listener, by the way, since it is trying to trick you) to say, "The white man." And, in fact, the man living in the White House is not white.

What is even more problematic is when the joke is told like this:

The blue man lives in the blue house.
The red man lives in the red house.
The orange man lives in the orange house.
Where does the brown man live?
Answer: The White House

I really heard the joke told this way and didn't have time to stop it. I thought I knew what was coming. I was wrong.

The question is, did the child partially remember the joke and mix up the ending? Or, are people telling it this way, now, too?

What does it say about our society when we expect the white man to be in the White House and "joke's on us" when he isn't? Even worse, what does it say about us when we expect the brown man to be in the brown house?

I don't think my students meant either version of this joke in either of those ways. But jokes don't just tell us about the individuals who tell them. Jokes tell us about the folk groups in which the jokes circulate. Someone out there telling these jokes probably does know that they aren't that nice.