Over the last seven weeks, I’ve been writing my memoir. As I tell my relatives and close friends about this new endeavor of mine, I get a few distinct reactions. The majority says: “Wow, you’re brave! I can’t wait to read it”. To which I laugh nervously in response to their enthusiasm because, yes indeed, I am pouring my mind and heart on those pages. And while I am not yet ready to share, I know that the day will necessarily come when I will release my ‘story’ into the world. “Can’t wait !” V. ironically replies. But a notable minority reacts differently, not quite daring to ask: “What is so important in your life that you think that people will be interested to read it?” There is not a lot that I can answer to that. I say: “Well, one day I’ll be a famous philosopher, and then people will read my memoir of how I got to become who I am…” That satisfies them, yet it pinpoints how ‘ordinary lives’ are perceived as ‘unimportant’ as a subject of study or interest. I mean: our memories are important, if only to ourselves and our family, but hopefully as a medium through which the ‘being human’ is captured in all its glorious details.
It’s with these observations in mind that I read Peter’s last blog ‘Orality and History’. Throughout, I felt that memoir writing is – or clearly can be located – in between the written narrative art of history – focused on groups and trends – and the oral traditions of family lore. Just last week, I spent several days interviewing my relatives – my book’s characters – to try to understand their lives, their motivations, the very impulses that caused them to live and act the way they did. I must confess that I wasn’t as objective and methodical as the oral historian Peter describes. My questions and my notes were shaped by my own story; the narrative that is currently taking shape. But I still just tried to make them talk, and it was surprisingly hard to get them talking (especially the men). Yet we talked about many things that I didn’t know, and I felt – within those conversations – an intimacy that is so rarely present in our lives that when it does arise, we can feel a shift in the air.
Most people do not see how precious their life experiences actually are. We take our past for granted: our life lessons as just ‘natural events’ in our lives. Who would dare to care about how one voted in the Quebec referendum (for sovereignty – 25 years ago)? Having participated in these conversations just recently, I can understand how amazed Peter is to have met an oral historian – in Maine no less. Because, a third reaction that I am also getting a lot is: “Oh, I would want to do that too!” but instead of rushing to the computer to work their story out in words, they proceed to tell me all about their lives.
I would argue that, for all the people I interviewed recently, none will make the effort to ‘literally’ put their lives into written narratives, yet they all could talk about their lives with a relatively high degree of introspection: even my Grandpa who, at 81, came alive in front of my eyes talking about the car he bought just a few days before wooing my grandmother. If only we -society – could capture orally what they – everyone – have to say, everyone could then be included in History as we currently understand the discipline. Because I agree that there are a few missing links between the macro-level – of nation-building for example – and the fact that it took my grandpa to drive the truck that brought the iron beams to the construction sites. This link – this gem of both my personal and ‘national’ history – I just found out, but even this micro-level is too specific for me to see how ‘the past’ emerged from within the lived experiences of millions of men and women. It would be a very interesting thing to do, and I wonder – Dear Oral Historian – if that is the goal of your discipline to do something like that? Could we, by taking/tagging/grouping the oral account of millions of people, ‘hear’ the narrative of our society emerge?
Here I am, in the midst of searching my past, interviewing my relatives for their memories, for the moments in our lives when we ‘became’ who we are. And yet, this formation of our identities cannot be taken in isolation from the History of our society. And while I do think that I lived a pretty interesting life – at the micro-level -, the real fascinating bits are the ones in which I can see the bigger processes of History appear in my little individual choices.
In the end, my life might be only one unique expression of what it means to be alive. Yet, I capture, abide by and react to norms, habits and the conditions of a much broader social environment. My reflections, my inner world, is – at once – unique and part of this shared narrative of History, made especially vivid because it so recently unfolded… I am not sure yet how to link all my ideas and experiences in a compelling – interesting to read – narrative, but the process of discovery itself is awe-inspiring.
So, can memoirs – and subsequently the macro-analysis of memoirs – be the missing link? I believe so! What do you think?