I know I'm on a tangent away from my Shelf Project, but I can't resist the public library.
Being an introvert seems to be the cause celebre lately. Time recently featured Introverts in their Jan 26 issue: "Shhh! The Quiet Joys of the Introvert"
I read Laurie Helgoe's Introvert Power last week. So refreshing to be reminded (if not taught for the first time) that I'm not some sort of misanthropic recluse just because I find some kind of parties difficult (if not intolerable) yet I love spending hours and hours with dear friends with whom I can be my "true self."
At times in my life I've thought that I was a little weird. Everyone loves parties but me, right?! I am an outgoing person. I'm NOT shy, I'm cheeky, I enjoy conversation, and I love to perform (all those years of singing!). Turns out that MANY performers are introverts. Johnny Carson was a legendary introvert.
In college I read Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own. OMG, yes. And for two years, I actually HAD a room of my own. I love my family, but I'd sure like a place to retreat from them sometimes. A place all MINE.
Also solves the question of why I'm never bored, and love, no, CRAVE "alone time." How could I EVER be bored when I have a house full of books, bins full of yarn, and more than six years of photos to scrapbook? And why my extraverted husband and I often have a hard time enjoying the same sorts of social activities: he could go to parties every single weekend, but to me, that sounds awful. When would I have time to "re-charge"?
(Sidebar: DS never dares to say "I'm bored" because he knows the answer he'll get from me every time: "Only boring people are bored.")
Helgoe gives advice on how to navigate the challenges of being an introvert in a culture that values extravertedness in the extreme. Turns out I'm already doing several of her tips. Like, if I need to leave the party before DS wants to, I give him 20 or 30 minutes warning that "I'm ready to go," and if he still wants to stay, I leave, and he'll need to find another ride home. When I bring a knitting project to a gathering, that's another coping mechanism for me. I'm usually knitting socks, but I guess I could be knitting a metaphorical security blanket...
It also explains why my very FAVORITE place to be is Manhattan or downtown Boston. Bustling with interesting people and things to do and see, but not in a way that I necessarily need to interact in any kind of intense way. I love the feeling of being lost in the crowd - the fly on the wall observing everyone else. Why I treasure an opportunity to take a day, alone, to go to Boston and wander Copley Square, the Public Garden, the Museum of Fine Arts, and maybe over to Harvard Square, me, myself, my camera, and my journal. Sigh. LOVE.
But it's not that introvertedness is some sort of handicap. Helgoe says that a little more than half the population identifies as introvert. If anything, I think it's why I'm introspective, and I like that about myself. If it wasn't for all the praying (and obedience..... and celibacy ;-), I could appreciate the lifestyle of a contemplative nun.
So I guess this blog is the ultimate introverted endeavor. A book group by myself! Ha!
10 February 2012
08 February 2012
You must read Laura Hillenbrand's Unbroken, the incredible story of Louie Zamperini: Olympic athlete, WWII veteran and survivor of 27 months in a Japanese POW (slave) camp. Warning: this is NOT Hogan’s Heroes. Not even close.
The crash of Green Hornet had left Louie and Phil in the most desperate physical extremity, without food, water, or shelter. But on
Kwajalein [the first camp], the guards south to deprive them of something that had sustained them even as all else had been lost: dignity. This self-respect and sense of self-worth, the innermost armament of the soul, lies at the heart of humanness; to be deprived of it is to be dehumanized, to be cleaved from, and cast below, mankind. Men subjected to dehumanizing treatment experience profound wretchedness and loneliness and find that hope is almost impossible to retain. Without dignity, identity is erased. In its absence, men are defined not by themselves, but by their captors and the circumstances in which they are forced to live.
Few societies treasured dignity, and feared humiliation, as did the Japanese, for whom a loss of honor could merit suicide. This is likely one of the reasons why Japanese soldiers in World War II debased their prisoners with such zeal, seeking to take from them that which was most painful and destructive to lose. On Kwajalein, Louie and Phil learned a dark truth know to the doomed in Hitler’s death camps, the slaves of the American South, and a hundred other generations of betrayed people. Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a man’s soul in his body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it. The loss of it can carry a man off as surely as thirst, hunger, exposure, and asphyxiation, and with greater cruelty. In places like
Kwajalein, degradation could be as lethal as a bullet.
(Unbroken, p. 182)
It makes me physically ill to read about (or watch a film containing) extreme physical cruelty. Syriana, The Hurt Locker, and The Wind that Shakes the Barley leave me nauseated. Suffering is far more frightening than death. When I could see that the book was taking this turn, that’s when I put it away. But so many months later, it was long past the time that I should have returned this borrowed copy from my colleague who had recommended it so highly. I didn’t have the heart to return it unfinished. I’m glad I forced myself this small taste of their terrible plight.
Allied men found ways to subtly undermine their captors. I don’t think the book would have been tolerable without the many stories of resistance. Even with the risk of severe beatings, maiming, medical experimentation, and a host of other vicious experiences, they “stole” food (Red Cross food - which had been stolen away from them to be sold on the Japanese black market). They damaged equipment, derailed trains, pilfered maps, communicated in code. They sustained one another with small but meaningful acts of kindness and solidarity. And occasionally they encountered a Japanese guard who took genuine pity on them, treating them more decently (until the decent treatment was discovered and discontinued by the monstrous commandants).
It wasn’t an entirely happy ending once the men returned to the
. These men retained lifelong physical and emotional scars. Louie battled alcoholism and severe PTSD. His lingering hatred and desire for vengeance continued to harm him. Ultimately, he found Christianity and forgiveness. In letting go of hate, he healed himself. United States
In German and Italian POW camps, the mortality rate of American men was 1%. In
, it was 37% (Unbroken, p. 314-315). My maternal grandfather was a WWII veteran of both the European and Pacific Theatres. He saw combat in Japan Europe, but he carried a passionate and lifelong hatred of many things Japanese (and Asian in general). I never understood it. He passed away in 1990 when I was 17. This book shines some light on my grandfather’s experiences (which he never spoke of, at least not to his grandchildren). I would guess that based on his role as an MP in post-VJ-Day, Occupied Japan, he probably encountered, even liberated, Allied POWs who had been imprisoned in these horrific camps. These men, broken and yet still unbroken.