Now and Then (Pt 2)
Over the years, I have had a lot of reactions to books. Some books make me sad. Some give me a gut-punch and make me take stock of what I truly believe. Some make me think deeply about intellectual things. Some educate me to some wonderful part of humanity that I didn’t know about. Some make me laugh.
SIde note: I admire anyone who can put humor into narrative form — comedy seems so performative to me. Probably one of my favorite funny books is William Goldman’s The Princess Bride. I am sure many of you reading this have seen the movie. It is adorable. But it is 10% of what goes on in the novel. If you haven’t read it, do yourself a favor and give it a chance (get past Ch 1 — trust me). What Goldman pulls off in style (the meta-narrative is hilarious) combines wit, sarcasm, anticipation, irony, physical humor —you name it.
But, I also will admit that sometimes books make me cry. Not opening bawling, but choked up, perhaps weeping a little, enough that I have to wipe my eyes or take a deep breath. I am going to revisit One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest as my example because it does it to me everytime, and the last time it did it to me was in front of a room full of students and a handful of guests they invited to discuss the book with them.
*** SPOILERS, AGAIN ***
Kesey’s prose can be magical, so I often read passages aloud when we hit those points of the discussion. I want them to hear Kesey’s voice. I want to emphasize the point he is trying to make in these specific locations. Two sections in particular always choke me up.
The first is when McMurphy and the men are returning from their boat trip. They are all sitting in the bus after an afternoon of trying to learn to be a supportive community. McMurphy sees a farmhouse as they pass and tells a story about how he learned to fall in love. The story is fictional. He told it to make a point that love can give people strength. The narrator, Chief Bromden, sees McMurphy’s face light up from a passing car, and it looks tired and frantic, like he is running out of time. The writing in the entire passage is sheer poetry (literally, prose-rhymes and everything).
We are supposed to know that he is tired from trying to teach the men to work together. That is the only way that they can recapture their agency and defeat The Combine. He is running out of time because he knows he will eventually lose to that system. He needs to pass on his knowledge before he dies. It is a brutal truth. When I read it to them, I have to steel myself so I don’t choke up (I am getting choked up writing this).
But the other part that does me in is when McMurphy is violently restrained after he attacks Nurse Ratched — because the men won’t stand up for themselves. They watched Nurse Ratched shame Billy Bibbit to the point of suicide and did nothing. So, McMurphy had to sacrifice himself by attacking her. The description of his metaphoric death is described as an animal that has been hunted and chased up a tree only to be shot out of the branches. The last sound it makes is how it is consumed with its own dying as the hounds swarm it.
The last time I went to read that passage aloud I stopped about halfway through. I couldn’t do it. I had to ask a student to finish. And this was in front of the class, about four parents, my principal, and my assistant principal. Yep, I am getting choked up again now. I have never felt so vulnerable. Part of me is glad those students saw the power of words. The other part of me hopes they won’t forget.
Stories serve a purpose — entertainment all the way to activism — because the very act of reading them stirs emotions. In the hands of true literary artists, there is no limit to what they can bring us to feel. As I grew older and reshaped my take on Kesey’s novel, the idea that love is a powerful force became overwhelming. I am glad it did.
