Friday, 22 April 2016

REASONS TO STAY ALIVE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the post that was originally going to go up in response to Matt Haig's Reasons to Stay Alive, but that I postponed as I felt last week's post was much more important. I was simply going to scrap this post altogether, but as I was developing this piece of writing, I found myself more and more inclined to share it. Because that's what the Internet is about, right? Gratuitous over-sharing and the complete abandonment of personal privacy. These are my reasons to stay alive. I hope they might be able to bring you some comfort, too. 


REASONS TO STAY ALIVE

  1. My four best friends. I cannot believe that in the Earth's 4.54 billion-year history, I am lucky enough to exist at the same time as them.
  2. All of my other friends and family. They remind me that there is good in the world, and I am at the heart of it.
  3. Literature. Reading. Books in general. The anticipation to start a new book; the anticipation to finish it. Knowing that I haven't read all of the books I want to read yet. (Accepting that I never will.)
  4. Sunsets and sunrises.
  5. Save Rock and Roll by Fall Out Boy. Similarly, Queen's entire discography.
  6. Star-gazing on a clear night. Seeing Orion in the sky for the first time all summer.
  7. Hindsight -- I will only understand why I feel this way now if I give myself time to look back.
  8. To be there for other people when they need me. To be there for my friends the way they are constantly and irrevocably there for me. 
  9. twenty one pilots. 
  10. Magic, the kind found in the ordinary: kind people, pretty clouds, moving books, great films, good hair days. People smiling when they see you. New friends laughing at your jokes. Hearing your favourite band on the radio. Inside jokes. The feeling of your favourite person's head on your shoulder. Road trips. Movie nights. That one lyric that understands you better than anyone else. Talking until 2am. Writing a poem you're proud of. Spending time with loved ones after a bad week. Holding hands. Singing in the shower. Telling people you love them and hearing them say it back. Remembering that you aren't worthless. 

There will be good days and there will be bad ones; there will be better days and there will be worse ones. Hold onto the good days, my dear, because the bad ones roll in like thunder and pelt like acid rain; they corrode away your skin and bones, your hopes and dreams, but they can never rust away your iron grip and steel resolve as you cling to the notion that it will eventually get better. The winds of time cannot hold their breath forever, and their exhale will blow those rain clouds away to reveal a Sun that was always shining, a Moon that was always gleaming. The stars will wink at you and tell you that they missed you, they missed your smile and your silken laugh, and it will be a good day again. Remember the stars, my friend. They'll never forget you.

       
(s.t.)

Saturday, 16 April 2016

REASONS TO STAY ALIVE

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTAL ILLNESS, DEPRESSION, SUICIDE

I found out two days ago that a kid who was in the year above me at high school committed suicide this week. I didn’t personally know this person; I just kind of knew their face and their name, so I was surprised to find myself really upset by the news. Ironically, I also recently finished reading Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haig, and I was going to post a review of this book, but I feel like it’s much more important to have this discussion in the wake of this awful tragedy.

Suicide is one of those things that we can’t really understand and try not to think about too seriously unless or until it is happening to people close to us. We know it happens, but we never think it will happen to us. Now, obviously the case hasn’t happened to me, per se, as the victim here and I didn’t know each other, but although I’m pretty far removed, I am still close enough to the eye of this storm to feel affected. I watched the bomb hit, but I was far enough away that I only felt a slight breeze. Naturally, the immediate question that entered my head upon hearing the horrible news was: “Why?” Now, I don’t have the authority to be asking this question, and it really is none of my business anyway, but I think it is important to take that question and apply it to suicide victims as a whole, because it is my firm belief that we don’t talk about suicide enough.  The word has a dramatic taboo in our society, and that’s where, I think, we can start digging for answers to the age-old question. Why do people kill themselves?

New Zealand suicide statistics state that between June 2014 and May 2015, 569 New Zealanders committed suicide, up from 529 the previous year (stuff.co.nz). 40 more people felt life was not worth living than the year before, and that’s not counting those whose suicides weren’t recorded. stats.govt.nz explains that Kiwi males are 66% more likely to commit suicide than Kiwi females, and that Maori males are roughly 50% more likely to commit suicide than non-Maori females. save.org, an international website, did not surprise me when it told me that 90% of people who kill themselves also suffer from depression. I find the correlation of all these numbers very eye-opening; if we want to find out why people kill themselves, we should first look at which people kill themselves. It’s pretty much all there: more men than women, more Maori people than non-Maori people, and even the ‘why’ is partially accounted for: depression. The silent bandit. Why, then, are more males killing themselves? (And yes: I am not bringing anything new to the table here. This is an opinion piece, not a thesis.) I think it’s because we don’t let them. Emotional fragility and vulnerability are considered by our society to be inherently weak character traits, because mood and emotions are strongly associated with females, the sex accepted to be ‘weaker’ in patriarchal culture. Yet obviously, everyone feels emotions. Everyone gets sad sometimes, but do you know what else is deemed ‘effeminate’? Discussing how we feel. Working through our emotions. Confessing to our mental unwellness. Being human isn’t very masculine, so men and boys must act superhuman, or they will be shunned. It’s a sad and disgusting truth, but for the time being, we are stuck with it. What can a boy who’s mental health is slowly killing him do if he’ll be socially ridiculed for not being made of titanium? He’ll kill himself before the disease can get to him. He’ll take his own life because we won’t let him talk.

That is why I think it’s so incredibly important to discuss suicide, especially when tragedies like the one in my area strike. It is absolutely vital that we start normalising the conversation, especially for males and especially for Maori people. Books like Matt Haig’s Reasons to Stay Alive can help to get the ball rolling, but it’s up to us as communities and as individuals to implement the disassembly of the social taboos in the place that mean men feel cornered by depression and suicidal ideation, feel trapped within their sadness, feel as if suicide is the only option. Lives literally depend on us making this change; I now know this much myself. A family in my community has lost a child, a brother, another beating heart, and while I definitely don’t claim to know any of the details surrounding this particular case, I do know what we can be doing to help keep other hearts beating on.

To you, if you’re reading this because you need the help I’m so desperate to give you: I know. I know it’s hard. Ned Vizzini put it really well: it’s so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself. It’s so hard to speak up, and it’s so hard to go on when you’re afraid of every single day, every waking moment and every dream. It’s so hard to want to stay alive sometimes. Just hang in there, okay? Hold on for one more minute, one more hour, one more day. To quote Matt Haig: Life is always worth it.

WORKS CITED
  • Haig, Matt. Reasons to Stay Alive. Edinburgh: Canongate Books, 2015.
  • "Suicide and Depression Q&A." save.org. Accessed April 14, 2016. http://goo.gl/mx8LrL.
  • "Suicide Toll Reaches Highest Rate since Records Kept." Stuff.co.nz. July 3, 2015. Accessed April 14, 2016. http://goo.gl/MJmMFO.
  • "Suicide." stats.govt.nz. January 2016. Accessed April 14, 2016. http://goo.gl/M08Lc8.
  • Vizzini, Ned. It's Kind of a Funny Story. New York: Hyperion, 2006.

WORLD SUICIDE HOTLINES MASTERPOST: http://goo.gl/HLslbD
  • AUSTRIA 01-713-3374
  • AUSTRALIA 1-800-817-569
  • BRAZIL 21-233-9191
  • CANADA  514-723-4000
  • CHINA 852-2382-0000
  • HOLLAND 0900-0767
  • HUNGARY 62-420-111
  • INDIA 91-22-307-3451
  • ITALY 800-86-00-22 (ROMA)    199-284-284 (TRENTO)
  • MALAYSIA 03-756-8144
  • MEXICO 525-510-2550
  • NEW ZEALAND 4-473-9739
  • NORWAY 815-33-300
  • DENMARK 70-201-201
  • EGYPT 7621602
  • FINLAND 040-5032199
  • PORTUGAL 239-72-10-10
  • REPUBLIC OF IRELAND 1850-60-90-90
  • RUSSIA 8-20-222-82-10
  • SINGAPORE  800-221-4444 OR 000-227-0309
  • SOUTH AFRICA 0861-322-322
  • SOUTH KOREA 2-715-8600
  • SPAIN 91-459-00-50
  • SRI VINCENT 1-692-909
  • SWEDEN 031-711-2400
  • SWITZERLAND 143
  • THAILAND 02-249-9977
  • TRINIDAD AND TOBAGO 868-645-2800
  • UKRAINE 0487-327715 OR 0482-226565
  • UNITED KINGDOM 08457-90-90-90
  • UNITED STATES  1-800-SUICIDE (7842433) OR 1-800-TALK(8255) OR - 1-800-827-757

Wednesday, 30 March 2016

ALL THE LIGHT WE CANNOT SEE by Anthony Doerr (2014): A brief, albeit deeply impassioned, review


"Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever." - Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See 

THIS REVIEW IS SPOILER-FREE

Disclaimer: This review is constructed on my personal reaction to the book. All thoughts and opinions are my own. 

It’s currently very late and I am currently very tired, but I just finished reading Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See, and I wanted to take a quick minute to share my thoughts on it. I doubt I’ll be able to live with myself until I’ve made some noise about this book.

Let me say first that while my head is buzzing with opinions on All the Light We Cannot See, I have also found myself almost completely speechless in the wake of its completion. I cannot seem to put my finger on the right adjective that will perfectly articulate how I feel. Exquisite is what I settled for in my Goodreads review, but it’s so much more than that: I tried phenomenal, spectacular, gorgeous, absolutely beautiful, a marvel, a triumph, a wonder to behold, but none of them seem to fit. This book simply eludes categorisation; I was utterly, completely, irrevocably blown away. Ironically, I wasn’t even going to pick up this book; I downloaded the .epub file instead of purchasing a hard copy because I was afraid I wouldn’t like it.

Little did I know.

A few of my favourite things about the novel:

  1. I loved the characters. They were all so vividly imagined, sculpted out of nothing into beautiful complexity, raw and vibrant and each intensively unique. I particularly loved reading from Marie-Laure and Werner’s perspectives, although that goes without saying, as they’re our dual protagonists. Watching their individual stories arch out and then meet in the middle was positively breath-taking. They were captivating, dazzling, and sometimes also haunting -- so often I found myself holding my breath with anticipation, rooting my heart out for these lively, powerful, miraculous people.
  2. I loved the writing. Doerr is inarguably something of a poet; the guy knows how to string a sentence together. His words sing in perfect harmony. I’ve never seen a writer approach writing with such tangible wonder and such finely-tuned skill. A poet, I’m telling you, and if not a poet then an artist, if not an artist then a visionary. Every sentence breathed; every paragraph soared. To read All the Light We Cannot See is to be bewitched, enchanted by its lyrical grace, stunned by its gorgeous words. My heart glows just thinking of it.
  3. I loved the way it was honest. This book is set during World War II, so inevitably, it’s pretty sad. What I loved about it, however, was not the fact that it was sad, but how it balanced happiness and sadness, especially in its climax, to create an ending at perfect equilibrium: half melancholy and nostalgic, half quietly hopeful. Doerr wrapped up each storyline so neatly without giving everyone a happy ending. In fact, no one got a happy ending. What they all got was a peaceful ending, and it’s important to me that you understand that happy and peaceful are not synonymous here. I felt at peace when I finished this book, but I did not feel happy. That, I think, is a realistic ending. I said the storylines were all wrapped up neatly, and that they all ended peacefully, but I lied. Only some of them were/did, and I can’t say any more without spoiling the ending, but trust me when I say that even the inconclusive endings were satisfying, as implausible as that sounds. There is a gorgeous, refreshing honesty to Doerr’s narrative, a beauty to his blunt and unabashed conclusion. I could not speak of it more highly. I am struggling even now to put my praise into words.
To put it simply: this novel was brilliant. I cannot think of a single person who would not benefit from reading it, this story of love and compassion, ambition and duty, science and faith, wrong and right, life and death -- this tale of two strings of fate tangling, two radio-waves waltzing in the invisible light. Touching, gripping, heart-breaking, breath-taking, All the Light We Cannot See is, in my opinion, perfect.

(I think that’s the word I was looking for.)

Thursday, 10 March 2016

Love, Death, and Power: A Tale of Three Brothers



From the moment Harry Potter opens, its main themes are quickly apparent: love and death. From Voldemort’s ambition to master death, to Lily’s loving sacrifice for her infant son, destined himself to die, these themes wind themselves throughout the series: for example, Cedric dies in a cemetery -- a place of death -- where Harry is saved through his parents’ love, and Dumbledore meets death at the hands of Snape, but not without compassion. Thus Rowling weaves these themes into her spectacular climax, a tale of three brothers trying to conquer Death, only to one by one be reclaimed into his clutches -- one for power, one for love, and one willingly.

THE FIRST BROTHER: So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence [...] a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death!

The first brother was a power-hungry man, determined that power would allow him to beat death. Hence, he taunts the ghostly figure of demise to grant him the Elder Wand, the most powerful wand in existence. The brother’s equal in Harry Potter is Tom Riddle or Voldemort, the name ‘Voldemort’ even translating roughly to ‘flight of death’ from French. Like the first brother, Voldemort lusts after power, following the Elder Wand’s trail of bloodshed to its source as a way of conquering, rather than accepting, death. To him, mortality is an obstacle, something you can avoid. He convinces himself that the Master of Death is the person who wields Death as a weapon, and so the Elder Wand is the only Hallow he actively pursues because he believes in power over death; he doesn’t long to wish others back, nor hide himself, from Death, but instead to defeat it. But the wand’s invincibility does not extend to the wielder. The first brother slays his enemies with his unbeatable wand, but he is later robbed and murdered while he lies in his bed, all because he put too much faith in the power of Power. Voldemort will die in a similar fashion.

Voldemort and the first Brother believe that the power to cast death will be enough to conquer it. The last enemy to be destroyed, for both, is dying. Voldemort seeks out the fabled Elder Wand because he believes he has earned it: “a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death!” But Voldemort has not conquered Death, for he has not accepted it. Accepting and acknowledging the inevitability of death is to truly conquer it, which is why Harry is the wand’s true owner -- he accepts, unequivocally, that he has to die. No matter if he had rightfully won the wand or not, Voldemort would never be worthy of it, because he would never truly conquer Death; he treats Death as his enemy, but as we learn from Harry and the third brother, the only way to become Master of Death is to give in to it and accept it. In the novel Voldemort is reduced to Tom Riddle again, in the film becoming nothing but ashes scattered in the wind. He dies alone and powerless against Death, crumbling to dust and forgotten.

And so Death took the first brother for his own.

THE SECOND BROTHER: Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death.

Love is a force more powerful than magic in the Harry Potter series. Rowling wants us to believe that love can transcend death; that it exists always, in death and before it. The second brother was an arrogant man, but one filled with longing, and so he asked for a device to retrieve people from Death: the Resurrection Stone. This theme of love and death is perhaps the strongest message of the series. For Harry, it that exists in trying to love past the grave, to love those who aren’t there, as it does for the second brother and his equal: Severus Snape. While Harry doesn’t understand how someone can be with him after they have passed, but still manages to move on, the Second Brother never lets go, and is driven mad, joining Death to feel that love again.

For Severus Snape, the last enemy that has to be destroyed is death -- not to conquer it, but to see Lily, his love, again. The second brother’s gift from Death was the power to raise the dead. Snape, in a sense, does the same thing, reanimating his late love not through Dark Magic, but through memory. Snape resurrects Lily every time he sees her eyes in Harry’s face; he cannot let her go, but he can love her in death. It’s poignant that the last thing Snape says is that Harry “has his mother's eyes”, because he’s looking at her when he passes. His love for Lily transcends death: “after all this time”, he still loves her. He will “always” love her. The word always is a special term, as it can mean even after death, hence why it’s so iconic: love can exist after death, with Snape loving Lily even after she dies.  

And so Death took the second brother for his own.

THE THIRD BROTHER: The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death.

The third brother was a humble man and simply asked for an object that would allow him to go forth from that place without being followed by death. His entire life, Harry Potter has lived under the shadow of death, but himself has never greeted it; instead he has been left in its wake. Harry is afraid not of dying, but instead of the divide that death creates. Harry struggles with the idea of life after death. When he reads on his parent’s grave, “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,” and Hermione explains how it means living after death, all he can think is ‘But they were not living: they were gone.' In the Mirror of Erised and through the Resurrection Stone, Harry craves to have his parents with him once more. This is why he is shot so clearly alone in so many scenes.

And once Harry learns he has to die, his isolation is complete. Death no longer follows but waits as Harry walks alone into the forest for the last time. Finally, he must face Death -- but when he discovers the Resurrection Stone, he doesn’t understand how his family is already with him. “Why are you here?” he asks, to which Lily replies, “We never left”. Finally, the themes come to terms. His parents’ love did not die with them; it lived on, lived after death, transcended it. The ones we love never truly leave us; they live in our memories. Harry drops the stone, accepting that he doesn’t need to see his parents to feel their love, because love doesn’t leave after death; it remains “always”, and so that love guides him willingly to his death.

The Master of Death is said to own all three Hallows. But to own all three comes with a price:

To die.

To own all three is to accept that no power will save you, nothing can bring your loved ones back, and eventually you must shed the cloak and embrace Death yourself. Using the fairytale rule of three, JK Rowling started her series with a man in search of power over Death, a woman who would die for love, and a boy who would evade death for years. In the end, the man is reclaimed by death again, another man dies for the woman’s love, and the boy eventually sheds his protection and faces Death as an equal. Although he has earned all three Hallows, Harry Potter is the master and equal of Death because he finally understands: to destroy death -- is to accept it.

And, equals, they departed this life.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one is actually a collab! I wrote it with my good friend Nick, who runs the YouTube channel you find when you type "nicholas dobbie" into the search bar. Originally, this was actually a script that we wrote together for his channel,
but I like it so much that I decided to publish it here, too - and this is the unabridged version, so instead of watching a 9-minute video, you can read a 1.3k word essay! Nice! You can find the video by clicking any of the key buzzwords involving Nick or his channel. We worked our little butts off on this one, and it really paid off. Dude's good at what he does, I'm good at what I do, and we would both die on the battlefield for Harry Potter; this is the lovechild of that obsession. Check out Nick, if you've got a minute free; as much as I enjoy pointing at trashcans and saying they remind me of him, he is actually pretty talented, and is definitely worth a watch, if not a cheeky little subscribe. Yay for collaboration!

Saturday, 27 February 2016

ROOM by Emma Donoghue (2010)


"Scared is what you're feeling. Brave is what you're doing." - Emma Donoghue, Room

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD

Disclaimer: This review is constructed upon my personal reaction to the book. All thoughts and opinions are my own. 


You know how I love The Martian? You know how I never shut up about The Martian? Well, I have good news: I’ve found another book that I love as much as The Martian. (That's right: another book I won't shut up about! Joy!) That book is Room by Emma Donoghue, and by another text, I don’t think I’ve ever been as thoroughly moved. I wasn’t even going to review this book, but as of writing, it’s been a week since I finished reading and I still can’t stop thinking about it, which I think might be the universe trying to tell me something. The novel is the story of five-year-old Jack and his Ma. Jack and Ma live in Room, an eleven-foot-square garden shed which, to Jack, is the whole world, but to Ma? Not quite. Ma knows the truth: seven years ago, she was kidnapped, snatched off the street and held captive in Room ever since. (I’ll let you figure out on your own who Jack’s father is.) I’m not going to pretend this was an easy book to read. On the contrary, it was painfully harrowing; often I had to stop reading mid-sentence and momentarily step away, simply overwhelmed by the two-piece family’s sickening reality. Sometimes, I felt physically ill. Other times, I felt empty, as if this book was draining the life out of me. It was an emotional rollercoaster, to say the least; definitely not one for the faint-hearted, yet still gorgeously touching, a stunning work of powerful art. Heart-breaking and breath-taking, Room was, for me, a wonder to behold. 

There are so many things I liked about this book, but my favourite thing about Room was how Jack didn’t understand what was going on. The narrative style was a daring choice on Donoghue’s behalf; rather than utilising the more sophisticated voice of Ma, who could have provided a darker, more affecting point of view, Donoghue chose Jack to be the narrator, using his limited perspective of the world and his unwitting innocence in stark contrast with the context to create that darker, more affecting POV through imagery, rather than taking the easy way out -- and it worked, astonishingly well. It was so sad to see Jack not get it. It was genuinely distressing to be reading and to yourself know what was going on, yet to have the very person telling you the story fail to grasp his reality, simply because he was too young to understand. That, in its way, made Room surprisingly disturbing. Donoghue’s use of a child’s voice and a child’s tunnel vision created this disturbing atmosphere, as we had to piece together the story through what Jack was seeing and understanding with his blunt, yet stunted comprehension of the real world -- and when it hit us that what Jack was describing was more than what it seemed, it hit us hard, as seeing a child’s innocence be mutilated always does. 

Jack’s innocence often made him disagreeable, too. Ma, obviously, understands that Room is not the whole world; she and Jack are prisoners stolen from the world, unjustly robbed of normal lives. But Jack is born in Room, and Ma realises that there is no point in teaching her son about the real world when she can’t prove to him that it actually exists. Why disillusion him with what he can’t have? Of course, once Jack starts asking questions and Ma is forced to tell him the ugly truth, said truth is extremely difficult for him to comprehend, as it should be -- he's just a kid, after all, and grossly adult things like kidnapping and captivity aren't things he should have to grapple with at his age. Yet Jack's failure to understand leads to a saddening lack of empathy. The poor kid doesn't really want to leave Room; outside is big and scary and full of People and Places and Things, three things he has literally never had to deal with. Ma, obviously, feels the exact opposite: while to Jack, Room is the perfect size, to Ma it has always been cramped, stifling, suffocating, the walls bearing down on her more and more with every passing day. She can see her life trickling down the drain as she wastes away in this tiny box, and she wants out because she knows there is an Out. Jack only knows In. Ma has a home outside of Room, but to Jack, Room is home, and he's perfectly happy there, thank you very much. Mother and son can't see eye to eye -- Jack because he's too little, Ma because she's too miserable -- and this creates friction, Ma often finding herself frustrated with Jack's lack of interest in escaping Room. Their  worldviews -- and by that I mean their literal view of the world -- differ so strongly and so vastly, a factor Donoghue lost no time in taking advantage of; Jack's stubborn nature was natural and convincing, a perfect representation of a child responding to trauma they don't even know they're undergoing, but it wasn't Jack's obstinacy that I loved so much in the book; it was because despite his stubbornness, despite what he knew and despite what he may have wanted, Jack tried his best to help Ma escape Room anyway, because that was what she so desperately desired. 

That, for me, was what Room was all about: sacrifice. Room is a book about a tiny, tight-knit family surviving on the bones of their asses; it's about a little boy running against everything he believes because his mother asked it of him. The tagline for Room is "Love knows no boundaries", and it's in Jack's sacrifice that we see it come true. Room is all Jack knows. It's where he was born, where he has grown up, where his entire world is contained -- but he is willing to remove himself from the literal boundaries of Room's walls and throw himself into the real world if it means Ma will be happy, if it means Ma will come back to him. This is where I found the ultimate poignancy and power in Donoghue's stunning novel. This book is a story about family. It’s about hardship, and suffering, and making the most out of an awful situation. It’s about learning, and not just learning, but education, too, and I assure you that there’s a difference in this book. It’s about living and growing and understanding each other, or at the very least, trying to; trying to empathise, trying to Get It, trying to do everything you can for the people you love even when you don’t Get It at all. With the force of a freight train, Room struck me and bloodied me and left me begging for mercy, but it also left me brighter-eyed, and not just because I was moved almost to tears. As author Audrey Niffenegger put it, when I finished reading Room, I looked up and found that the world looked the same, but I was somehow different. Maybe the world looked more beautiful than I remembered -- or maybe Room has taught me never to take that world for granted. God knows I’m lucky enough to be able to look out at it at all.

 
 
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