From a Father and a Teacher

I have been putting off writing about the state of the world for several weeks now. The events in New Zealand left me inarticulate. I do not have answers that actually will make a difference. I have felt angry and lost. While there has been much commentary pointing fingers, I know that does nothing but perpetuate hatred.

Today in class, one of my students asked me about the bombings in Sri Lanka. He was so angry. We spoke about it at length or, at least, he and others asked questions and I tried my best to answer them. The only way I could answer them is with what I do know.

I know that when someone feels superior than someone else it becomes easy to treat the other as less. As someone not of worth. Eventually someone disposable.

I know that when people cannot see that there is a future for them, they do destructive things. Either to themselves or others.

I know that often in these cases of great violence like we have seen, there are those, in the background, whispering hatred.

I know that when people are feeling lost, they look for something to hold on to. Something greater than themselves.

I know that all that hatred brings is more hatred. Violence more violence and revenge more revenge.

I know that it is not always the evil person that does the evil thing.

I know that the world is yet again on a precipice. That history tells us that great war comes as those around us tell us and themselves that it is not possible.

I know that if and/or when the next major conflict comes, unless there is some sort of international awakening, it will be the students I was talking with today who will be dying. It will be my boys. It will be my athletes. It will be my rugby team bleeding on a foreign soil because we as a people believe in hatred.

I know that if we keep on treating people, of talking about religions and races, the way we do, the soil may not be foreign. It might be right here in our wonderful country.

I know that I feel helpless. That my belief in words being important is not shared by the majority. That talking about what “they” did generalises evil to whole communities. That we set ourselves up way too often against things rather than for things.

I know that this will not be the last night that I cannot sleep, that I write with tears in my eyes, because my babies, both of my blood and of my heart, face such uncertainty. A world with so much hate. Hate that rises up like it was in the boy that sat before me today. Hate that, like hate does, lashes out – blindly, unthinkingly, destructively – destroying both the source and the target.

On this ANZAC Day morning, I hope that at least some of what “I know” does not eventuate. That I do not have to mourn the loss of my children and students as many have both recently and in the past. Tonight, after the last few weeks, it seems almost too much to hope for. A dream too big, but, hopefully, at least shared.

So it has been a hectic end to the term, with little time to dedicate functioning brain power to write about the things flowing through my head. The world is an amazing place, yet capable of great horror. I have been incredibly angry with the world and people who can only see things from one point of view.

There may be more to write about that at some stage if I can provide the time to consider my thoughts and words. In the meantime, I have had the opportunity to discover Katherine Mansfield who has a wonderful ability to paint a scene with words. It was a pleasure to write the essay below, though I am hopeful I am not restricted to 500 words too often in the next couple of years.
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Journeying to The Bay with Katherine Mansfield

Modern literature does away with the rules surrounding narrative structure and plot. The works of Katherine Mansfield are a wonderful example of this. Mansfield has used a palette of literary techniques to create the scenes within the world of At the Bay. While Mansfield’s works may often seem plotless, she is quite successful in painting a narrative portrait of a place and time. A vignette full of colour.

Perhaps the most prominent literary technique utilised in At the Bay is the continually changing point of view. This begins with the narrator in direct conversation with the reader as the scene is set, traverses the lives of a number of the bay’s occupants – including Florrie the cat – before finishing with an exchange that leaves the reader wondering if it actually occurred. This, at times abrupt, transition between characters keeps the reader moving through the world Mansfield has created in a ghostlike fashion, briefly considering the lives on display before them. During (41-42) highlights the effect of these transitions, when considering that from the character of Lottie to her Aunt Beryl, noting the disorientating effect on the reader. The reader is left unsure of the place of the characters in the story as well as their own position in relation to the narrative.

Mansfield’s characters inhabit the bay and, following them throughout the day, the reader gains insight to their lives and that of the bay itself. Characters are shown to be the product of their choices, the effects of which can be seen in their interactions. Linda feels trapped by her marriage, “Oh, the difference, the relief to have the man out of the house” (Mansfield 213). It is a conversation with Jonathon in a later scene, that this idea of a prison is explored more fully. Jonathon’s words resonate with Linda’s own experience, “it must be awful” (Mansfield 236) she responds with the reader being aware that she feels the
same about her own existence. Though, in the end, Linda is happy with her cage, smiling at the trinkets brought home by her captor while at the same time unmindful to the cause of their purchase. Hers is a gilded cage.

Symbolism is used throughout the story, the use of pink throughout the day, highlighting that it is the women’s time, being but one. This use of symbolism is present even in Mansfield’s own writing (Woolf 184-187). Beryl dreams of having a man of her own, living the life of desire she feels is represented by the Kembers. Beryl is intoxicated in their presence, yet feels that “she was being poisoned” (Mansfield 220). This intoxication and desire is symbolised as she enters the water. The warmth, the golden sand between her toes and the waves reaching her breasts, hint at a sensuality that is missing from Beryl’s life. This sensuality is ultimately rejected by Beryl.

While just a sample of the literary techniques used by Mansfield to populate her landscape, it can be seen that she is remarkably adept in their usage. On the surface, it could be considered that Mansfield has failed to construct a short story in the traditional sense. Through the use of point of view, character development, and symbolism – and many more besides – she has created a narrative that fully engages the reader, staying with them long after the story’s end. Mansfield has allowed readers to inhabit scenes full of colour.