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Writing about Family-- A
Sacred Cow or Smorgasbord?
By Holly Cardamone
Family is undoubtedly the richest source of inspiration for a writer, nonfiction
or otherwise. Things happen in families. Families ritualistically dance together
joyously at a child's twenty-first birthday party and behave abominably towards
each other during Christmas lunch. We become both witnesses to and participants
in family-specific rites of passage, emblematic characteristics and dialogue,
and ongoing domestic drama. A loved
one may display mannerisms and affects that when captured vividly in writing
creates a powerful presence within text.
However, the ability to use elements of a loved one's personal life is dependent
upon the writer's level of comfort in manipulating aspects of a parent or a
sibling's personality and behavior for the sake of the writing. The cantankerous
squabbling of elderly grandparents can make for fascinating and funny dialogue
within a text, yet in the back of a writer's mind may lay anxiety in an
uncomfortably accurate portrayal or representation of a family member, who
within a text becomes a character.
When using family as a subject when writing I often struggle with an almost
tangible tension between revealing and concealing. My mother sits on one
shoulder with an angelic look of "please don't," while my father sits on the
other, grinning devilishly, telling me to go for it. This tension can actually
be quite disabling; for fear of disapproval, for misrepresentation or perhaps
even a fear of betrayal. Australian writer Helen Garner concedes "I tried hard
to be irresponsible, to vanish, to be swallowed up by the texture of the
writing. Because the one who records will never be forgiven. Endured, yes;
tolerated, put up with, borne, and still loved; but not forgiven." This is a frightening concept. Who wants to alienate herself
from her own family? Or to reveal a family's perceived shame or embarrassment to
the public sphere?
My grandmother was recently admitted into an aged care facility, against her
will. The day she was admitted, I sat at my mother's table with her two sisters
and her brother as, red-eyed and traumatized by Nana's distress, they reminisced
about their childhood when their mother was a strong, independent presence in
their lives. They couldn't share all of their recollections; my mother, sixteen
years younger than her brother, had a different set of memories about her mother
as a young woman. That day I reflected on the struggle within families about who
owns families, about who has the most accurate portrayal of a loved one. It
struck me that if I were to write about my grandmother's life, it is a very real
possibility that my extended family, my aunts, my cousins, may not cope with or
accept my representation of their loved one.
Writing represents our opinions about experiences, people, personalities, and
events. Reconstructions subsequently arise from our memory, our imagination, and
are written and recreated in the manner in which we consciously create them. To
write about one's family honestly and openly is a courageous act, and one with
which this writer struggles. However, my family is made up of an array of
characters that deserve immortalizing through text, particularly through my
representation of the characters. Christmas lunches may continue to be
interesting.
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