A Human Being Died that Night

Every now and then, someone writes with a heart so open, it is both painful and life affirming. Judy Croome, South African author, has written a post so powerful it deserves wide-spread recognition. Writing poignantly about her post-apartheid nation, Croome bared her soul with candor, regret, and hope. Her post’s power and raw honesty left me speechless. We are honored by Croome’s willingness to open her heart to us. I don’t know if one can assert that South Africa’s particular cauldron of issues is more complex than most. After all, life is in its essence complex. Just its very mystery introduces complexity. Yet, South Africa seems to be a crucible, in the present era, for the challenges humanity faces in defining what is good and what is evil. Here is the link to her post.

A Human Being Died that Night

My Flirtation with Faulkner

I sidled up to Absalom, Faulkner’s giant, brushed up against his shoulders, winked, and said, “Come hither.”

He approached, though his slightly mocking look was anything but encouraging. “I am too deep for you,” his look seemed to imply.

Me, not deep enough? Psh, I’m as deep as they come.

Maybe I said it out loud because he threw up his arms and allowed me to stand before him.

“I’ve heard great things about you,” I said.

He allowed a weak smile, but said nothing.

Then, without any seeming prompt, he started talking.

And talking.

I was beginning to think he would run out of breath. But, no, he kept talking.

Good lord, I thought. This guy can string a sentence for pages.

But, I shrugged it off. The getting to know you process is always fraught. Give him a chance.

And, he kept talking.

At this point, I was beginning to wonder if he thought I was deaf, dumb or mute, and that’s why he went on and on in spirals of time and place that had me gasping as I tried to keep up.

And, he talked.

I started edging away in fitful intervals; fitful, because I wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing. I mean, I had heard so much about this guy!

My smile became pasted on.

It was a tremulous smile, though, borne of doubt about what the right thing to do was. I really had heard great things about this guy.

And, he talked.

I could not decipher whom he was talking about or whether that person was still alive or whether he was reminiscing or … what!

Maybe I was not deep, after all, because I put up my hand and said, “Sorry, I really have to go.”

He smiled that slightly derisive smile of his, which seemed to confirm his first impression of me as someone not of sufficient intellect to appreciate him.

Well, okay. But, life is too short.

I walked away.

Thus ended my flirtation with Faulkner and Absalom; well, Absalom, Absalom, if you want to get technical about it.

Phew.

Hello

I’ve been on blogging hiatus for a month, not foreseen. It just sort of happened. I continue to check, though not as frequently, the blogs I follow. Despite that, I feel as if I’m letting down the side. I notice, however, that, although some dedicated souls maintain a regular pace of posting, they seem to be the exception. So maybe my slower pace is not unusual. I keep meaning to give my blog the attention it used to receive, but alas one week follows another and – no new post! So this is simply a hello to my blogging friends. I hope life is good, personally and professionally.

Is There a Genre for This?

I have always maintained that my writing is hard to force-fit into a literary genre. Multicultural and literary come about as close as any labels can. My reading tastes are also wide-ranging. Here is what I have been reading in the last month.

• Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, winner of the 1952 National Book Award and a classic ever since. You might find it interesting that President Obama in college read and reread this novel until it was dog-eared. See The Washington Post excerpt from the upcoming David Marannis biography of the President.

• Cuentos de Amor de Locura y de Muerte [Stories of Love Madness and Death] a collection by the gifted Uruguayan writer Horacio Quiroga, who died in 1937.

• Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters, a book of poems about the individuals buried in fictional Spoon River.

• Hope of Israel, a fabulous historical novel by Patricia O’Sullivan, “based on the true experience of Jews in Lisbon, Amsterdam and London during the politically and spiritually tumultuous 17th century." [Publishers Weekly]

• Inseminating the Elephant, a Pulitzer Prize finalist poetry anthology by Lucia Perillo.

• The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, a surprising page turner of a book that also lets one peek into early U.S. history.

• The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, a psychological novel by the award-winning Japanese writer, Yukio Mishima

• Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

How would you label my reading tastes?

What I’m Up To

• Playing with my new Kindle Fire. Loving it!

• Preparing so that I can eventually view my own short stories, poetry, et al. published as Kindle Singles.

• Rereading Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man to prepare for leading a class discussion. This remarkable, award-winning novel, now 60 years old, still offers up beautiful prose, brilliant insight into human behavior, and mastery of writing craft.

• Rereading Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground, also in preparation for the Invisible Man discussion. Ralph Ellison acknowledged the influence of this novella, among others, in writing his own National Book Award novel.

• Enjoying Spring.

• What’s up with you?

What’s in a Name?

Two authors from different cultures ask, “What is in a name?” The Irish poet Eavan Boland and the Puerto Rican playwright/poet Nancy Mercado conclude that the answer is of fundamental importance in defining one’s existence.

In her essay, “Lava Cameo,” Eavan Boland asks, “Was there really no name for my life [as an ordinary woman] in poetry?” Her search for her late grandmother helps Boland validate her “femaleness” in an otherwise largely male Irish literary tradition.

In her concluding essay to the collection What’s in a Nombre? Nancy Mercado states, “Naming is the spiritual act of living beyond the moment, of signifying something beyond the instant ….”

In both instances, each author reclaims the right to name herself and her work apart from the prevailing hegemony of gender and/or culture. In Nancy Mercado’s words, “The act of naming is rebellious; it is the expression of power over a thing or over someone ….”

It is also an affirming act. As Eavan Boland says, “I had written poems. Now I would have to enter them.”

In a perhaps less consequential way, I have renamed this blog. My literary name Judith Mercado now takes precedence over the previous title of Pilgrim Soul. This is a defining act signifying renewed focus on my literary life. I will always be a pilgrim soul, seeking and learning. This blog, however, will now focus primarily on Judith Mercado as a short story author, novelist, poet, and essayist.

Stay tuned.