Narrative Medicine Book Club: April 17, 2020

The first pages of Part III are eerily back on track with our world again, as the narrator gives a sweeping summary of the way things are in the late summer of the plague in Oran. The highest numbers of victims are in the areas with the closest quarters – the less affluent districts, the prison. Revolts start to happen. The narrator spends a while telling us about the grim reality of burials, the details of which are not too different from what we are seeing: victims dying alone, families unable to attend the funeral. And then another chilling and prescient statement, when more “immediate concerns” prevents the town people from fixating on the burials: “Taken up with queuing, pulling strings and filling forms if they wanted to eat, people did not have time to worry about how others were dying around them and how they themselves would one day die. So these material difficulties which seemed like an affliction would eventually be seen to have been a boon.” 


FOR TOMORROW: Read to the end of Part III! And our next zoom call will be Sunday at 2pm – keep your eye on the blog for the zoom link to register!


Narrative Medicine Book Club: April 16, 2020

At the end of part one (apologies for the missed post yesterday!) we have a very interesting conversation between Rambert, Tarrou, and the doctor. Rambert, who is still trying to escape the town, says he’s “‘had enough of people who die for ideas…What interests [him] is living or dying for what one loves.'” Rieux answers him, in a statement so important for our moment: “‘Man is not an idea.'” Rieux argues that the only way to fight the plague is through “decency,” and that in his case decency consists in doing his job. I appreciate the way the doctor makes clear that acts of decency are not the same for each of us, though the overlaying category stands. It is the collective decency, all of us acting together in tandem from wherever we are, that is our greatest weapon. “…The epidemic was everybody’s business and they all had to do their duty.”


FOR TOMORROW: Read first 7 pages of Part III, into second section, ending with Rieux’s statement “‘No one can deny that we’ve made progress.'”


Live Virtual Group Session: 12pm EST April 15th 2020

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session! We are so glad to be back and running, and to have so many of you join for this mid-day break (or evening activity – given the exciting range of time zones we had in our session today).

Our text was “Cutting Greens” by Lucille Clifton, posted below. Just as Lucille Clifton does with the greens, we tenderly dissected and embraced our text. Our discussion revolved around the many juxtapositions and connections we found in the poem, as the narrator “builds a connection to the living things that she is holding”, as one participant observed. Together, we looked to the “embrace” and the “kinship” woven into the text, and explored the contrast between the black and the green (“a dance between difference”, one participant observed).  We wondered about the significance of the kitchen setting (“one so mundane, yet it’s used to bring people together, to tie relationships, to mix and add things”, someone else commented). In the last few lines of the poem, many found “a peaceful sense of resolution”, as we experienced – as one of our participants said – “a new beautiful bond through the narrator’s awareness of what is going on”.

Our prompt was: Write about the bond of live things. Participants shared wonderful pieces exploring a range of situations – the tenderness of a caregiver, the importance of giving love to the self, a meditation on watching the world through a window pane, feeling the connection between us all even as we are separated, and an exploration of the idea of the virus as “equalizer,” even as it exposes the inequities in our systems and our communities. 

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Please join us for our next session: Friday, April 17th at 7pm EST, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.

We look forward to seeing you again soon!

cutting greens
Lucille Clifton

curling them around
i hold their bodies in obscene embrace
thinking of everything but kinship.
collards and kale
strain against each strange other
away from my kissmaking hand and
the iron bedpot.
the pot is black,
the cutting board is black,
my hand,
and just for a minute
the greens roll black under the knife,
and the kitchen twists dark on its spine
and I taste in my natural appetite
the bond of live things everywhere.

Lucille Clifton, "cutting greens" from The Collected Poems of Lucille Clifton. Copyright © 1987 by Lucille Clifton.  

Narrative Medicine Book Club: April 14, 2020

In today’s pages we continue to follow the journalist Rambert’s attempt at escape from the town. I think this may be the longest section of the book so far where we remain in one scene; this makes me wonder about its significance to the novel’s larger project. Rambert’s supposed coming escape is complicated, involving many people and lots of moving parts. I suspect it will be thwarted somehow, but to what end, I wonder, and why is it important to the book as a whole? 


FOR TOMORROW: Read to the end of Part II! 


Live Virtual Group Session: 6pm EST April 13th 2020

Thank you to everyone who joined the April 13th virtual live session. It was so great to be with 57 people joining in from Australia, Brazil, Canada, and across the continental USA.

Our text for the session, “Last Letter to My Son” by Nazim Hikmet, is posted below. Choosing today’s text is a gesture toward continuity with Hikmet’s “The Mailman”, which we read last Monday before needing to end our virtual session abruptly. Just as the poem’s father and son are separated, we, too, are separated over long distances and yearning to connect. Sharing the poem this evening also seemed like a mutual, simultaneous delivery of Hikmet’s precious letter.

Reading aloud, two volunteers gave voice to thoughts and feelings embedded in the poem. Closely reading for language and craft, participants pointed to the blending of darkness and light, commonalities among all beings and things,and the experience of being alone, especially now. Multiple participants noted the repetition of “but people above all” (four times in 23 lines). Others highlighted the father’s call for his son to respect where he lives, by invoking “your father’s house,” which someone suggested could refer to an earthly or a heavenly father. The facilitators were moved by the comment about grief being for “what was not dead but rather what was dying” and by someone calling today’s text “a lesson in connection.” As we moved throughout the text, we kept returning to the first word: Still. One person spoke of the various uses of “still” as “ongoing” or “motionless.”

This session’s prompt was: Write about a habit worth cultivating.

Participants’ writings included habits of journaling, keeping still, listening (as a language to convey what is not possible to put into words), looking both inward and outward, making a clearing, and fostering compassion —a suffering with — so that compassion becomes a way of walking with others.

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Please join us for our next session: Wednesday, April 15th at 12pm EST, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.

We look forward to seeing you again soon!

From “Last Letter to My Son” by Nazim Hikmet
From Poems of Nazim Hikmet, trans. Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk. NY: Persea Books, 1994 (revised 2nd ed., 2002).

Still,
                it's no fun
                                    to startle in the middle of work sometimes
or count the days
                     before falling asleep alone.
You can never have enough of the world,
                     Memet, never enough . . .
 
Don't live in the world as if you were renting
or here only for the summer,
but act as if it was your father's house . . .
Believe in seeds, earth, and the sea,
but people above all.
Love clouds, machines, and books,
but people above all.
Grieve
                    for the withering branch,
                                    the dying star,
                                                       and the hurt animal,
                    but feel for people above all.
Rejoice in all the earth's blessings –
darkness and light,
the four seasons,
but people above all.

Narrative Medicine Book Club: April 13, 2020

In today’s pages we begin to explore what feels like the next inevitability of the situation as Camus is unfolding it: the existence of a blackmarket, back-alley system for getting goods and services. Rambert, who is still wanting to get to his love in Paris, teams up with Cottard, who takes him to a café to see a man who can possibly arrange for his escape. To me this scene felt inevitable; if you set a ball rolling down a hill in a certain direction, you can be sure of certain outcomes. As we spoke about yesterday in our meeting, this is how Camus’ allegory seems to stay so closely aligned with our actual moment: because it is true that in any moment of large and systematic societal crisis, these themes (of good and evil, of communication, of love and death) inevitably arise, and they play out in both predictable and unpredictable ways.  


FOR TOMORROW: Read next 7 pages (in section 9 in Part II), up to “‘Very useful,’ said the journalist, drinking in his turn.” 


Book Club halfway point thank you email!

Hello all! 


I woke up this morning just wanting to reach out to all of you to say thank you again for joining me on this book club adventure. Our meeting yesterday was such a pleasure, and I came away from it feeling so lifted up by the act of sharing conversation about this book with such smart people and good readers from all over the world, and mostly total strangers at that! It’s really an amazing thing, and I don’t take it for granted right now. So thank you. 


I know there are some on this note who actually weren’t in the meeting, either because it was locked by the time you tried to get on or for other reasons, but regardless I’m speaking to all of you because each of you is on this journey with us. For those who missed the meeting, we spoke about a range of things: Camus’ use of the word “abstraction,” and what he might or might not be saying about humanity’s search for meaning in an often meaningless world; the priest’s sermon, and the conversation between Rieux and Tarrou about belief in God and “the order of the world” being “governed by death”; the various relationships in the book so far, and also the way the characters do or do not communicate, the theme of silencing around trauma and the reduction of human speech and connection to the text of telegrams (and, in our moment, text messages and other forms); and of course the way Camus continues to track our plight while also maintaining a hold on an allegory that fundamentally wrestles with the phenomenon of evil and how to fight against it. It really was a wonderful conversation.


Also I wanted to share with you all the television series that I referenced at the end of the meeting because a couple of you have asked me about it — it’s called “A French Village” and it’s on Amazon Prime. I just watched the second episode last night and it continues to be very compelling and also to really speak to me of this book and of our moment in an interesting way. If any of you watch it, do let me know what you think! 


That’s all for now – really just wanted to send a word of thanks as we near the halfway point of the book.

Onward! 
Nellie


Narrative Medicine Book Club: April 11, 2020

It was difficult to choose a quote from today’s pages because there are so many that resonate. The narrator discusses Tarrou’s “health groups,” made of civilians risking their health to take care of those suffering. He says he doesn’t want to “attribute more significance” to these groups because he believes that “by giving too much importance to fine actions one may end by paying an indirect but powerful tribute to evil, because in so doing one implies that such fine actions are only valuable because they are rare, and that malice or indifference are far more common motives in the actions of men.” We are all so heartened, in America, by the “fine actions” we see by so many around us — and of course we must continue to give them significance! — but it is against the backdrop of so much seeming indifference that we must not accept as more common. “…There always comes a time in history when the person who dares to say that two and two make four is punished by death. The schoolmaster knows this quite well. And the question is not what reward or punishment awaits the demonstration; it is knowing whether or not two and two do make four.” This quote speaks to us of the struggle between facts, science, and lies and spin. And finally: “…the conclusion was always what they knew it would be: one must fight, in one way or another, and not go down on one’s knees.” 


FOR MONDAY: Read next 7 pages, to the line (in dialogue), “‘That man…is Enemy Number One.” 


TOMORROW: JOIN OUR SECOND ZOOM CALL! 4pm Eastern. Register here: https://narrativemedicine.blog/blog/narrative-medicine-book-club/


Narrative Medicine Book Club: April 10, 2020

The narrator does interesting work in today’s pages – we disappear into Tarrou’s notebooks, referencing a conversation with Dr. Rieux that we then see in scene a few pages later, again causing us to question who is telling the story. Again the need for “imagination” is raised; Tarrou says, in reference to the Prefecture asking for volunteers to help: “‘What they need is imagination. They never rise to the challenge of a disaster.'” Interesting that we have heard this call now from two different characters. I was moved, too, by the loving interaction between Rieux and his mother, who says, “I don’t mind waiting for you if I know that you will be coming. And when you aren’t here, I think of what you are doing.'” Such a simple statement, but so very touching in this moment. 


FOR TOMORROW: next 7 pages, to the end of the paragraph that begins “This is also why it was natural for Grand…”

AND JOIN OUR NEXT ZOOM CALL SUNDAY AT **4 PM**! Please note you must register in advance for this meeting! Link to register on the main Book Club page: https://narrativemedicine.blog/blog/narrative-medicine-book-club/


Narrative Medicine Book Club, April 9, 2020

In today’s pages we see more of the townspeople adjusting to the new reality of life under the plague. Rambert, telling his “case” to everyone he can find as a way to pass the time, ranking their reactions into categories; the man who spits on the cats finding even his pastime is cut off; police patrolling to make sure people stay indoors. I was particularly moved by the paragraph that begins: “In the terrified minds of our fellow-citizens…everything became more important. For the first time, all of us became aware of the colors of the sky and the smells of the earth which mark the passage of the seasons.” Many of us now are experiencing something similar, as we long for the simplest things that we took for granted – the cup of coffee from the corner food cart, the hug from a friend. On another note, is anyone else surprised that all the cafés seem to still be open? That seems one thing that Camus didn’t correctly predict…


FOR TOMORROW: Next 7 pages, up to the line, in dialogue, “‘I’d rather it was done by free men.'” (This is page 95 in my edition!)