Let's Talk About Narrative

Wednesday, December 16th, 2009 | 10:54 am

Over the past few weeks I have had more than my share of good times, especially under the current economic circumstances. Thanks in large part to a visit from an English friend, I got to see the stunning and engrossing musical FELA! and the new David Mamet play, Race, which is just about that. In between, I have been reading voraciously, engaging in mind-bending conversations (especially on Twitter) and thinking even harder about all manner of things but mostly about narrative–a gorgeous word that that carries more heft than its nine letters can possible convey.

The idea of a narrative–the story that can be charted, dissected and erected about everything that exists in our universe–plays a large role in my life, especially as a writer of both fiction and non-fiction. My creativity, as a novelist, as an artist would be nothing but straw if my mind didn’t respect narrative; understanding that everything and everyone–regardless of imposed or perceived rules either by oneself, school, government or society–has the right to create and live their own narrative. Which is not to say that these narratives shouldn’t be challenged or critiqued, but their existence should be acknowledged.

Earlier this fall I received a link to what is possibly my favorite speech of the year. It was given by the gifted writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie at a TED talk this past summer and in it she warns of the dangers of a single story; a

narrative that subverts the construction of other equally as important and valid stories. In listening to Ms. Adichie, I have also begun to believe that we shouldn’t have just one hymn book from which we all should sing praise or mete out criticism of a given narrative. In a sense, single-minded criticism of any work based solely on factors or notions that might have appeared elsewhere re-enforces the one-narrative standard that so many, especially African Americans, have encountered in the arts; a concept George C. Wolfe explores with both wit and bitterness in “The Last Mama on the Couch Play” segment of his play, The Colored Museum.

I am personally exhausted with the punches thrown against works like Precious, Race, and even FELA!, based on a cemented standard of black cultural criticism which has built its self on the fear of poor depiction to the disadvantage of voice, art, and narrative. A standard that says, “Because we do not like what it says about us, it is rotten and should not exist.” A standard that seeks to dismantle one monolithic narrative to erect a perhaps prettier and possibly equally as dishonest one. What is lost in this urge to pick apart and deem unacceptable anything that might even give a whiff of the negative, is the possiblity that some of these unpretty conditions, actions, narratives could and do exist. The problem is allowing them to stand on their own merit. I acknowledge fully that our world has painted us thus, and the picture has not always been flattering. But if we are to make progress, we have to give rise to as many voices as possible no matter how painful the tone coming from some of them may be. It is one way of humanizing us, of saying we may share this skin but our lives are as diverse as those of any other group.

Photo attribution:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/spierzchala/ / CC BY 2.0