Synesthesia: the Creative Gene?
Twenty-seven is an ugly number: twos are green and sevens are orange, and the result is that twenty-seven is a muddy-brown color. This is an example of synesthesia (a combination of the word “syn,” meaning “joined,” and “asthesia,” meaning “feeling”). Synesthesia is a neurological condition in which there is more “cross talk” between certain regions of the brain than is expected. During a lecture on Synesthesia at the Univeristy of Sydney, Dr. David Eagleman explained the result of this extra “cross-talk”: for a synesthete, stimulation of one sense (vision, hearing, taste, touch or smell) triggers a reaction in more than just the region of the brain concerned with that sense. A synesthete might taste sound, see music, feel tastes, or experience virtually any other combination of the senses (Eagleman, 2013).
In their book Wednesday is Indigo Blue: Discovering the Brain of Synesthesia, Dr. Eagleman and his associate Dr. Richard Cytowic explain that for many years synesthesia was dismissed by psychologists as simple over-imagination, lies, or metaphoric talk. It was thought that synesthetes were either crazy or simply being artistic (2009). “A baritone has a round shape”; “Blue is a sharper color and has lines and angles, green has curves, soft balls, and discs”; and “ Eights are yellow... a square feels like mashed potatoes, and the name Steve is somehow like poached eggs”—all are examples of things that synesthetes have said (Cytowic, 1989, p. 34-35). It is easy to see how synesthetes might have been dismissed by psychology and the world as being “artistic”, “metaphoric” or having an “overactive imagination.”
Research from the last 25 to 30 years has disproven these ideas: synesthesia is a genetic condition. The gene for it, based on studies of families with synesthesia present, is thought to be located on the X chromosome (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 9). That gene, or possibly genes, is responsible for synesthetes’ unique perceptions of the world.
And yet, it is possible that people’s first reaction was not that far of the mark; synesthetes may be predisposed to be more creative and think more metaphorically than other people.
To understand why this may be true, one must first understand how a synesthete perceives the world. Synesthetic perceptions are automatic and consistent across time. If the musical note of F-sharp is bright yellow to a synesthete who experiences musical notes as colored, then it will always be bright yellow. If the letter A is green and angry then it will always be green and angry. If chocolate feels like fur brushing across the backs of a synesthete’s hands, then that will always be true as well. Consistency is the hallmark of synesthesia, and it is the way that researchers have been able to differentiate between synesthetes and non-synesthetes.
Working with other researchers, Dr. Eagleman created the website www.synesthete.org where one can take a series of tests called the Synesthesia Battery to determine whether one is a synesthete or not. In 2007 they published an articling explaining of the theories behind, and purposed of, the Synesthesia Battery in the Journal of Neuroscience Methods. In the article they explain that the Synesthesia Battery is a way of testing for synesthesia by assessing the consistency of a person’s experiences, perceptions and associations. The test for grapheme-color synesthesia (the experience of letters and numbers having color) works like this: the participant is given a grapheme (number or letter), and they must choose, out of a pallet of “16.7 million different colors [the one] that most closely match[es] their synesthetic experience” of the grapheme. The participant is show all twenty-six letters, A-Z, and all ten digits, 0-9, three times in a random order and then “the data is then analyzed for consistency,” (Eagleman, et al, 2007).
A synesthete will answer fairly consistently each time they are asked to pick a color for a specific letter or number, whereas non-synesthetic control subjects struggled significantly more to keep their responses uniform (Eagleman, et al, 2007). It is interesting to note that, while synesthetic perceptions are consistent across the life of an individual synesthete, such perceptions vary wildly between synesthetes, even those who are biologically related to one another (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 64).
For a synesthete, a synesthetic perception is just as real and memorable as the external stimulus. The letter “o” is just as black as it is round. In fact, sometimes synesthetes find the synesthetic perception to be even more memorable than the original stimulus. One synesthete remembers saying, “I don’t remember the name, but I think it was blue” (Cytowic, 1989, p. 52). A taste-texture synesthete expressed disappointment in the chicken he had just cooked because it was “too round” and didn’t have “enough points” (Cytowic, 1989, p. 11). Along with being clear and vivid, a synesthete’s experiences are also involuntary; they don’t require energy, concentration or effort.
All these pieces combine so that, for a synesthete, their perceptions seem so natural that they assume everyone else experiences the world in the same way. Many synesthetes continue to believe this well into adulthood; Dr. Cytowic had a co-worker once say to him, “‘You know how strychnine smells pink?’ assuming that [he] would” (Cytowic, 1989, p. 10). Often if they are talking to a non-synesthete, the person’s explanation of their experience is met with confusion and dismissal. “My parents thought I was very strange. They thought I was making it up to get attention,” said one synesthete. One babysitter even told the parents of her four-year-old charge that their son was psychotic, because he had been making crayon drawings of sounds and describing taste in terms of colors and shapes (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 10). As Peter Grossenbacher of the National Institutes of Health said, “We tend to assume that reality is the same for everybody” (Lemley, 1999). Eventually, though, whether it is in childhood or adulthood, most synesthetes will come to the startling realization that their experiences are not universal (Cytowic, 1989).
Or are they? The current theory is that everyone is born synesthetic, but that they lose that extra perception in infancy or early childhood (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009). Professor of Developmental Psychopathology, Simon Baron-Cohen has done studies which show that when they are exposed to stimulus the responses in the cortex of infants’ brains are all very similar, regardless of the type of stimulus (as cited in Lemley, 1999). Also evidence of this is the fact that even non-synesthetes can quite easily make synesthetic associations. For example, most adults associate higher pitches with brighter colors and smaller shapes, while lower pitches are associated with darker colors and larger shapes (Marks, 1989). An experiment done by Catherine J. Mondloch and Daphne Maurer at McMaster College in 2004 showed that children as young as two-and-a-half or three associated higher pitches with brighter colors and lower pitches with darker colors. They also associated higher pitches with smaller object and lower pitches with larger objects, although that correlation was slightly weaker (Mondloch & Maurer, 2004). A study by Lawrence E. Marks (1987) suggested that the latter association wasn’t solidified until around age 11 (as cited in Marks, 2011). Yale professor, and Doctor of Psychology, Lawrence E. Marks theorized that the pitch/size association is a learned one, based on the experience of object resonance.
The association between pitch and brightness, however, has no basis in the external world, and yet it is an association consistent across all ages. Some association between apparently unrelated senses appears to be hard-wired into the human brain. As Marks writes, it is possible that the association between, “pitch and brightness [manifests itself] in a small portion of the population as auditory-visual synesthesia, and in the vast majority of the population as similarity” (2011).
Pitch and brightness are only the beginning of the synesthetic way of thinking and perceiving that almost all humans experience. Synesthetic metaphors permeate the English language (and other languages as well) (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009). A person can be “sweet”, or “bitter”; neither of those qualities are in any way related to the person’s physical taste and yet they are understood. A cheese can be “sharp,” a person can be “down,” an idea can be “up in the air.” To take an example from before, a noise can be “thin” and “piercing.” The English language is filled with examples of these types of metaphors, and all except the most literal minded of people understand and use them effortlessly.
The ability to understand and create metaphors, to link two distinct and apparently unrelated concepts to show a similarity, is an artistic one. Understanding the words and phrases used everyday in the English language requires a certain amount of creativity and imagination. Not everything is meant to be taken literally; language is built upon layers and layers of connections and similarities, contrasts and equivalencies, and most people navigate it with little difficulty. It is the artists among us, however, that take these connections to a new level. Musicians paint an emotional landscape with their notes; writers create the rhythm by which a reader is pulled along, just through small graphic symbols on a page; and the visual artists of the world express any number of stimuli on paper or canvas.
The ability to do this, to connect disparate experiences and express them in a unique way, is a highly creative one. So a correlation between creativity and synesthesia does not seem like a difficult leap to make. A synesthete’s perception of the world already inherently contains the linking of two (or more) distinct senses, so it seems likely that the more synesthetic a person’s perception of the world is, the more likely they would be to express creativity.
Another reason that this might be the case is that synesthesia is estimated to be present in 1:23 people. As a genetically inherited condition, there is likely some reason that the trait has persisted and is so common. Cytowic and Eagleman venture the guess that the benefit of synesthesia is, “creativity—specifically, an ease for making metaphoric cross-connections” (2009, p. 194).
George Domino of Arizona University used four tests to measure the creativity of synesthetic fine arts students against the creativity of their non-synesthetic peers. The synesthetes scored significantly higher on all four tests (1989). A study at University College in London gave 82 synesthetes two different tests of creativity: a “Remote Associates Test” and an “Alternate Uses Test.” Synesthetes outperformed controls on the Remote Associations Test, but not on the other (Ward, et al, 2008). In a poll done by psychologist Carol Crane, it was found that about 15% of non-synesthetes had “formal art or music training.” Among synesthetes the percentage was as high as 85%. (This poll, however, was unpublished and these percentages have not been verified (as cited in Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 173).) The previously mentioned study at University College in London found that “there was a significant tendency for synaesthetes to spend more time engaged in creative arts” (Ward, et al, 2008). A study was done at the University of Maine that graphed the correlation between creativity level and synesthetic tendency and found that the two had a fairly strong correlation. Since this study compared the level of creativity and synesthetic tendencies in non-synesthetes it doesn’t provide much information about actual synesthetes, but does provide an interesting insight into what it means to be “creative” (Dailey, Martindale, & Borkum, 1997). A study done by Catherine Mulvenna, Dana Sanders, and Edward Hubbard showed that synesthesia was a better indicator of creativity (defined as fluency, flexibility, and originality) than age, gender or intelligence (as cited in Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 197-198). These studies were all sparked by the vast amount of anecdotal evidence linking synesthesia to creativity and art.
The literature on synesthesia is filled with examples of famous artists who are synesthetes, and of synesthetes who are artists. Russian composers Alexander Scriabin and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and French composer Olivier Messiaen, for example, all had sound- color synesthesia. Scribian composed “Prometheus, The Poem of Fire,” a piece which along with having parts for an orchestra and piano, had a part written in for a “mute keyboard that could control the play of colored light in the form of beams, clouds and so forth” (Cytowic, 1989, p. 271). In the score, the part for this instrument was written in standard musical notation, which Scribian provided a key for (Cytowic, 1989, p. 271). Messiaen used both math and his synesthesia to compose his music (Cytowic, 1989, p. 266). Other famous suspected or self- indentified synesthetic musicians include: Mary J. Blige (Sessums), Billy Joel (Seaberg, 2012), Stevie Wonder (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 93), Kanye West (McQueen) and Charli XCX (Savage, 2013), most of whom have some sort of sound-color synesthesia.
Famous sound-color synesthetes have not just been musicians, however. David Hockney uses his synesthesia to design costume and stage sets for the ballets and operas he works on, using the music of the performance to drive his creativity. In his case, sound-color synesthesia inspires visual art. Both Jane Bowerman and Carol Steen use their synesthetic experiences of music to inspire paintings, and Steen also uses them to inspire sculptures (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 178-183).
Other types of synesthesia have inspired artists as well. In his 1949 book, “Portrait of My Mother,” Russian writer Vladimir Nabokov describes his grapheme-color synesthesia in great detail: "The color sensations seem to be produced by the very act of my orally forming a given letter while I imagine its outline. The long a of the English alphabet has for me the tint of weathered wood, but the French a evokes polished ebony. This black group also includes hard “g”—vulcanized rubber—and “r”—a sooty rag. Oatmeal “n,” noodle-limp “l,” and the ivory-backed hand mirror of “o” take care of the whites. Passing on to the blue group, there is steely x, thundercloud z, and huckleberry k" (as cited in Cytowic, 1989, p. 56). Nabokov’s mother also appears to have been synesthetic (supporting the theory that synesthesia is genetic). In the same book, Nabokov describes a scene in which, as a young child, he complained to his mother that the colors of his alphabetic blocks were “all wrong” and she understood immediately what he meant (Cytowic, 1989, p. 56). Nabokov wrote about synesthetic experiences in his novels and used them to inspire more synesthetic descriptions in his writing (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 175).
Writer and polyglot, Daniel Tammet uses his grapheme-shape/color/texture/personality synesthesia to learn languages and preform complicated mathematical problems in his head. He is known for breaking the world record for digits of pi memorized in 2004 (he recited 22,000 of them) and also for learning to speak Icelandic in one week (Tammet, 2006). Tammet’s extraordinary abilities with words and number, while not traditionally artistic, are still the results of a uniquely creative mind.
Each of these studies or examples on its own would be evidence of very little, but together they form a convincing picture. There is a correlation between synesthesia and creativity. Of course correlation does not prove causation, and in this case it is difficult to tell if creative thinking is an ability caused by synesthesia, or if part of the definition of creativity is synesthetic thinking, in which synesthetes have an genetic advantage. Either way, people cannot be broken up into binaries: Synesthetes and non-synesthetes, creative people and uncreative people. Most people are capable of creative thought and most people are capable of synesthetic thought. Not all great artists are synesthetes and certainly not all synesthetes are great artists. The most that can be said is that there is a correlation, and that synesthesia and creativity are two deeply intertwined concepts. An idea that, perhaps unsurprisingly, we seem to have known from the beginning.
REFERENCES
Cytowic, R. E. (1989). Synesthesia: A union of the senses. New York, NY: Springer-Verlag.
Dailey, A., Martindale, C., & Borkum, J. (1997). Creativity, synesthesia, and physiognomic perception. Creativity Research Journal, 10(1), 1-8. doi: 10.1207/s15326934crj1001_1
Domino, G. (1989). Synesthesia and creativity in fine arts students: An empirical look. Creativity Research Journal, 2(1-2), 17-29. doi: 10.1080/10400418909534297
Eagleman, D. (2013). Synesthesia: Hearing colours, tasting sounds [video recording]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSw2ocXkJ5w
Eagleman, D., & Cytowic R. E. (2009). Wednesday is indigo blue: Discovering the brain of synesthesia. Cambridge, MA: Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
Eagleman, D., Kagan, A. D., Nelson, S. S., Sagaram, D., Sarma, A. K. (2007). The Synesthesia Battery. Retrieved from http://www.synesthete.org
Eagleman, D., Kagan, A. D., Nelson, S. S., Sagaram, D., Sarma, A. K. (2007). A standardized test battery for the study of synesthesia. Journal of Neuroscience Methods, 159(1),139-145.
Lemley, B., (1999). Do you see what they see? Discover. Retrieved from http://discovermagazine.com/1999/dec/doyouseewhatthey1734/
Marks, L. E. (1989). On cross-modal similarity: The perceptual structure of pitch, loudness, and brightness. Journal of Experimental Psychology: Human Perception and Performance, 15, 586-602.
Marks, L. E. (2011). Synesthesia, then and now. Intellectica, 1(55), 47-80.
McQueen, S. Kanye West. Interview Magazine. Retrieved from http:// www.interviewmagazine.com/music/kanye-west#page6
Mondloch, C. J., & Maurer, D. (2004). Do small white balls squeak? Pitch-object correspondences in young children. Cognitive, Affective, & Behavioral Neuroscience, 4(2), 133-136.
Savage, M. (2013). Charli XCX: Pop, punk and synaesthesia. BBC News. Retrieved from http:// www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-25330600
Seaberg, M. (2012). He’s got a way about him: America’s piano man, synesthete Billy Joel, finds inspiration in colored music. Sensorium. Retrieved from http:// www.psychologytoday.com/blog/tasting-the-universe/201205/hes-got-way-about-him
Sessums, K. Regal and real: Mary J. Blige. Los Angeles Confidential. Retrieved from http://la- confidential-magazine.com/personalities/articles/mary-j-blige-kevin-sessums- interview#aELGpQHj50Yc4Vdi.99
Ward, J., Thompson-Lake, D., Ely, R., & Kaminski, F. (2008). Synaesthesia, creativity and art: What is the link? British Journal of Psychology, 99, 127–141.
Tammet, D. (2006). Born on a blue day: Inside the extraordinary mind of an autistic savant. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
In their book Wednesday is Indigo Blue: Discovering the Brain of Synesthesia, Dr. Eagleman and his associate Dr. Richard Cytowic explain that for many years synesthesia was dismissed by psychologists as simple over-imagination, lies, or metaphoric talk. It was thought that synesthetes were either crazy or simply being artistic (2009). “A baritone has a round shape”; “Blue is a sharper color and has lines and angles, green has curves, soft balls, and discs”; and “ Eights are yellow... a square feels like mashed potatoes, and the name Steve is somehow like poached eggs”—all are examples of things that synesthetes have said (Cytowic, 1989, p. 34-35). It is easy to see how synesthetes might have been dismissed by psychology and the world as being “artistic”, “metaphoric” or having an “overactive imagination.”
Research from the last 25 to 30 years has disproven these ideas: synesthesia is a genetic condition. The gene for it, based on studies of families with synesthesia present, is thought to be located on the X chromosome (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 9). That gene, or possibly genes, is responsible for synesthetes’ unique perceptions of the world.
And yet, it is possible that people’s first reaction was not that far of the mark; synesthetes may be predisposed to be more creative and think more metaphorically than other people.
To understand why this may be true, one must first understand how a synesthete perceives the world. Synesthetic perceptions are automatic and consistent across time. If the musical note of F-sharp is bright yellow to a synesthete who experiences musical notes as colored, then it will always be bright yellow. If the letter A is green and angry then it will always be green and angry. If chocolate feels like fur brushing across the backs of a synesthete’s hands, then that will always be true as well. Consistency is the hallmark of synesthesia, and it is the way that researchers have been able to differentiate between synesthetes and non-synesthetes.
Working with other researchers, Dr. Eagleman created the website www.synesthete.org where one can take a series of tests called the Synesthesia Battery to determine whether one is a synesthete or not. In 2007 they published an articling explaining of the theories behind, and purposed of, the Synesthesia Battery in the Journal of Neuroscience Methods. In the article they explain that the Synesthesia Battery is a way of testing for synesthesia by assessing the consistency of a person’s experiences, perceptions and associations. The test for grapheme-color synesthesia (the experience of letters and numbers having color) works like this: the participant is given a grapheme (number or letter), and they must choose, out of a pallet of “16.7 million different colors [the one] that most closely match[es] their synesthetic experience” of the grapheme. The participant is show all twenty-six letters, A-Z, and all ten digits, 0-9, three times in a random order and then “the data is then analyzed for consistency,” (Eagleman, et al, 2007).
A synesthete will answer fairly consistently each time they are asked to pick a color for a specific letter or number, whereas non-synesthetic control subjects struggled significantly more to keep their responses uniform (Eagleman, et al, 2007). It is interesting to note that, while synesthetic perceptions are consistent across the life of an individual synesthete, such perceptions vary wildly between synesthetes, even those who are biologically related to one another (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 64).
For a synesthete, a synesthetic perception is just as real and memorable as the external stimulus. The letter “o” is just as black as it is round. In fact, sometimes synesthetes find the synesthetic perception to be even more memorable than the original stimulus. One synesthete remembers saying, “I don’t remember the name, but I think it was blue” (Cytowic, 1989, p. 52). A taste-texture synesthete expressed disappointment in the chicken he had just cooked because it was “too round” and didn’t have “enough points” (Cytowic, 1989, p. 11). Along with being clear and vivid, a synesthete’s experiences are also involuntary; they don’t require energy, concentration or effort.
All these pieces combine so that, for a synesthete, their perceptions seem so natural that they assume everyone else experiences the world in the same way. Many synesthetes continue to believe this well into adulthood; Dr. Cytowic had a co-worker once say to him, “‘You know how strychnine smells pink?’ assuming that [he] would” (Cytowic, 1989, p. 10). Often if they are talking to a non-synesthete, the person’s explanation of their experience is met with confusion and dismissal. “My parents thought I was very strange. They thought I was making it up to get attention,” said one synesthete. One babysitter even told the parents of her four-year-old charge that their son was psychotic, because he had been making crayon drawings of sounds and describing taste in terms of colors and shapes (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 10). As Peter Grossenbacher of the National Institutes of Health said, “We tend to assume that reality is the same for everybody” (Lemley, 1999). Eventually, though, whether it is in childhood or adulthood, most synesthetes will come to the startling realization that their experiences are not universal (Cytowic, 1989).
Or are they? The current theory is that everyone is born synesthetic, but that they lose that extra perception in infancy or early childhood (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009). Professor of Developmental Psychopathology, Simon Baron-Cohen has done studies which show that when they are exposed to stimulus the responses in the cortex of infants’ brains are all very similar, regardless of the type of stimulus (as cited in Lemley, 1999). Also evidence of this is the fact that even non-synesthetes can quite easily make synesthetic associations. For example, most adults associate higher pitches with brighter colors and smaller shapes, while lower pitches are associated with darker colors and larger shapes (Marks, 1989). An experiment done by Catherine J. Mondloch and Daphne Maurer at McMaster College in 2004 showed that children as young as two-and-a-half or three associated higher pitches with brighter colors and lower pitches with darker colors. They also associated higher pitches with smaller object and lower pitches with larger objects, although that correlation was slightly weaker (Mondloch & Maurer, 2004). A study by Lawrence E. Marks (1987) suggested that the latter association wasn’t solidified until around age 11 (as cited in Marks, 2011). Yale professor, and Doctor of Psychology, Lawrence E. Marks theorized that the pitch/size association is a learned one, based on the experience of object resonance.
The association between pitch and brightness, however, has no basis in the external world, and yet it is an association consistent across all ages. Some association between apparently unrelated senses appears to be hard-wired into the human brain. As Marks writes, it is possible that the association between, “pitch and brightness [manifests itself] in a small portion of the population as auditory-visual synesthesia, and in the vast majority of the population as similarity” (2011).
Pitch and brightness are only the beginning of the synesthetic way of thinking and perceiving that almost all humans experience. Synesthetic metaphors permeate the English language (and other languages as well) (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009). A person can be “sweet”, or “bitter”; neither of those qualities are in any way related to the person’s physical taste and yet they are understood. A cheese can be “sharp,” a person can be “down,” an idea can be “up in the air.” To take an example from before, a noise can be “thin” and “piercing.” The English language is filled with examples of these types of metaphors, and all except the most literal minded of people understand and use them effortlessly.
The ability to understand and create metaphors, to link two distinct and apparently unrelated concepts to show a similarity, is an artistic one. Understanding the words and phrases used everyday in the English language requires a certain amount of creativity and imagination. Not everything is meant to be taken literally; language is built upon layers and layers of connections and similarities, contrasts and equivalencies, and most people navigate it with little difficulty. It is the artists among us, however, that take these connections to a new level. Musicians paint an emotional landscape with their notes; writers create the rhythm by which a reader is pulled along, just through small graphic symbols on a page; and the visual artists of the world express any number of stimuli on paper or canvas.
The ability to do this, to connect disparate experiences and express them in a unique way, is a highly creative one. So a correlation between creativity and synesthesia does not seem like a difficult leap to make. A synesthete’s perception of the world already inherently contains the linking of two (or more) distinct senses, so it seems likely that the more synesthetic a person’s perception of the world is, the more likely they would be to express creativity.
Another reason that this might be the case is that synesthesia is estimated to be present in 1:23 people. As a genetically inherited condition, there is likely some reason that the trait has persisted and is so common. Cytowic and Eagleman venture the guess that the benefit of synesthesia is, “creativity—specifically, an ease for making metaphoric cross-connections” (2009, p. 194).
George Domino of Arizona University used four tests to measure the creativity of synesthetic fine arts students against the creativity of their non-synesthetic peers. The synesthetes scored significantly higher on all four tests (1989). A study at University College in London gave 82 synesthetes two different tests of creativity: a “Remote Associates Test” and an “Alternate Uses Test.” Synesthetes outperformed controls on the Remote Associations Test, but not on the other (Ward, et al, 2008). In a poll done by psychologist Carol Crane, it was found that about 15% of non-synesthetes had “formal art or music training.” Among synesthetes the percentage was as high as 85%. (This poll, however, was unpublished and these percentages have not been verified (as cited in Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 173).) The previously mentioned study at University College in London found that “there was a significant tendency for synaesthetes to spend more time engaged in creative arts” (Ward, et al, 2008). A study was done at the University of Maine that graphed the correlation between creativity level and synesthetic tendency and found that the two had a fairly strong correlation. Since this study compared the level of creativity and synesthetic tendencies in non-synesthetes it doesn’t provide much information about actual synesthetes, but does provide an interesting insight into what it means to be “creative” (Dailey, Martindale, & Borkum, 1997). A study done by Catherine Mulvenna, Dana Sanders, and Edward Hubbard showed that synesthesia was a better indicator of creativity (defined as fluency, flexibility, and originality) than age, gender or intelligence (as cited in Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 197-198). These studies were all sparked by the vast amount of anecdotal evidence linking synesthesia to creativity and art.
The literature on synesthesia is filled with examples of famous artists who are synesthetes, and of synesthetes who are artists. Russian composers Alexander Scriabin and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and French composer Olivier Messiaen, for example, all had sound- color synesthesia. Scribian composed “Prometheus, The Poem of Fire,” a piece which along with having parts for an orchestra and piano, had a part written in for a “mute keyboard that could control the play of colored light in the form of beams, clouds and so forth” (Cytowic, 1989, p. 271). In the score, the part for this instrument was written in standard musical notation, which Scribian provided a key for (Cytowic, 1989, p. 271). Messiaen used both math and his synesthesia to compose his music (Cytowic, 1989, p. 266). Other famous suspected or self- indentified synesthetic musicians include: Mary J. Blige (Sessums), Billy Joel (Seaberg, 2012), Stevie Wonder (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 93), Kanye West (McQueen) and Charli XCX (Savage, 2013), most of whom have some sort of sound-color synesthesia.
Famous sound-color synesthetes have not just been musicians, however. David Hockney uses his synesthesia to design costume and stage sets for the ballets and operas he works on, using the music of the performance to drive his creativity. In his case, sound-color synesthesia inspires visual art. Both Jane Bowerman and Carol Steen use their synesthetic experiences of music to inspire paintings, and Steen also uses them to inspire sculptures (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 178-183).
Other types of synesthesia have inspired artists as well. In his 1949 book, “Portrait of My Mother,” Russian writer Vladimir Nabokov describes his grapheme-color synesthesia in great detail: "The color sensations seem to be produced by the very act of my orally forming a given letter while I imagine its outline. The long a of the English alphabet has for me the tint of weathered wood, but the French a evokes polished ebony. This black group also includes hard “g”—vulcanized rubber—and “r”—a sooty rag. Oatmeal “n,” noodle-limp “l,” and the ivory-backed hand mirror of “o” take care of the whites. Passing on to the blue group, there is steely x, thundercloud z, and huckleberry k" (as cited in Cytowic, 1989, p. 56). Nabokov’s mother also appears to have been synesthetic (supporting the theory that synesthesia is genetic). In the same book, Nabokov describes a scene in which, as a young child, he complained to his mother that the colors of his alphabetic blocks were “all wrong” and she understood immediately what he meant (Cytowic, 1989, p. 56). Nabokov wrote about synesthetic experiences in his novels and used them to inspire more synesthetic descriptions in his writing (Eagleman & Cytowic, 2009, p. 175).
Writer and polyglot, Daniel Tammet uses his grapheme-shape/color/texture/personality synesthesia to learn languages and preform complicated mathematical problems in his head. He is known for breaking the world record for digits of pi memorized in 2004 (he recited 22,000 of them) and also for learning to speak Icelandic in one week (Tammet, 2006). Tammet’s extraordinary abilities with words and number, while not traditionally artistic, are still the results of a uniquely creative mind.
Each of these studies or examples on its own would be evidence of very little, but together they form a convincing picture. There is a correlation between synesthesia and creativity. Of course correlation does not prove causation, and in this case it is difficult to tell if creative thinking is an ability caused by synesthesia, or if part of the definition of creativity is synesthetic thinking, in which synesthetes have an genetic advantage. Either way, people cannot be broken up into binaries: Synesthetes and non-synesthetes, creative people and uncreative people. Most people are capable of creative thought and most people are capable of synesthetic thought. Not all great artists are synesthetes and certainly not all synesthetes are great artists. The most that can be said is that there is a correlation, and that synesthesia and creativity are two deeply intertwined concepts. An idea that, perhaps unsurprisingly, we seem to have known from the beginning.
REFERENCES
Cytowic, R. E. (1989). Synesthesia: A union of the senses. New York, NY: Springer-Verlag.
Dailey, A., Martindale, C., & Borkum, J. (1997). Creativity, synesthesia, and physiognomic perception. Creativity Research Journal, 10(1), 1-8. doi: 10.1207/s15326934crj1001_1
Domino, G. (1989). Synesthesia and creativity in fine arts students: An empirical look. Creativity Research Journal, 2(1-2), 17-29. doi: 10.1080/10400418909534297
Eagleman, D. (2013). Synesthesia: Hearing colours, tasting sounds [video recording]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSw2ocXkJ5w
Eagleman, D., & Cytowic R. E. (2009). Wednesday is indigo blue: Discovering the brain of synesthesia. Cambridge, MA: Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
Eagleman, D., Kagan, A. D., Nelson, S. S., Sagaram, D., Sarma, A. K. (2007). The Synesthesia Battery. Retrieved from http://www.synesthete.org
Eagleman, D., Kagan, A. D., Nelson, S. S., Sagaram, D., Sarma, A. K. (2007). A standardized test battery for the study of synesthesia. Journal of Neuroscience Methods, 159(1),139-145.
Lemley, B., (1999). Do you see what they see? Discover. Retrieved from http://discovermagazine.com/1999/dec/doyouseewhatthey1734/
Marks, L. E. (1989). On cross-modal similarity: The perceptual structure of pitch, loudness, and brightness. Journal of Experimental Psychology: Human Perception and Performance, 15, 586-602.
Marks, L. E. (2011). Synesthesia, then and now. Intellectica, 1(55), 47-80.
McQueen, S. Kanye West. Interview Magazine. Retrieved from http:// www.interviewmagazine.com/music/kanye-west#page6
Mondloch, C. J., & Maurer, D. (2004). Do small white balls squeak? Pitch-object correspondences in young children. Cognitive, Affective, & Behavioral Neuroscience, 4(2), 133-136.
Savage, M. (2013). Charli XCX: Pop, punk and synaesthesia. BBC News. Retrieved from http:// www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-25330600
Seaberg, M. (2012). He’s got a way about him: America’s piano man, synesthete Billy Joel, finds inspiration in colored music. Sensorium. Retrieved from http:// www.psychologytoday.com/blog/tasting-the-universe/201205/hes-got-way-about-him
Sessums, K. Regal and real: Mary J. Blige. Los Angeles Confidential. Retrieved from http://la- confidential-magazine.com/personalities/articles/mary-j-blige-kevin-sessums- interview#aELGpQHj50Yc4Vdi.99
Ward, J., Thompson-Lake, D., Ely, R., & Kaminski, F. (2008). Synaesthesia, creativity and art: What is the link? British Journal of Psychology, 99, 127–141.
Tammet, D. (2006). Born on a blue day: Inside the extraordinary mind of an autistic savant. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
The Quest to Becoming a Lady Knight
Many Young Adult Fantasy novels include the archetype of a girl dressing up as boys in order to make it in a “man’s world.” In Tamora Pierce’s Alanna: The First Adventure, young Alanna of Trebond must pretend to be a boy so that she can follow her dream of becoming a knight. In Alanna’s quest to become a knight she has to challenge gender roles of her society in two ways. The first is institutional; the organization (the royal court) that she is aiming to join, as a rule only accepts boys of noble birth. The second is her own internalized understanding of her proscribed gender role. In order to become the woman warrior she aims to be she must overcome her doubt that she, a girl, can be strong enough and worthy enough of that title. Alanna overcomes the first challenge by pretending to be a boy and the second through the acceptance and support of her peers. Though by the end of the book Alanna has succeeded on both of these counts, her story fails to challenge the gender stereotypes of her society in three major ways. The first is that Alanna’s success is dependent masculinity. The first challenge of institutionalized gender roles she overcomes by disguising herself physically and socially as a boy. The second way that the story fails to challenge gender stereotypes is by failing to differentiate between Alanna’s internalized misogyny and her fear of rejection do to societal misogyny. This delegitimizes her worries over what other people will think of her and ignores the fact that misogynistic individuals are very likely to exist is a society with misogynistic institutions. Both of these issues could have been avoided through the presence of more well-developed and diverse female characters, but here the book fails a third time. So, while Alanna’s disguise and inherent masculinity allow her to triumph over the proscribed gender roles of her world in the broadest sense, her dependence on those qualities, the dismissal of her fears of misogyny and the lack of diverse female representation result a story which does not challenge gender stereotypes as much as it could have and avoids some of the major challenges that a person would actually face while trying to challenge a misogynistic society.
The very first challenge Alanna is met with when she decides that she wants to become a knight is passing herself off as a boy. She very quickly joins the rank of women in our world who “for centuries... have worn mens clothing for many reasons: to travel more safely, to find employment, to express themselves, and for physical comfort and ease of movement” (Inness 60). Because she is only ten years old at the beginning of the story, disguising herself as a boy physically presents no challenge at all so long as no one ever sees her naked. She doesn’t even have particularly feminine features as evidenced by the fact that, with the exception of hair length, she and her twin brother are virtually indistinguishable. In fact Alanna and her brother take advantage of the fact that “[i]n face and body shape, dressed alike, they would have looked alike,” when they switch places (Pierce 4).
Alanna’s personality also lends itself relatively well to passing as a boy. From the very first page of the book Alanna voices her disdain for feminine pastimes and mannerism. “‘Walk slowly, Alanna’... ‘Sit still, Alanna.’ ‘Shoulders back, Alanna.’ As if that’s all I can do with myself!” she says (Pierce 3). She is portrayed as having traditionally masculine interests, like tilting and fencing, interests which stand in direct contrast to her twin brother’s (Pierce 4). She is physically coordinated and excels at tasks such as hiking and horseback riding, while her brother likes neither and is described by the man who raised them as a “weakling,” while Alanna is a “fighter” (Pierce 15). In this way the book succeeds in undermining the idea “that toughness is not as ‘natural’ for women as it often appears to be for men in movies and books” (Inness 124). The book succeeds in challenging gender stereotypes in this case, because Alanna’s toughness is never undermined or questioned as is often the case in other media. Inness writes that “no matter how tough and masculine [a character] might appear to be at times, the media make sure to highlight her femininity and beauty, reducing her edge” (92). Alanna’s edge is never reduced. She is without a doubt the type of heroine “who makes [people] recognize that women can be just as tough as the boys” (Inness 176). Alanna’s personality is never something she has to fake or hide to pass as a boy and she quickly finds a group of friends.
Having overcome the challenge of passing herself off as a boy Alanna then has to go about overcoming her own internalized misogyny. Alanna has internalized the values of her society in which women born to nobility are “ladies” and the men get to have all the adventures. She views herself as inherently weaker and feels that she has to become the strongest and toughest or others will view her the same way. After soundly beating up an older boy who had been bullying her, Alanna vomits and feels ashamed of her win. She thinks that regardless of what had just happened she “was still a girl masquerading as a boy, and sometimes she doubted that she would ever believe herself to as good as the stupidest, clumsiest male” (Pierce 88). Her friends, however, think differently. Her friend Rhoul says: “[Y]ou seem to think we won’t like you unless you do things just like everyone else. Have you ever though we might like you because you’re different?” (Pierce 121). Alanna is reassured of her worth again when she reveals her secret to her friend George. At first he is shocked by this revelation, but he quickly overcomes it and returns to treating her with the same sort of course affection that he had before (Pierce 150-151). By this time Alanna’s gender is revealed to her friend Jonathan at the end of the book, she has gained enough confidence to believe she is worthy of the path she has chosen, despite being female. This is evidenced when Jonathan asks her for advice on which of her class he should pick to take on as his squire. As she thinks about her answer Alanna realizes her own increased sense of worth. She is finally able to accept the praise her friends and instructors. She answers that he should pick her. By this point in the book Alanna has gained enough confidence to believe that she is worthy of being the person and knight she wants to be. She has overcome her second challenge, realizing her own worth and validity.
On the surface this is a book about overcoming a misogynistic system, one that won’t allow girls to be knights, and conquering the internalized misogyny that most women raised in such a society would have. Alanna: The First Adventure is, in fact, about both of these things, but when the story is examined a little closer, some weaknesses come to light.
Alanna’s relative lack of a struggle to pass herself off as a boy, either physically or socially is what allows her to overcome the gender boundaries of her world and it can be viewed as both a positive or a negative thing. It does allow Alanna to be the type of heroine who “transgresses the gender boundaries that our society holds to be ‘normal’ and suggests that males and female identities may not be as closely aligned with masculinity and femininity, respectively, as has long been presumed to be true” (Inness 135). However, the unintended message that is sent by this is that any feminine qualities Alanna might have had (indeed, the few that she does have) would have made achieving her goal more difficult. As mentioned before, Alanna has a rather traditionally masculine personality, but she is also relatively unfeminine physically. Though in some ways this breaks down gender expectations, it also is very convenient to the plot and allows Alanna and the author to avoid many of the challenges the majority of women would face if they were trying to pass as male. Alanna’s breasts are conveniently small and no other physical attributes that might be viewed as feminine are ever mentioned (Pierce 119). By making Alanna so masculine the author implies, most likely unintentionally, that a more traditionally feminine bodied person would not have been able to overcome the challenges that Alanna faces.
Alanna’s body is also the victim of her own internalized misogyny, the second challenge which Alanna successfully overcomes during the story. Again, the fact that Alanna conquers her own doubt on this front can be viewed as success of the book, but when it is examined more closely, her victory presents some weaknesses. Alanna’s internalized misogyny is very wrapped up in her fear of the way others will view her when they realize that she is a woman. In fact her fear that she is not strong enough to be a knight because she is a woman and her fear that other people will think she not strong enough to be a knight because she is a woman are almost inseparable in the story. This presents and enormous problem, because while the first fear is one she needs to work to overcome, the second is completely valid. In the process of showing how Alanna overcomes the first fear, through the support and acceptance over her friends, the book completely fails to validate the second fear.
Repeatedly throughout the book, Alanna expresses fear that people will hate her when they find out that she’s a woman. Her reaction to her growing breasts is to say, “I hate it! People will think I’m soft and silly!” (Pierce 119). Her care-giver’s response to this is telling. He says, “Ye’re hardly soft... and th’ only time ye’re silly is when ye talk like this” (Pierce 119). After revealing her true gender to her friend George, Alanna expresses to him concern that everyone might hate her when she eventually does reveal that she is a woman. He says, “I haven’t heard such foolishness in all my life” (Pierce 156). Jonathan also, is entirely accepting of the fact that Alanna is female when he finds out at the end of the book.
In fact throughout the entire book no evidence is ever given to validate Alanna’s fear, nor is Alanna’s worry ever validated by any of her friends. This is a world where women are not allowed to be fighters, and the reader is lead to believe that there are strongly held societal notions of what a woman should be; it seems unlikely that the institutional misogyny of their society does not extend to it’s individuals. This lack of evidence makes Alanna’s fear of judgement and rejection seem unreasonable and silly and makes it seem as though Alanna is the only one who doesn’t believe that she is worthy of being a knight.
One might argue that, since Alanna spends such a vast majority of the book disguised as a boy, she would never be faced with any individual examples of misogyny and since both of the given examples are of Alanna revealing her secret to close friends who already respect and care about her, it is perhaps reasonable to expect that they will accept her.
However, this does not excuse the way Alanna’s friends dismiss her fears and it also brings to light another weakness of the book: it’s lack of female characters. The presence of a diverse cast of openly female characters would have made legitimizing Alanna’s fears simple. However, the story fails to do this. The three women in the story with speaking roles other than Alanna are treated respectfully by both the author and the characters, but they lack the depth or breadth present in the male characters. They are all given the role of healer (Maude), mother (Queen Lianne) or both (Mistress Cooper). Though there is nothing wrong with portraying women in these roles, and these three women are portrayed as kind and skilled at their jobs, the lack of diversity is a weakness of the book. None of these characters are ever the victims of the kind of misogyny Alanna is terrified of and so that fear remains un-legitimized.
This book is the story of a strong (both in the literal and figurative sense) female character breaking outside the gender roles of her medieval-esque world in order to pursue her dreams. On the surface it seems to succeed in delivering its message that a girl can do what ever a boy can do if she puts her mind to it. It is only when the subtleties of her story are examined that it’s shortcomings come to light. Many of the book’s failings were probably a result of an attempt to keep the story at a reasonable length and not overly complicated, this is after all a story aimed a middle-grade to young adult readers. Adding a more diverse cast of female characters would have required more space and complexity, as would the addition of actual misogynistic interactions. Had Alanna not been a naturally masculine looking or behaving girl, she would have struggled substantially more to keep her secret. One might argue that the presence of a masculine girl is in itself breaking down gender boundaries, and that is certainly true, but it also sends the message that a girl has to be masculine to do traditionally masculine things. There is no easy way to achieve both of these points within a single character, which is one of the reasons the book’s lack of other female characters is felt. This book succeeds in showing that a woman can be masculine and have a traditionally masculine career and still have the support of her friends. It fails to show that a woman can be feminine and a fighter and worthy of her dreams, and that fear of misogyny is real and valid, but can still be overcome.
WORKS CITED:
Pierce, Tamora. Alanna: The First Adventure: Song of the Lioness Book One. New York:
Atheneum, 1983. Print.
Inness, Sherrie A. Tough Girls: Women Warriors and Wonder Women in Popular Culture.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999. Print.
The very first challenge Alanna is met with when she decides that she wants to become a knight is passing herself off as a boy. She very quickly joins the rank of women in our world who “for centuries... have worn mens clothing for many reasons: to travel more safely, to find employment, to express themselves, and for physical comfort and ease of movement” (Inness 60). Because she is only ten years old at the beginning of the story, disguising herself as a boy physically presents no challenge at all so long as no one ever sees her naked. She doesn’t even have particularly feminine features as evidenced by the fact that, with the exception of hair length, she and her twin brother are virtually indistinguishable. In fact Alanna and her brother take advantage of the fact that “[i]n face and body shape, dressed alike, they would have looked alike,” when they switch places (Pierce 4).
Alanna’s personality also lends itself relatively well to passing as a boy. From the very first page of the book Alanna voices her disdain for feminine pastimes and mannerism. “‘Walk slowly, Alanna’... ‘Sit still, Alanna.’ ‘Shoulders back, Alanna.’ As if that’s all I can do with myself!” she says (Pierce 3). She is portrayed as having traditionally masculine interests, like tilting and fencing, interests which stand in direct contrast to her twin brother’s (Pierce 4). She is physically coordinated and excels at tasks such as hiking and horseback riding, while her brother likes neither and is described by the man who raised them as a “weakling,” while Alanna is a “fighter” (Pierce 15). In this way the book succeeds in undermining the idea “that toughness is not as ‘natural’ for women as it often appears to be for men in movies and books” (Inness 124). The book succeeds in challenging gender stereotypes in this case, because Alanna’s toughness is never undermined or questioned as is often the case in other media. Inness writes that “no matter how tough and masculine [a character] might appear to be at times, the media make sure to highlight her femininity and beauty, reducing her edge” (92). Alanna’s edge is never reduced. She is without a doubt the type of heroine “who makes [people] recognize that women can be just as tough as the boys” (Inness 176). Alanna’s personality is never something she has to fake or hide to pass as a boy and she quickly finds a group of friends.
Having overcome the challenge of passing herself off as a boy Alanna then has to go about overcoming her own internalized misogyny. Alanna has internalized the values of her society in which women born to nobility are “ladies” and the men get to have all the adventures. She views herself as inherently weaker and feels that she has to become the strongest and toughest or others will view her the same way. After soundly beating up an older boy who had been bullying her, Alanna vomits and feels ashamed of her win. She thinks that regardless of what had just happened she “was still a girl masquerading as a boy, and sometimes she doubted that she would ever believe herself to as good as the stupidest, clumsiest male” (Pierce 88). Her friends, however, think differently. Her friend Rhoul says: “[Y]ou seem to think we won’t like you unless you do things just like everyone else. Have you ever though we might like you because you’re different?” (Pierce 121). Alanna is reassured of her worth again when she reveals her secret to her friend George. At first he is shocked by this revelation, but he quickly overcomes it and returns to treating her with the same sort of course affection that he had before (Pierce 150-151). By this time Alanna’s gender is revealed to her friend Jonathan at the end of the book, she has gained enough confidence to believe she is worthy of the path she has chosen, despite being female. This is evidenced when Jonathan asks her for advice on which of her class he should pick to take on as his squire. As she thinks about her answer Alanna realizes her own increased sense of worth. She is finally able to accept the praise her friends and instructors. She answers that he should pick her. By this point in the book Alanna has gained enough confidence to believe that she is worthy of being the person and knight she wants to be. She has overcome her second challenge, realizing her own worth and validity.
On the surface this is a book about overcoming a misogynistic system, one that won’t allow girls to be knights, and conquering the internalized misogyny that most women raised in such a society would have. Alanna: The First Adventure is, in fact, about both of these things, but when the story is examined a little closer, some weaknesses come to light.
Alanna’s relative lack of a struggle to pass herself off as a boy, either physically or socially is what allows her to overcome the gender boundaries of her world and it can be viewed as both a positive or a negative thing. It does allow Alanna to be the type of heroine who “transgresses the gender boundaries that our society holds to be ‘normal’ and suggests that males and female identities may not be as closely aligned with masculinity and femininity, respectively, as has long been presumed to be true” (Inness 135). However, the unintended message that is sent by this is that any feminine qualities Alanna might have had (indeed, the few that she does have) would have made achieving her goal more difficult. As mentioned before, Alanna has a rather traditionally masculine personality, but she is also relatively unfeminine physically. Though in some ways this breaks down gender expectations, it also is very convenient to the plot and allows Alanna and the author to avoid many of the challenges the majority of women would face if they were trying to pass as male. Alanna’s breasts are conveniently small and no other physical attributes that might be viewed as feminine are ever mentioned (Pierce 119). By making Alanna so masculine the author implies, most likely unintentionally, that a more traditionally feminine bodied person would not have been able to overcome the challenges that Alanna faces.
Alanna’s body is also the victim of her own internalized misogyny, the second challenge which Alanna successfully overcomes during the story. Again, the fact that Alanna conquers her own doubt on this front can be viewed as success of the book, but when it is examined more closely, her victory presents some weaknesses. Alanna’s internalized misogyny is very wrapped up in her fear of the way others will view her when they realize that she is a woman. In fact her fear that she is not strong enough to be a knight because she is a woman and her fear that other people will think she not strong enough to be a knight because she is a woman are almost inseparable in the story. This presents and enormous problem, because while the first fear is one she needs to work to overcome, the second is completely valid. In the process of showing how Alanna overcomes the first fear, through the support and acceptance over her friends, the book completely fails to validate the second fear.
Repeatedly throughout the book, Alanna expresses fear that people will hate her when they find out that she’s a woman. Her reaction to her growing breasts is to say, “I hate it! People will think I’m soft and silly!” (Pierce 119). Her care-giver’s response to this is telling. He says, “Ye’re hardly soft... and th’ only time ye’re silly is when ye talk like this” (Pierce 119). After revealing her true gender to her friend George, Alanna expresses to him concern that everyone might hate her when she eventually does reveal that she is a woman. He says, “I haven’t heard such foolishness in all my life” (Pierce 156). Jonathan also, is entirely accepting of the fact that Alanna is female when he finds out at the end of the book.
In fact throughout the entire book no evidence is ever given to validate Alanna’s fear, nor is Alanna’s worry ever validated by any of her friends. This is a world where women are not allowed to be fighters, and the reader is lead to believe that there are strongly held societal notions of what a woman should be; it seems unlikely that the institutional misogyny of their society does not extend to it’s individuals. This lack of evidence makes Alanna’s fear of judgement and rejection seem unreasonable and silly and makes it seem as though Alanna is the only one who doesn’t believe that she is worthy of being a knight.
One might argue that, since Alanna spends such a vast majority of the book disguised as a boy, she would never be faced with any individual examples of misogyny and since both of the given examples are of Alanna revealing her secret to close friends who already respect and care about her, it is perhaps reasonable to expect that they will accept her.
However, this does not excuse the way Alanna’s friends dismiss her fears and it also brings to light another weakness of the book: it’s lack of female characters. The presence of a diverse cast of openly female characters would have made legitimizing Alanna’s fears simple. However, the story fails to do this. The three women in the story with speaking roles other than Alanna are treated respectfully by both the author and the characters, but they lack the depth or breadth present in the male characters. They are all given the role of healer (Maude), mother (Queen Lianne) or both (Mistress Cooper). Though there is nothing wrong with portraying women in these roles, and these three women are portrayed as kind and skilled at their jobs, the lack of diversity is a weakness of the book. None of these characters are ever the victims of the kind of misogyny Alanna is terrified of and so that fear remains un-legitimized.
This book is the story of a strong (both in the literal and figurative sense) female character breaking outside the gender roles of her medieval-esque world in order to pursue her dreams. On the surface it seems to succeed in delivering its message that a girl can do what ever a boy can do if she puts her mind to it. It is only when the subtleties of her story are examined that it’s shortcomings come to light. Many of the book’s failings were probably a result of an attempt to keep the story at a reasonable length and not overly complicated, this is after all a story aimed a middle-grade to young adult readers. Adding a more diverse cast of female characters would have required more space and complexity, as would the addition of actual misogynistic interactions. Had Alanna not been a naturally masculine looking or behaving girl, she would have struggled substantially more to keep her secret. One might argue that the presence of a masculine girl is in itself breaking down gender boundaries, and that is certainly true, but it also sends the message that a girl has to be masculine to do traditionally masculine things. There is no easy way to achieve both of these points within a single character, which is one of the reasons the book’s lack of other female characters is felt. This book succeeds in showing that a woman can be masculine and have a traditionally masculine career and still have the support of her friends. It fails to show that a woman can be feminine and a fighter and worthy of her dreams, and that fear of misogyny is real and valid, but can still be overcome.
WORKS CITED:
Pierce, Tamora. Alanna: The First Adventure: Song of the Lioness Book One. New York:
Atheneum, 1983. Print.
Inness, Sherrie A. Tough Girls: Women Warriors and Wonder Women in Popular Culture.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999. Print.
The Utility of Derogations IN INTERNATIONAL HUMAN RIGHTS LAW
Sometimes when a nation is in a state of emergency it becomes necessary for the state to take actions that violate the human rights of its citizen, in order to restore normalcy and stability. Many international human rights treaties have accounted for these situations by allowing for “derogations.” Derogations allow “States to limit their responsibilities for certain human rights for a short period of time due to extreme emergency situations” (1). This does not free the state from all of its obligations under international law, the treaty in question, or even the particular right being derogated. There are limitations on when, how, where, and to what extent a right can be derogated. This paper will focus primarily on the system of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), though the European Convention on the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms and the American Convention on Human Rights also allow for derogation (2).
Not all rights can be derogated from. Some rights are “non-derogable”; the State must protect them to its full ability and cannot neglect that duty regardless of circumstance (3). Rights that cannot be derogated include: the right to life, freedom from torture, freedom from slavery, the prohibition of retroactive penal legislation, the right to personhood before the law, and the freedom of thought, conscience and religion (4). The actions of the state must also be consistent with the State’s “other obligations under international law” and “not involve discrimination solely on the ground of race, colour, sex, language, religion or social origin” (5). Some of the rights covered by the ICCPR which are derogable in some situations include: the right to liberty and security of person, freedom from arbitrary arrest of detention (6), freedom of movement (7), the right to a fair and public hearing (8), right to privacy (9), right to freedom of expression (10), the right to peacefully assemble (11), and freedom of association (12), among others.
However, even rights that are derogable can only be derogated from when absolutely necessary (13). The Article 4 of the ICCPR allows for derogations “in a time of public emergency threatening the life of the nation” when that public emergency has been “officially proclaimed” and allows the State to derogate “to the extent strictly required by the exigencies of the situation” (14). This means that a State must have officially declared a state of emergency before derogations of any kind are permissible. Having done that, the state can then derogate from a right, or rights, described in the treaty. However, the derogation must be “limited to the extent strictly required by the exigencies of the situations... relating to the duration, geographical coverage and material scope of the state of emergency and any measures of derogation resorted to because of the emergency” (15). Though the derogation itself, in a general sense, might be justified, any actions the state takes which would under normal circumstances violate the right(s) in question, must also be proven to be necessary and be proportional to danger of the situation (16). Declaring a justified derogation from the right to freedom of movement, for example, does not allow the state to forcibly move any of its citizens beyond what is absolutely called for. Additionally, a right cannot be derogated from indefinitely. ICCPR General Comment 29 states that “the restoration of a state of normalcy where full respect for the Covenant can again be secured must be the predominant objective of a State party derogating from the covenant” (17). In the few situations in which a derogation must last for an extended amount of time, the state needs to periodically assess whether the derogation remains necessary and valid (18).
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) also provides guidelines for determining the validity of a derogation. It requires that the derogation be: 1) determined by law, 2) solely for the purpose of protecting the rights of others, and 3) meet the just requirements of morality and public good (19).
Once a derogation has been reported to the Secretary-General, and the rest of the State Parties to the treaty, the derogation will be monitored by the international body responsible for the particular treaty (20). In the cast of the ICCPR this is the Human Rights Committee (21). The derogation also has to be explained and justified in the next annual report submitted to the committee (22).
The human rights system allows for limitations on rights, of which derogations are one kind. By allowing rights to be limited, international human rights bodies give States some leeway in the interpretation and application of those rights, and States are much more likely to ratify a treaty when limitations, like derogations, are an option. So the “purity” or integrity of a human rights treaty is often compromised in the hope that it will become more widely ratified. Derogations are one way this happens.
Most treaty monitoring bodies “tend to adopt a teleological approach to the interpretation of human rights, allowing the rights to be applied in a manner which is consistent with the spirit and goal of the instrument” (23). This allows individual states to implement and protect rights as best they can; so long as they are honestly working in the direction of the of rights outlined by the treaty, they will have the treaty monitoring body (and other state parties) support and approval. This seems to be the best way to interpretation of human rights law. Another system would require states to surrender much of their sovereignty, something unlikely to happen (24). While the acceptance of limitation such as derogations doesn’t ensure that a treaty will be ratified with complete universality, it does seem to result in the treaty being more widely ratified than it would otherwise be (25).
In an ideal world all states would be capable of protecting all of their citizens’ rights in all situations. However, exceptional circumstances sometimes necessitate the derogation of some parts of some people’s rights for the greater public good. These times of public emergency are often unavoidable and the option of derogation is integral to resolving the situation as quickly and efficiently as possible, while still leaving the international human rights system intact. The Human Rights Committee wrote that the ability of State Parties to derogate was “of paramount importance for the system of protection for human rights under the Covenant” (26). One of the major benefits of the system is that derogations are unilateral; they allow one state to be temporarily released from some of its obligations, while still holding all other member parties to their full legal commitment to the Covenant (27).
The international understanding and application of derogation continues to evolve. Like all systems of human rights law, it is not perfect; allowing State’s to derogate opens up one more opportunity for them to needlessly violate the rights of their citizen. However, their function is vitally important to maintaining the international human rights system as a whole. The ability to derogate rights in times of emergency makes covenants such as the ICCPR much more manageable for States to uphold, and allows all State parties to aim for high standards of human rights protection, while still being applicable to the world as it actually is.
FOOTNOTES
1. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 182
2. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 182
3. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
4. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 4(2), 6, 7, 8, 11, 15, 16 and 18
5. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 4(1)
6. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 9(1)
7. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 12
8. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 14
9. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 17
10. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 19
11. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 21
12. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 22
13. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
14. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 4(1)
15. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 4
16. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 4
17. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 1
18. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 184
19. Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Art 29
20. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 184
21. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
22. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 4(3)
23. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 188
24. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
25. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
26. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 1
27. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 1
WORKS CITED:
Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, adopted Mar. 23, 1976, U.N.T.S vol. 999, p. 171, available at:
http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/CCPR.aspx
Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 182-8 (7th ed. 2016)
UN General Assembly, Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Dec. 10, 1948, available
at http://www.un.org/en/universal-declaration-human-rights/
UN Human Rights Committee (HRC), CCPR General Comment No. 29: Article 4 (States of Emergency), Aug. 31, 2001, available at: http://tbinternet.ohchr.org/_layouts/treatybodyexternal/Download.aspx?symbolno =CCPR%2fC%2f21%2fRev.1%2fAdd.11&Lang=en
Not all rights can be derogated from. Some rights are “non-derogable”; the State must protect them to its full ability and cannot neglect that duty regardless of circumstance (3). Rights that cannot be derogated include: the right to life, freedom from torture, freedom from slavery, the prohibition of retroactive penal legislation, the right to personhood before the law, and the freedom of thought, conscience and religion (4). The actions of the state must also be consistent with the State’s “other obligations under international law” and “not involve discrimination solely on the ground of race, colour, sex, language, religion or social origin” (5). Some of the rights covered by the ICCPR which are derogable in some situations include: the right to liberty and security of person, freedom from arbitrary arrest of detention (6), freedom of movement (7), the right to a fair and public hearing (8), right to privacy (9), right to freedom of expression (10), the right to peacefully assemble (11), and freedom of association (12), among others.
However, even rights that are derogable can only be derogated from when absolutely necessary (13). The Article 4 of the ICCPR allows for derogations “in a time of public emergency threatening the life of the nation” when that public emergency has been “officially proclaimed” and allows the State to derogate “to the extent strictly required by the exigencies of the situation” (14). This means that a State must have officially declared a state of emergency before derogations of any kind are permissible. Having done that, the state can then derogate from a right, or rights, described in the treaty. However, the derogation must be “limited to the extent strictly required by the exigencies of the situations... relating to the duration, geographical coverage and material scope of the state of emergency and any measures of derogation resorted to because of the emergency” (15). Though the derogation itself, in a general sense, might be justified, any actions the state takes which would under normal circumstances violate the right(s) in question, must also be proven to be necessary and be proportional to danger of the situation (16). Declaring a justified derogation from the right to freedom of movement, for example, does not allow the state to forcibly move any of its citizens beyond what is absolutely called for. Additionally, a right cannot be derogated from indefinitely. ICCPR General Comment 29 states that “the restoration of a state of normalcy where full respect for the Covenant can again be secured must be the predominant objective of a State party derogating from the covenant” (17). In the few situations in which a derogation must last for an extended amount of time, the state needs to periodically assess whether the derogation remains necessary and valid (18).
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) also provides guidelines for determining the validity of a derogation. It requires that the derogation be: 1) determined by law, 2) solely for the purpose of protecting the rights of others, and 3) meet the just requirements of morality and public good (19).
Once a derogation has been reported to the Secretary-General, and the rest of the State Parties to the treaty, the derogation will be monitored by the international body responsible for the particular treaty (20). In the cast of the ICCPR this is the Human Rights Committee (21). The derogation also has to be explained and justified in the next annual report submitted to the committee (22).
The human rights system allows for limitations on rights, of which derogations are one kind. By allowing rights to be limited, international human rights bodies give States some leeway in the interpretation and application of those rights, and States are much more likely to ratify a treaty when limitations, like derogations, are an option. So the “purity” or integrity of a human rights treaty is often compromised in the hope that it will become more widely ratified. Derogations are one way this happens.
Most treaty monitoring bodies “tend to adopt a teleological approach to the interpretation of human rights, allowing the rights to be applied in a manner which is consistent with the spirit and goal of the instrument” (23). This allows individual states to implement and protect rights as best they can; so long as they are honestly working in the direction of the of rights outlined by the treaty, they will have the treaty monitoring body (and other state parties) support and approval. This seems to be the best way to interpretation of human rights law. Another system would require states to surrender much of their sovereignty, something unlikely to happen (24). While the acceptance of limitation such as derogations doesn’t ensure that a treaty will be ratified with complete universality, it does seem to result in the treaty being more widely ratified than it would otherwise be (25).
In an ideal world all states would be capable of protecting all of their citizens’ rights in all situations. However, exceptional circumstances sometimes necessitate the derogation of some parts of some people’s rights for the greater public good. These times of public emergency are often unavoidable and the option of derogation is integral to resolving the situation as quickly and efficiently as possible, while still leaving the international human rights system intact. The Human Rights Committee wrote that the ability of State Parties to derogate was “of paramount importance for the system of protection for human rights under the Covenant” (26). One of the major benefits of the system is that derogations are unilateral; they allow one state to be temporarily released from some of its obligations, while still holding all other member parties to their full legal commitment to the Covenant (27).
The international understanding and application of derogation continues to evolve. Like all systems of human rights law, it is not perfect; allowing State’s to derogate opens up one more opportunity for them to needlessly violate the rights of their citizen. However, their function is vitally important to maintaining the international human rights system as a whole. The ability to derogate rights in times of emergency makes covenants such as the ICCPR much more manageable for States to uphold, and allows all State parties to aim for high standards of human rights protection, while still being applicable to the world as it actually is.
FOOTNOTES
1. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 182
2. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 182
3. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
4. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 4(2), 6, 7, 8, 11, 15, 16 and 18
5. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 4(1)
6. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 9(1)
7. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 12
8. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 14
9. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 17
10. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 19
11. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 21
12. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 22
13. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
14. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 4(1)
15. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 4
16. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 4
17. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 1
18. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 184
19. Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Art 29
20. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 184
21. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
22. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art 4(3)
23. Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 188
24. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
25. Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
26. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 1
27. CCPR General Comment No. 29, para 1
WORKS CITED:
Babfemi Akinrinade, “Limitations on Rights,” class discussion, FAIR 334: International Human Rights, Western Washington University, Oct. 24, 2017.
International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, adopted Mar. 23, 1976, U.N.T.S vol. 999, p. 171, available at:
http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/CCPR.aspx
Rhona K. M. Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights, 182-8 (7th ed. 2016)
UN General Assembly, Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Dec. 10, 1948, available
at http://www.un.org/en/universal-declaration-human-rights/
UN Human Rights Committee (HRC), CCPR General Comment No. 29: Article 4 (States of Emergency), Aug. 31, 2001, available at: http://tbinternet.ohchr.org/_layouts/treatybodyexternal/Download.aspx?symbolno =CCPR%2fC%2f21%2fRev.1%2fAdd.11&Lang=en
BILL, HANK AND BETTY: THE FORMATION OF COMMON ENGLISH NICKNAMES
While some common Modern English nicknames are derived logically from their full names, how others came to be might not be as obvious. The process of shortening given names is extremely common; “Alexander” becomes “Alex,” and “Samantha” becomes “Sam.” To most people this process will seem simple and logical. The formation of “Annie” from “Anne” through the addition of the diminutive “-ie” is also so common as to be barely worth noting. These are patterns of nickname formation that Modern English speakers use regularly and with ease. Even given a relatively uncommon given name, a nickname formed through shortening and/or the addition of “-ie”/”-y” rarely needs explanation or justification.
Despite this, some of the oldest and most common nicknames in the English language have been derived from processes that no longer seem clear to the people who use those names. Why would “Bill” be a nickname for “William”? How did “Jack” become a nickname for “John”? Why are so many people named “Dorothy” called “Dot” and people named “Theodore” called “Ted”? How did “Kit” become a nickname for “Christopher”? The answers can be found in the phonetic, morphological, and socio-political history of the English language and England as a country.
The history of English names as they are known today can be said to have begun with the Norman conquest of England in eleventh century (“Norman Conquest.”). Prior to this, English names had been either Germanic or, in the north, Scandinavian in origin. Common names included “Godwine,” “Wulfsige,” “Cwenhild,” “Porgeirr,” and “Gunnhildr” (McClure). With the establishment of a French speaking ruling class however, these names fell out of use almost entirely within the first century. Instead, names “such as William, Robert, Richard, Hugh, Maud, and Alice… and names from the Bible or from saints’… like Adam, John, Thomas, Beatrice, Cecily and Margaret” became popular (McClure).
From the mid-thirteenth through the mid-eighteenth century, rhyming became a common way of forming nicknames in England. By rhyming, “Rob” (a shortening of “Robert”) became “Bob,” and “Will” (a shortening of William) became “Bill,” along with many other similar nicknames. During this time period in England 70% of the male population was named “John,” “Thomas,” “Robert,” “Richard,” or “William” (McClure). This lack of diverse names probably motivated some of the creative rhyming nicknames that are still in use today (McClure). After all, when a family contains five “John”s and six “William”s they must be differentiated from each other somehow.
Many nicknames are formed through a combination of several processes. For example, “Robert,” once shortened to “Rob,” was made, through rhyming, into “Bob.” The addition of a diminutive suffix produces “Bobby,” yet another common nickname for “Robert,” and this is despite the fact that it shares only one vowel and one consonant with its original given name. As was mentioned above the diminutive “-y” or “-ie” are a nickname formation that modern English speakers will be familiar with. Nearly all of the names mentioned in the previous paragraph have one or more nicknames that are derived from them via this shortening, rhyming and diminutive affixation. Along with “Bobby,” “Johnny,” “Tommy,” “Robby,” “Willy,” and “Billy,” are among the many common nicknames that are formed with some combination of these three processes.
However, “-ie” or “-y” are not the only diminutive affixes to be regularly used by English speakers. A diminutive suffix that has fallen almost entirely out of use, might explain three of the most baffling name/nickname combinations in English. “Jack” has historically been a common nickname for “John” and despite sharing the same initial consonant these two names have very little in common (Behind the Name). The same can be said of “Hank,” a common nickname for “Henry.” In a leap that appears to be even less logical, “Hank” was also historically used as a nickname for “John” (Behind the Name).
The secret behind the formation of these three nicknames is the Norman diminutive suffix, “-kin” (“-kin.”). Though less common now, this Norman suffix still shows up in some Modern English words as well as nicknames. “Napkin,” for example was formed from the Old French word “Nape,” meaning ‘table cloth’ and “-kin,” the diminutive suffix (“Napkin.”). “Munchkin,” and “Lambkin” are examples of the suffix used in terms of endearment, which are still occasionally used.
“Jack” became a nickname for “John” through a shortening of the Flemmish name “Jankin.” “Jankin” was a combination of “Jan” (Flemmish version of “John”) and “-kin” (McClure). In English, the name became “Jakin” and then eventually, “Jack”. “Hank” was similarly derived from “Henry” via “Henkin.” “Henry” as a nickname for “John” came from the variation “Johan” which was shortened to “Han” and then became “Hankin” which became “Hank” (Behind the Name).
Though not technically the result of an affix, the nicknames “Nan,” “Ned,” and “Nell” are similarly derived from the addition of a term of endearment to the name. “Nan,” for example, is a diminutive of “Ann” that came from the affectionate phrase “Mine Ann” being repeatedly misheard as “my Nan” (Behind the Name). “Ned” was similarly formed from “Edward,” and “Nell” from “Helen” (and/or “Eleanor,” and “Ellen”). The addition of the “-ie” suffix to “Nan” and “Nell” result in “Nannie” and “Nellie,” two names that are, while not particularly common, still recognizable as names. “Noll,” which was derived from “Oliver,” has fallen out of use (Behind the Name).
Along with these morphological processes, some changes were made in the pronunciation of the names introduced by the Normans. Some of these changes are still reflected in the pronunciations of the original names, but many more show up in nicknames.
One phonetic pattern that produced many familiar nicknames used in Modern English was the dropping of the /r/ sound. Sometimes the /r/ was replaced with /l/. In combination with shortening and the addition of the “-y”/”-ie” diminutive suffix, this resulted in common nicknames such as “Lola” from “Dolores,” “Molly” from “Mary,” “Hal” from “Harold,” “Sally” from “Sarah” (Behind the Name).
Similarly, the sound /th/ was often replaced by /t/ resulting in nicknames such as “Betty” from “Elizabeth,” “Matt” from “Matthew,” “Kate” and “Kitty” from “Catherine,” and “Tony” from “Anthony”. A combination of /r/ dropping, /th/ replacement, shortening and the addition of “-ie” produces “Tess,” “Tessie,” and “Tessa,” all common nicknames for “Theresa.”
The process through which “Margaret” becomes “Peggy” includes nearly every name-changing process mentioned thus far. Through shortening and dropping of the /r/ “Margaret becomes “Mag.” A slight vowels shift creates “Meg” and “Meg” with addition of the affix “-y” produces “Meggy.” Then, like “Rob” and “Will,” the first consonant is changed via rhyming to create “Peggy.”
Many of these names and nicknames have remained popular in English speaking countries, and even those that are not popular are likely still recognizable. However, the connections between many given names and their popular nicknames are unclear to Modern English speakers. As has been shown, the answer can almost certainly be found in the history of the Norman Conquest and the development of Old English into Middle English in the eight centuries following. The native English population adopted Norman names and through a combination of shortening, rhyming, affix addition, and sound deletion and replacement, created a series of nicknames that are still used today.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
“Behind the Name: The Etymology and History of First Names.” Updated 20 October 2016, http://www.behindthename.com. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
“Hank.” Ohbabynames.com. www.ohbabynames.com/meaning/name/hank/2283#.WBT1bldvbdk. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
Isreal, David K. “The Origins of 10 Nicknames.” Mental Floss, 20 Dec. 2016, http://mentalfloss.com/article/24761/origins-10-nicknames. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
“-kin.” Dictionary.com. http://www.dictionary.com/browse/-kin. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
McClure, Peter. “Personal Names and the Development of English.” Oxford English Dictionary, online. http://public.oed.com/aspects-of-english/shapers-of-english/personal-names-and-the-development-of-english/. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
“Napkin.” Dictionary.com. http://www.dictionary.com/browse/napkin. Accessed 20 November 2016.
“Norman Conquest.” Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/event/Norman-Conquest. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
Despite this, some of the oldest and most common nicknames in the English language have been derived from processes that no longer seem clear to the people who use those names. Why would “Bill” be a nickname for “William”? How did “Jack” become a nickname for “John”? Why are so many people named “Dorothy” called “Dot” and people named “Theodore” called “Ted”? How did “Kit” become a nickname for “Christopher”? The answers can be found in the phonetic, morphological, and socio-political history of the English language and England as a country.
The history of English names as they are known today can be said to have begun with the Norman conquest of England in eleventh century (“Norman Conquest.”). Prior to this, English names had been either Germanic or, in the north, Scandinavian in origin. Common names included “Godwine,” “Wulfsige,” “Cwenhild,” “Porgeirr,” and “Gunnhildr” (McClure). With the establishment of a French speaking ruling class however, these names fell out of use almost entirely within the first century. Instead, names “such as William, Robert, Richard, Hugh, Maud, and Alice… and names from the Bible or from saints’… like Adam, John, Thomas, Beatrice, Cecily and Margaret” became popular (McClure).
From the mid-thirteenth through the mid-eighteenth century, rhyming became a common way of forming nicknames in England. By rhyming, “Rob” (a shortening of “Robert”) became “Bob,” and “Will” (a shortening of William) became “Bill,” along with many other similar nicknames. During this time period in England 70% of the male population was named “John,” “Thomas,” “Robert,” “Richard,” or “William” (McClure). This lack of diverse names probably motivated some of the creative rhyming nicknames that are still in use today (McClure). After all, when a family contains five “John”s and six “William”s they must be differentiated from each other somehow.
Many nicknames are formed through a combination of several processes. For example, “Robert,” once shortened to “Rob,” was made, through rhyming, into “Bob.” The addition of a diminutive suffix produces “Bobby,” yet another common nickname for “Robert,” and this is despite the fact that it shares only one vowel and one consonant with its original given name. As was mentioned above the diminutive “-y” or “-ie” are a nickname formation that modern English speakers will be familiar with. Nearly all of the names mentioned in the previous paragraph have one or more nicknames that are derived from them via this shortening, rhyming and diminutive affixation. Along with “Bobby,” “Johnny,” “Tommy,” “Robby,” “Willy,” and “Billy,” are among the many common nicknames that are formed with some combination of these three processes.
However, “-ie” or “-y” are not the only diminutive affixes to be regularly used by English speakers. A diminutive suffix that has fallen almost entirely out of use, might explain three of the most baffling name/nickname combinations in English. “Jack” has historically been a common nickname for “John” and despite sharing the same initial consonant these two names have very little in common (Behind the Name). The same can be said of “Hank,” a common nickname for “Henry.” In a leap that appears to be even less logical, “Hank” was also historically used as a nickname for “John” (Behind the Name).
The secret behind the formation of these three nicknames is the Norman diminutive suffix, “-kin” (“-kin.”). Though less common now, this Norman suffix still shows up in some Modern English words as well as nicknames. “Napkin,” for example was formed from the Old French word “Nape,” meaning ‘table cloth’ and “-kin,” the diminutive suffix (“Napkin.”). “Munchkin,” and “Lambkin” are examples of the suffix used in terms of endearment, which are still occasionally used.
“Jack” became a nickname for “John” through a shortening of the Flemmish name “Jankin.” “Jankin” was a combination of “Jan” (Flemmish version of “John”) and “-kin” (McClure). In English, the name became “Jakin” and then eventually, “Jack”. “Hank” was similarly derived from “Henry” via “Henkin.” “Henry” as a nickname for “John” came from the variation “Johan” which was shortened to “Han” and then became “Hankin” which became “Hank” (Behind the Name).
Though not technically the result of an affix, the nicknames “Nan,” “Ned,” and “Nell” are similarly derived from the addition of a term of endearment to the name. “Nan,” for example, is a diminutive of “Ann” that came from the affectionate phrase “Mine Ann” being repeatedly misheard as “my Nan” (Behind the Name). “Ned” was similarly formed from “Edward,” and “Nell” from “Helen” (and/or “Eleanor,” and “Ellen”). The addition of the “-ie” suffix to “Nan” and “Nell” result in “Nannie” and “Nellie,” two names that are, while not particularly common, still recognizable as names. “Noll,” which was derived from “Oliver,” has fallen out of use (Behind the Name).
Along with these morphological processes, some changes were made in the pronunciation of the names introduced by the Normans. Some of these changes are still reflected in the pronunciations of the original names, but many more show up in nicknames.
One phonetic pattern that produced many familiar nicknames used in Modern English was the dropping of the /r/ sound. Sometimes the /r/ was replaced with /l/. In combination with shortening and the addition of the “-y”/”-ie” diminutive suffix, this resulted in common nicknames such as “Lola” from “Dolores,” “Molly” from “Mary,” “Hal” from “Harold,” “Sally” from “Sarah” (Behind the Name).
Similarly, the sound /th/ was often replaced by /t/ resulting in nicknames such as “Betty” from “Elizabeth,” “Matt” from “Matthew,” “Kate” and “Kitty” from “Catherine,” and “Tony” from “Anthony”. A combination of /r/ dropping, /th/ replacement, shortening and the addition of “-ie” produces “Tess,” “Tessie,” and “Tessa,” all common nicknames for “Theresa.”
The process through which “Margaret” becomes “Peggy” includes nearly every name-changing process mentioned thus far. Through shortening and dropping of the /r/ “Margaret becomes “Mag.” A slight vowels shift creates “Meg” and “Meg” with addition of the affix “-y” produces “Meggy.” Then, like “Rob” and “Will,” the first consonant is changed via rhyming to create “Peggy.”
Many of these names and nicknames have remained popular in English speaking countries, and even those that are not popular are likely still recognizable. However, the connections between many given names and their popular nicknames are unclear to Modern English speakers. As has been shown, the answer can almost certainly be found in the history of the Norman Conquest and the development of Old English into Middle English in the eight centuries following. The native English population adopted Norman names and through a combination of shortening, rhyming, affix addition, and sound deletion and replacement, created a series of nicknames that are still used today.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
“Behind the Name: The Etymology and History of First Names.” Updated 20 October 2016, http://www.behindthename.com. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
“Hank.” Ohbabynames.com. www.ohbabynames.com/meaning/name/hank/2283#.WBT1bldvbdk. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
Isreal, David K. “The Origins of 10 Nicknames.” Mental Floss, 20 Dec. 2016, http://mentalfloss.com/article/24761/origins-10-nicknames. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
“-kin.” Dictionary.com. http://www.dictionary.com/browse/-kin. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
McClure, Peter. “Personal Names and the Development of English.” Oxford English Dictionary, online. http://public.oed.com/aspects-of-english/shapers-of-english/personal-names-and-the-development-of-english/. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
“Napkin.” Dictionary.com. http://www.dictionary.com/browse/napkin. Accessed 20 November 2016.
“Norman Conquest.” Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/event/Norman-Conquest. Accessed 20 Nov. 2016.
PEACHES FALL FURTHER FROM THE TREE (A SHOrt story)
Two miles past the dusty little coffee shop with no Wi-Fi and a cashier who had never heard the name Garret Thurston in her life, Kira and I were well and true lost. We’d lost service almost as soon as we left the interstate and it turned out that my shaky memories of the landscape were not enough to navigate by. Kira made me pull to the side of the dirt road and tried to bring her phone back to life, while I stared at the constellation of bug juice on the windshield.
After a minute Kira sighed and looked out the window, as though hoping she might recognize a landmark out amongst the rows and rows of fruit trees that surrounded us for miles. One fingernail clicked against the dark screen of the phone balanced on her thigh. “Those are peach trees,” she said.
I tilted my chin toward her. She leaned forward in her seat, straining against the seatbelt. For a moment she looked like a four year old strapped in to a car seat. I looked past her. “Yep,” I agreed. “Peaches.”
Her faced turned to me, eyes wide.
“What?”
“Come on, turn the car off!” She unbuckled and slid out the door.
“Wait!” I said. I shut down the car and followed her, watching as she scrambled down into the ditch at the side of the road, plodded through the muck and the bottom and clambered up the opposite side. “What are you doing?”
The black skirt and grey blouse thing she usually only wore to job interviews looked drab and melancholy against the humming light of late summer. Her sandals, the ones our mother just gave her for her seventeenth birthday, had a scummy film on them now.
She propped her hand on one hip and squinted at me from across the ditch. “What? Are you in a hurry to get to Dad’s place?”
I rolled my eyes. “I feel like we should at least try to be on time.”
“If we get there on time we have to eat brunch with him and Melissa.” She already had her back to me, taking off down a row of peach trees. I looked down at the shiny black shoes I’d spent the last evening polishing, and leaned over to roll up the cuffs of my slacks and tuck them into my socks.
Kira glanced over at me when I caught up with her, snorting when she saw my feet. I ignored her.
The orchard smelled sweet, rotting fruit and damp earth baking in the sun. The chill from the morning was gone and sweat prickled my scalp and my skin under my all black outfit. The procession of elderly peach trees on either side of us cast scraggly shadows across the dirt and patches of yellow grass. Bumble bees bobbed through the air and swarmed around the rotting fruit that had already fallen to the ground, or been left behind at the end of the harvest. We wandered further in, following the ruts carved into the dirt by decades of truck traffic. Kira scampered ahead to poke at a dilapidated wooden ladder, dissolving at the foot of a sagging tree.
“Remember when Uncle Rodney took us to pick peaches?” I asked.
She nodded, twisting at a loose rung until in splintered into pieces. She inspected it for a second and then tossed it back on the ground.
Our father bargained hard in court for the right to have us for a few weeks over the summer. Every August for ten years, we were dropped at the foot of his drive with only our backpacks and vague sense of unease. He took us swimming and golfing and made us try weird food. He showed us off to his co-workers, bragging about our grades and various extra-curricular. His house was always freezing, air-conditioned to the chill of a desert at midnight. He never did anything to us that could explain the relief we felt to climb back into Mom’s green Subaru at the end of August, but we felt it nonetheless. No one needed to explain to us that he had hurt our mom, and no amount of fancy gelato or allowance money could fix that.
Occasionally during those weeks, Uncle Rodney would come rescue us for an afternoon. He took us to see movies, or to the arcade and once, to pick peaches to make pies out of.
“It was so hot I thought I was gonna pass out,” said Kira as she made her way back to me.
I huffed. “Yeah. You almost started crying until Uncle Rodney let you sit in the car with the air conditioning and eat one of the peaches.”
She looked up at a tree to her left and grinned. “That was the best thing I’d ever eaten.”
Uncle Rodney took us to his house that day and we spent all afternoon making pies and cobblers. He’d dropped us in our father’s driveway and made us promise not to eat any of the pie we’d brought until after dinner.
“It’s too bad we never got to do that again. He was the only good part about summers with Dad.”
Kira stared at the tree closest to her, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. “We should pick some and take them with us.”
“Uh. We don’t have anything to carry them with,” I pointed out. “And we’re already trespassing. We probably shouldn’t add stealing to that.”
Kira turned. “Take off your jacket.”
“What?” I said, even though I was already doing what she said.
She tugged it from my grasp. “We’ll use it as a pouch. See.”
She laid my suit jacket open on a patch of dry dusty grass. I opened my mouth to protest, but she was already moving away, jumping occasionally to tug down a peach that the harvesters had missed.
My now sticky suit jacket sagged under its load, by the time we returned to the car. We carried it together over the ditch, each of us gripping an edge and one sleeve, and laid it gently in the foot-well of the back seat.
Kira wiped at the sweat glistening on the bridge of her nose and stuck her face in front of an air-conditioning vent as soon as I turned on the engine. I pulled back onto the road and by mutual agreement we headed back toward that lonely coffee shop and the nearest town.
At the point where the dirt road turned to gravel, an elderly man in stained overalls and a baseball cap limped down the shoulder in the opposite direction. I slowed the car and rolled down the windows. The man stopped as we neared, adjusting the brim of his cap and squinting into the glare.
“You lost?”
“Very.” Kira propped her elbow in the open window and grinned.
“What are ya’ looking for?”
“Garret Thurston’s house?”
“Ah.” There was a moment of silence.
“You know where it is?” I leaned closer to Kira’s shoulder, looking out the window at the man’s wrinkled and sun-spotted face.
He looked at us closely, and then at my car, lingering on the headlight held in place by duct tape. “We’re here for the funeral,” I explained.
His shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “Ah. I’m Joe Valencia.” He tapped the front of his overalls, leaning closer to the window. “I knew Rod well. Good man.”
We nodded.
“He came to pick peaches every summer. Practically drowning in preserves come September.” His eyes crinkled. “And he gave the most of it away.” Joe gestured down the road in the direction we were driving. “You wanna take a right at the next intersection.” He gave us the directions to our father’s house and then a quirked half smile.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Will you be at the service?” Kira asked.
He shook his head, smile shrinking. “No.” He stepped back from the car door. “I wasn’t invited.” He chuckled self depreciatingly.
“Give his daughter my condolences though.” He gave us a friendly wave and he walked away.
As I drove, Kira kept pushing herself up to look behind her seat, as though worried that the ripe fruit might be bruised by the rough road, or worse, role away under one of the seats. “Do you think we just stole Joe’s fruit?” Kira asked. She giggled, slouching in her seat and chewing on a cuticle.
“I don’t think he’d mind. We didn’t take that many.”
The peaches were mostly fine by the time we reached our father’s summer home, which was perched at the top of a gentle hill, overlooking fields of neatly manicured grass. His smoothly paved driveway could almost have been considered its own road. I took the turn off that wound up the rise and around to the back by garages were. I parked off the side so as not to block any of the dozen other cars parked in the back of the house.
Kira and I sat for a few seconds after I turned the engine off. Neither of us had been here in well over half a decade and we wouldn’t be here now, if it weren’t for Uncle Rodney. Kira moved first, hopping out of her seat and moving around to open the door to the back seat and retrieve the peaches. “Hey, you have a Safeway bag back here.” She waved a piece of white plastic at me and then proceeded to fill it with half a dozen soft peaches.
Melissa answered the door when I rang the bell. The entryway bustled with people I didn’t recognize, and she waved us in, smile brittle, and voice raised to the point of discomfort. “How nice of you to come!” She turned toward the dining room. “Garret! Your children are here!”
Kira held up the plastic bag of peaches. “We brought peaches,” she said.
Melissa took the bag from her and frowned. “These are a tad overripe.”
Kira’s mouth tightened.
Our father came striding in from the next room. “Ah! Kira, Alex. What happened to your shoes?”
I looked down, and then hurriedly tugged my pant cuffs from my socks, face hot. “Well,” said Melissa. “They brought us some mushy peaches, so I’m just going to take those to the kitchen.” She retreated with the bag.
Our father watched her go and then raised his eyebrows at us. “Are your bags still in the car? I’ll get the new butler to go get them for you.”
“We didn’t bring any bags,” Kira cut in before he could continue.
“Well, I was hoping that you would stay for a few days so we could catch up, maybe play a little golf?” He glanced at me. I made the mistake of joining the golf team in high school and he never let me forget it. He called it the sport of the genteel class. I minded the sport much less than I minded his constant joking criticism of my skill.
“We have to be back at school by tonight. The new term starts tomorrow,” Kira lied blithely. Fall term didn’t start for another week.
Our father’s eyebrows sunk down over his narrowed eyes and mouth puckered slightly. He waved a hand and turned away as someone in the adjoining room called his name. “This isn’t the time,” he said. “We’ll discuss it after the service.”
The memorial service was held at the house, in the banquet hall, because there wasn’t a church nearby big enough to hold his entire extended family, friends, business partners, former business partners, potential business partners, and all their families. Why he thought a funeral would be a good networking opportunity, I really couldn’t say, but I wasn’t all that surprised.
“I’m going to go get some less mushy peaches,” Kira whispered in my ear before ducking hurriedly out of the back door.
Melissa came out from the kitchen, talking in hushed solemn tones to another middle-aged woman in black, who reached out to rub her arm comfortingly, making concerned and understanding noises in the back of her throat. I’d only been in the same room as Melissa maybe a dozen times in the decade they had been together, but I could see her presence all over the room. It had been completely transformed since Kira and our mother and I lived here. Delicate china plates were mounted against the walls along with artwork from all the places she and our father had traveled for his business. The walls had been painted white and sea foam green, the rugs our mother had picked out were gone, and the hardwood had been refinished at some point since I’d last been here. Every last trace of our mother’s decorating style had been eradicated, down to the paint on the molding.
“Where did your sister go?” Our father came back into the room, yanking my attention away from an unfamiliar oil painting.
“To get some more peaches from the car,” I said. “We remembered that Uncle Rodney liked them ‘cause we made peach pie with him once.”
He raised his eyebrows and huffed. “Yes, that was a pastime of his. Glad it never caught on with you.” He nudged me conspiratorially with his elbow. I said nothing.
Kira came back through the back door, a few peaches cradled in the front of her blouse. “Kira!” our father said in alarm. “You’ll stain your shirt. Go put those in the kitchen.”
Kira sidled up to me half an hour later in the back of the banquet hall as I picked at a plate of fruit salad. Rows and rows of chairs had been set up in the hall, along with a short stage in the front and a buffet in the back.
“Mellissa said the peaches were too hard this time,” she told me, taking a large bite of a roll. “She threw them in the garbage while I was standing there.” She had redone her hair and make-up at some point.
I offered her a gumball-sized orb of watermelon.
“This doesn’t seem like the sort of send off Uncle Rodney would have liked,” I admitted. Crowds of our father’s friends in their identical and expensive black suits milled around the hall. Kira nodded and leaned against my shoulder.
“Do you ever think about the fact that I’m the same age she was?” she asked.
I hummed in acknowledgement. The story came out when I was in middle school, four years after our parents had divorced. It was a scandal only sparsely covered in the local news, not important to be broadcast more general, but it shook the foundation of our family nonetheless. Alice Sawyer had sued her former employer for sexual assault while she was employed as an intern at his company six years earlier. It was a weird time in my life. Mom cried a lot; she hadn’t known when she divorced him, but the distance of time hadn’t softened the blow completely. Kira had been too young to know what was going on. We’d only gone back to our father’s for a few summers after that.
A voice came over the loud speaker and encouraged everyone to find a seat. I found the table where the caterers collected the dirty china and then Kira and I sat. Our father brought a priest in to speak. Kira and I sat in the last row playing Words with Friends. The priest said his part and then our father spoke for a long time. Last to speak was Uncle Rodney’s daughter Ruthie, who we’d never met. Her voice wobbled and Kira and I both put down our phones when she started to speak. My throat tightened.
Ruthie had been in college in New York by the time I was old enough to remember, but Uncle Rodney talked about her like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. He’d only been married to Ruthie’s mother for a couple of years after Ruthie was born, which left Ruthie as the uncontested most important person in his life. I could vaguely remember being jealous as a kid of this girl I’d never met.
I wouldn’t trade places with her for anything now. She leaned against the podium as though she needed it to stay upright, words shaky and drawn out. She finished up quickly and left the stage. The priest took her place, and made a few closing remarks before releasing everyone.
The crowd of suits lingered, unwilling to leave despite the fact that the actual members of Rodney’s family had to be at the cemetery by three o’clock. Not everyone had been invited to that portion of the day, thankfully. A few people filtered out as the staff started taking down the chairs, but many stayed. Kira and I wove between gaggles of people chatting in low murmurs, and made our way over to the corner where Ruthie sat by herself, eyes on her phone.
She glanced up as we approached, eyes red rimmed and weary when she didn’t recognize us.
“Ruthie?” She straightened her shoulders, as though preparing for battle. “I’m Alex. This is Kira. We’re your cousins?”
“Oh!” That was recognition. “Right. I remember my dad talking about you two. Nice to meet you.” She shook our hands.
“You too,” said Kira. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been under better circumstances.”
Ruthie smiled painfully and shrugged one shoulder. “I’m glad you came. He would have appreciated it.”
“We ran into Joe Valencia on the way here,” I said. “He sends his condolences.”
Her eyebrows furrowed and she glanced around the room. “Is he not here?”
Kira shook her head and Ruthie rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I guess he wasn’t invited. Maybe I should’ve done the invitations.” She looked around at the room again, her eyes landed on out father where he stood talking to one of his business partners and the man’s wife and daughter.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of thing right now,” said Kira, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
Ruthie gave her a weak smile. “Thanks. I really should have found the time to look through the invitations, though. I don’t think half the people here had even met my dad.” She rubbed the back of one hand across her mouth. “And Joe Valencia was one of his best friends.”
“Why didn’t our dad invite him?” I asked.
She tilted her head to one side. “I’m not sure your dad knew he existed. Joe and my dad spent most of their time together picking peaches.” She took a deep breath. “I should talk to Garret. We need to be getting to the cemetery soon.” She glanced at her phone. “I’m just going to call my husband first, though.”
We said goodbye and she ducked out of the room, phone to her ear.
Kira and I drove over to the cemetery in silence and I parked my scratched-up second-hand jeep alongside everyone else’s glossy Miatas and Mercedes.
“I don’t want to go over there,” I said as I leaned against my dusty car door and looked toward the small crowd, mingling and circling like black vultures around the grave. We watched our father as he talked to his business partner’s young daughter. His hand was on her shoulder, one finger brushing the skin of her neck. The girl twitched away, said something to our father and went to stand by her mother. Our father’s attention was pulled by Ruthie coming to ask him a question.
“We should say goodbye,” Kira said, leaning next to me, but she sounded just as unwilling.
“To Dad or to Rodney?” I asked.
Kira grabbed my hand. “Come on.”
She pulled me through the rows of graves, carefully not stepping on any headstones. The open casket was displayed on a table only a few yards from the grave.
I didn’t want to look, but I Kira dragged forward anyway. We stood stared down at the narrow face, pale even under layers of make-up. Kira reached into her purse and pulled out a peach. With a delicate reverence she placed it, soft and orangey-pink, under Uncle Rodney’s hand, so that his finger’s cradled it. She touched his cheek gently and then bumped my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Our father interrupted us on our path back to the car. “Where are you going?”
“We’re leaving.”
I stared at the manicured green grass.
“But we haven’t finished the burial.” He grabbed my arm. “Stay for dinner. We need to discuss your futures. Both of you.” He looked over at Kira. “I want to pay for your college, but you need to stay and discuss the terms of an agreement with me.” I tugged my arm from his grip. “Uncle Rodney would have wanted you to stay,” he tried.
“Uncle Rodney would have wanted there to be peaches,” said Kira.
“My catering service-- Kira, stop!” Kira walked away toward the car. He turned to me. “Go get her. I won’t let her disrespect Rodney or me like this.” I didn’t move. “Alex.” Kira stood at the car. She tugged on the door once, but it was locked. The keys pressed against my thigh in my pocket. Our father gripped my shoulder. His eyes were glassy and faded blue and I realized for the first time how old he looked. “I know you never forgave me for what I did to you mother.” I shook off his hand and took a step back. “I know what I did, but I still want to help you and Kira. I know you have loans.”
“No,” I said. His face flushed and his mouth gaped open. “Thank you.”
In my hurry to leave, I brushed by Ruthie, the only person standing near enough to has possibly heard any of our conversation.
“Alex,” she said.
I stopped and turned to look at her nervously. I might have only just met her today, but if she asked me to stay, for her sake or her father’s, I was pretty sure I would.
“Thank you for coming.” She fiddled with her necklace, tired eyes darting between my face and the grass at our feet.
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I gave her as much of a smile as I could muster up and walked back toward the car.
Kira met my eyes as I approached her. “Wanna drive?” I offered her the keys.
“Sure.”
Looking out of the passenger window, I could see our father staring after us, and Ruthie standing by her father’s casket, alone in her mourning.
I twisted around in my seat as we pulled from the parking lot. The last two peaches rested against the collar of my suit jacket in the foot-well. They were slightly bruised, ripe to the point of melting. I handed one to Kira and took the other for myself.
“I think,” Kira said as we drove down a long straight road between a peach orchard and field of shrubby strawberry plants, “That I don’t want to go back there anymore.” The sky was getting dark, the sun like a strobe light between the trees as we drove. Peach juice dripped down my wrist and chin, sticky and sweet. I licked it off my fingers and rolled down the window so to toss the pit out in into the dirt by the side of the road.
After a minute Kira sighed and looked out the window, as though hoping she might recognize a landmark out amongst the rows and rows of fruit trees that surrounded us for miles. One fingernail clicked against the dark screen of the phone balanced on her thigh. “Those are peach trees,” she said.
I tilted my chin toward her. She leaned forward in her seat, straining against the seatbelt. For a moment she looked like a four year old strapped in to a car seat. I looked past her. “Yep,” I agreed. “Peaches.”
Her faced turned to me, eyes wide.
“What?”
“Come on, turn the car off!” She unbuckled and slid out the door.
“Wait!” I said. I shut down the car and followed her, watching as she scrambled down into the ditch at the side of the road, plodded through the muck and the bottom and clambered up the opposite side. “What are you doing?”
The black skirt and grey blouse thing she usually only wore to job interviews looked drab and melancholy against the humming light of late summer. Her sandals, the ones our mother just gave her for her seventeenth birthday, had a scummy film on them now.
She propped her hand on one hip and squinted at me from across the ditch. “What? Are you in a hurry to get to Dad’s place?”
I rolled my eyes. “I feel like we should at least try to be on time.”
“If we get there on time we have to eat brunch with him and Melissa.” She already had her back to me, taking off down a row of peach trees. I looked down at the shiny black shoes I’d spent the last evening polishing, and leaned over to roll up the cuffs of my slacks and tuck them into my socks.
Kira glanced over at me when I caught up with her, snorting when she saw my feet. I ignored her.
The orchard smelled sweet, rotting fruit and damp earth baking in the sun. The chill from the morning was gone and sweat prickled my scalp and my skin under my all black outfit. The procession of elderly peach trees on either side of us cast scraggly shadows across the dirt and patches of yellow grass. Bumble bees bobbed through the air and swarmed around the rotting fruit that had already fallen to the ground, or been left behind at the end of the harvest. We wandered further in, following the ruts carved into the dirt by decades of truck traffic. Kira scampered ahead to poke at a dilapidated wooden ladder, dissolving at the foot of a sagging tree.
“Remember when Uncle Rodney took us to pick peaches?” I asked.
She nodded, twisting at a loose rung until in splintered into pieces. She inspected it for a second and then tossed it back on the ground.
Our father bargained hard in court for the right to have us for a few weeks over the summer. Every August for ten years, we were dropped at the foot of his drive with only our backpacks and vague sense of unease. He took us swimming and golfing and made us try weird food. He showed us off to his co-workers, bragging about our grades and various extra-curricular. His house was always freezing, air-conditioned to the chill of a desert at midnight. He never did anything to us that could explain the relief we felt to climb back into Mom’s green Subaru at the end of August, but we felt it nonetheless. No one needed to explain to us that he had hurt our mom, and no amount of fancy gelato or allowance money could fix that.
Occasionally during those weeks, Uncle Rodney would come rescue us for an afternoon. He took us to see movies, or to the arcade and once, to pick peaches to make pies out of.
“It was so hot I thought I was gonna pass out,” said Kira as she made her way back to me.
I huffed. “Yeah. You almost started crying until Uncle Rodney let you sit in the car with the air conditioning and eat one of the peaches.”
She looked up at a tree to her left and grinned. “That was the best thing I’d ever eaten.”
Uncle Rodney took us to his house that day and we spent all afternoon making pies and cobblers. He’d dropped us in our father’s driveway and made us promise not to eat any of the pie we’d brought until after dinner.
“It’s too bad we never got to do that again. He was the only good part about summers with Dad.”
Kira stared at the tree closest to her, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. “We should pick some and take them with us.”
“Uh. We don’t have anything to carry them with,” I pointed out. “And we’re already trespassing. We probably shouldn’t add stealing to that.”
Kira turned. “Take off your jacket.”
“What?” I said, even though I was already doing what she said.
She tugged it from my grasp. “We’ll use it as a pouch. See.”
She laid my suit jacket open on a patch of dry dusty grass. I opened my mouth to protest, but she was already moving away, jumping occasionally to tug down a peach that the harvesters had missed.
My now sticky suit jacket sagged under its load, by the time we returned to the car. We carried it together over the ditch, each of us gripping an edge and one sleeve, and laid it gently in the foot-well of the back seat.
Kira wiped at the sweat glistening on the bridge of her nose and stuck her face in front of an air-conditioning vent as soon as I turned on the engine. I pulled back onto the road and by mutual agreement we headed back toward that lonely coffee shop and the nearest town.
At the point where the dirt road turned to gravel, an elderly man in stained overalls and a baseball cap limped down the shoulder in the opposite direction. I slowed the car and rolled down the windows. The man stopped as we neared, adjusting the brim of his cap and squinting into the glare.
“You lost?”
“Very.” Kira propped her elbow in the open window and grinned.
“What are ya’ looking for?”
“Garret Thurston’s house?”
“Ah.” There was a moment of silence.
“You know where it is?” I leaned closer to Kira’s shoulder, looking out the window at the man’s wrinkled and sun-spotted face.
He looked at us closely, and then at my car, lingering on the headlight held in place by duct tape. “We’re here for the funeral,” I explained.
His shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “Ah. I’m Joe Valencia.” He tapped the front of his overalls, leaning closer to the window. “I knew Rod well. Good man.”
We nodded.
“He came to pick peaches every summer. Practically drowning in preserves come September.” His eyes crinkled. “And he gave the most of it away.” Joe gestured down the road in the direction we were driving. “You wanna take a right at the next intersection.” He gave us the directions to our father’s house and then a quirked half smile.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Will you be at the service?” Kira asked.
He shook his head, smile shrinking. “No.” He stepped back from the car door. “I wasn’t invited.” He chuckled self depreciatingly.
“Give his daughter my condolences though.” He gave us a friendly wave and he walked away.
As I drove, Kira kept pushing herself up to look behind her seat, as though worried that the ripe fruit might be bruised by the rough road, or worse, role away under one of the seats. “Do you think we just stole Joe’s fruit?” Kira asked. She giggled, slouching in her seat and chewing on a cuticle.
“I don’t think he’d mind. We didn’t take that many.”
The peaches were mostly fine by the time we reached our father’s summer home, which was perched at the top of a gentle hill, overlooking fields of neatly manicured grass. His smoothly paved driveway could almost have been considered its own road. I took the turn off that wound up the rise and around to the back by garages were. I parked off the side so as not to block any of the dozen other cars parked in the back of the house.
Kira and I sat for a few seconds after I turned the engine off. Neither of us had been here in well over half a decade and we wouldn’t be here now, if it weren’t for Uncle Rodney. Kira moved first, hopping out of her seat and moving around to open the door to the back seat and retrieve the peaches. “Hey, you have a Safeway bag back here.” She waved a piece of white plastic at me and then proceeded to fill it with half a dozen soft peaches.
Melissa answered the door when I rang the bell. The entryway bustled with people I didn’t recognize, and she waved us in, smile brittle, and voice raised to the point of discomfort. “How nice of you to come!” She turned toward the dining room. “Garret! Your children are here!”
Kira held up the plastic bag of peaches. “We brought peaches,” she said.
Melissa took the bag from her and frowned. “These are a tad overripe.”
Kira’s mouth tightened.
Our father came striding in from the next room. “Ah! Kira, Alex. What happened to your shoes?”
I looked down, and then hurriedly tugged my pant cuffs from my socks, face hot. “Well,” said Melissa. “They brought us some mushy peaches, so I’m just going to take those to the kitchen.” She retreated with the bag.
Our father watched her go and then raised his eyebrows at us. “Are your bags still in the car? I’ll get the new butler to go get them for you.”
“We didn’t bring any bags,” Kira cut in before he could continue.
“Well, I was hoping that you would stay for a few days so we could catch up, maybe play a little golf?” He glanced at me. I made the mistake of joining the golf team in high school and he never let me forget it. He called it the sport of the genteel class. I minded the sport much less than I minded his constant joking criticism of my skill.
“We have to be back at school by tonight. The new term starts tomorrow,” Kira lied blithely. Fall term didn’t start for another week.
Our father’s eyebrows sunk down over his narrowed eyes and mouth puckered slightly. He waved a hand and turned away as someone in the adjoining room called his name. “This isn’t the time,” he said. “We’ll discuss it after the service.”
The memorial service was held at the house, in the banquet hall, because there wasn’t a church nearby big enough to hold his entire extended family, friends, business partners, former business partners, potential business partners, and all their families. Why he thought a funeral would be a good networking opportunity, I really couldn’t say, but I wasn’t all that surprised.
“I’m going to go get some less mushy peaches,” Kira whispered in my ear before ducking hurriedly out of the back door.
Melissa came out from the kitchen, talking in hushed solemn tones to another middle-aged woman in black, who reached out to rub her arm comfortingly, making concerned and understanding noises in the back of her throat. I’d only been in the same room as Melissa maybe a dozen times in the decade they had been together, but I could see her presence all over the room. It had been completely transformed since Kira and our mother and I lived here. Delicate china plates were mounted against the walls along with artwork from all the places she and our father had traveled for his business. The walls had been painted white and sea foam green, the rugs our mother had picked out were gone, and the hardwood had been refinished at some point since I’d last been here. Every last trace of our mother’s decorating style had been eradicated, down to the paint on the molding.
“Where did your sister go?” Our father came back into the room, yanking my attention away from an unfamiliar oil painting.
“To get some more peaches from the car,” I said. “We remembered that Uncle Rodney liked them ‘cause we made peach pie with him once.”
He raised his eyebrows and huffed. “Yes, that was a pastime of his. Glad it never caught on with you.” He nudged me conspiratorially with his elbow. I said nothing.
Kira came back through the back door, a few peaches cradled in the front of her blouse. “Kira!” our father said in alarm. “You’ll stain your shirt. Go put those in the kitchen.”
Kira sidled up to me half an hour later in the back of the banquet hall as I picked at a plate of fruit salad. Rows and rows of chairs had been set up in the hall, along with a short stage in the front and a buffet in the back.
“Mellissa said the peaches were too hard this time,” she told me, taking a large bite of a roll. “She threw them in the garbage while I was standing there.” She had redone her hair and make-up at some point.
I offered her a gumball-sized orb of watermelon.
“This doesn’t seem like the sort of send off Uncle Rodney would have liked,” I admitted. Crowds of our father’s friends in their identical and expensive black suits milled around the hall. Kira nodded and leaned against my shoulder.
“Do you ever think about the fact that I’m the same age she was?” she asked.
I hummed in acknowledgement. The story came out when I was in middle school, four years after our parents had divorced. It was a scandal only sparsely covered in the local news, not important to be broadcast more general, but it shook the foundation of our family nonetheless. Alice Sawyer had sued her former employer for sexual assault while she was employed as an intern at his company six years earlier. It was a weird time in my life. Mom cried a lot; she hadn’t known when she divorced him, but the distance of time hadn’t softened the blow completely. Kira had been too young to know what was going on. We’d only gone back to our father’s for a few summers after that.
A voice came over the loud speaker and encouraged everyone to find a seat. I found the table where the caterers collected the dirty china and then Kira and I sat. Our father brought a priest in to speak. Kira and I sat in the last row playing Words with Friends. The priest said his part and then our father spoke for a long time. Last to speak was Uncle Rodney’s daughter Ruthie, who we’d never met. Her voice wobbled and Kira and I both put down our phones when she started to speak. My throat tightened.
Ruthie had been in college in New York by the time I was old enough to remember, but Uncle Rodney talked about her like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. He’d only been married to Ruthie’s mother for a couple of years after Ruthie was born, which left Ruthie as the uncontested most important person in his life. I could vaguely remember being jealous as a kid of this girl I’d never met.
I wouldn’t trade places with her for anything now. She leaned against the podium as though she needed it to stay upright, words shaky and drawn out. She finished up quickly and left the stage. The priest took her place, and made a few closing remarks before releasing everyone.
The crowd of suits lingered, unwilling to leave despite the fact that the actual members of Rodney’s family had to be at the cemetery by three o’clock. Not everyone had been invited to that portion of the day, thankfully. A few people filtered out as the staff started taking down the chairs, but many stayed. Kira and I wove between gaggles of people chatting in low murmurs, and made our way over to the corner where Ruthie sat by herself, eyes on her phone.
She glanced up as we approached, eyes red rimmed and weary when she didn’t recognize us.
“Ruthie?” She straightened her shoulders, as though preparing for battle. “I’m Alex. This is Kira. We’re your cousins?”
“Oh!” That was recognition. “Right. I remember my dad talking about you two. Nice to meet you.” She shook our hands.
“You too,” said Kira. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been under better circumstances.”
Ruthie smiled painfully and shrugged one shoulder. “I’m glad you came. He would have appreciated it.”
“We ran into Joe Valencia on the way here,” I said. “He sends his condolences.”
Her eyebrows furrowed and she glanced around the room. “Is he not here?”
Kira shook her head and Ruthie rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I guess he wasn’t invited. Maybe I should’ve done the invitations.” She looked around at the room again, her eyes landed on out father where he stood talking to one of his business partners and the man’s wife and daughter.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of thing right now,” said Kira, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
Ruthie gave her a weak smile. “Thanks. I really should have found the time to look through the invitations, though. I don’t think half the people here had even met my dad.” She rubbed the back of one hand across her mouth. “And Joe Valencia was one of his best friends.”
“Why didn’t our dad invite him?” I asked.
She tilted her head to one side. “I’m not sure your dad knew he existed. Joe and my dad spent most of their time together picking peaches.” She took a deep breath. “I should talk to Garret. We need to be getting to the cemetery soon.” She glanced at her phone. “I’m just going to call my husband first, though.”
We said goodbye and she ducked out of the room, phone to her ear.
Kira and I drove over to the cemetery in silence and I parked my scratched-up second-hand jeep alongside everyone else’s glossy Miatas and Mercedes.
“I don’t want to go over there,” I said as I leaned against my dusty car door and looked toward the small crowd, mingling and circling like black vultures around the grave. We watched our father as he talked to his business partner’s young daughter. His hand was on her shoulder, one finger brushing the skin of her neck. The girl twitched away, said something to our father and went to stand by her mother. Our father’s attention was pulled by Ruthie coming to ask him a question.
“We should say goodbye,” Kira said, leaning next to me, but she sounded just as unwilling.
“To Dad or to Rodney?” I asked.
Kira grabbed my hand. “Come on.”
She pulled me through the rows of graves, carefully not stepping on any headstones. The open casket was displayed on a table only a few yards from the grave.
I didn’t want to look, but I Kira dragged forward anyway. We stood stared down at the narrow face, pale even under layers of make-up. Kira reached into her purse and pulled out a peach. With a delicate reverence she placed it, soft and orangey-pink, under Uncle Rodney’s hand, so that his finger’s cradled it. She touched his cheek gently and then bumped my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Our father interrupted us on our path back to the car. “Where are you going?”
“We’re leaving.”
I stared at the manicured green grass.
“But we haven’t finished the burial.” He grabbed my arm. “Stay for dinner. We need to discuss your futures. Both of you.” He looked over at Kira. “I want to pay for your college, but you need to stay and discuss the terms of an agreement with me.” I tugged my arm from his grip. “Uncle Rodney would have wanted you to stay,” he tried.
“Uncle Rodney would have wanted there to be peaches,” said Kira.
“My catering service-- Kira, stop!” Kira walked away toward the car. He turned to me. “Go get her. I won’t let her disrespect Rodney or me like this.” I didn’t move. “Alex.” Kira stood at the car. She tugged on the door once, but it was locked. The keys pressed against my thigh in my pocket. Our father gripped my shoulder. His eyes were glassy and faded blue and I realized for the first time how old he looked. “I know you never forgave me for what I did to you mother.” I shook off his hand and took a step back. “I know what I did, but I still want to help you and Kira. I know you have loans.”
“No,” I said. His face flushed and his mouth gaped open. “Thank you.”
In my hurry to leave, I brushed by Ruthie, the only person standing near enough to has possibly heard any of our conversation.
“Alex,” she said.
I stopped and turned to look at her nervously. I might have only just met her today, but if she asked me to stay, for her sake or her father’s, I was pretty sure I would.
“Thank you for coming.” She fiddled with her necklace, tired eyes darting between my face and the grass at our feet.
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I gave her as much of a smile as I could muster up and walked back toward the car.
Kira met my eyes as I approached her. “Wanna drive?” I offered her the keys.
“Sure.”
Looking out of the passenger window, I could see our father staring after us, and Ruthie standing by her father’s casket, alone in her mourning.
I twisted around in my seat as we pulled from the parking lot. The last two peaches rested against the collar of my suit jacket in the foot-well. They were slightly bruised, ripe to the point of melting. I handed one to Kira and took the other for myself.
“I think,” Kira said as we drove down a long straight road between a peach orchard and field of shrubby strawberry plants, “That I don’t want to go back there anymore.” The sky was getting dark, the sun like a strobe light between the trees as we drove. Peach juice dripped down my wrist and chin, sticky and sweet. I licked it off my fingers and rolled down the window so to toss the pit out in into the dirt by the side of the road.
VISITING AVERY (A MONOLOGUE)
“Hi Avery. Ben told me to tell you ‘hi.’ He’s going to Chicago this weekend with his new girlfriend to visit it her parents. Can you believe it? Meeting the parents! You’re little brothers all grown up, dude. It’s so weird. He was freaking out all of last Saturday. He just came and camped out on my couch all day to whine and tell me about all the ways the trip could go horribly wrong. Her parents would think he wasn’t good enough, they’d hate him, they’d think majoring in English is a waste of time and money. Holly--that’s his girlfriend-- she’s a pre-med student. Her dad is the COO of and insurance company her moms a lawyer, so they have, like, really high standards. Anyway, Ben was freaking out over whether her parents would let them share a room, or if they should get a hotel—even though Holly said it would be fine. He was worried that the plane would crash or he’d forget his passport and they’d miss their flight.
He just really wants to impress this girl’s family. It’s kind of cute. He’s met her sister, Ellen, cause she came out here to stay with Holly for a week last spring break, so at least he’s got one foot in the door. Ellen’s nice. She’s in high school but she’s planning on coming out here for college next year. She wants to major in art, so, you know, their parents can’t be that strict.
I talked to your mom the other day too. It’s sort of weird to me that we’re all closer now than we were before. Anyway, she made these chocolate chip banana bread muffins that were so good. So good. She said she used to make them for you to take to school as a snack when you were in primary school. I brought one with me for you.
I think this is her way of wishing you a happy birthday, even though you know she’d never actually say that. Remarkably unspiritual woman, your mother. Not that I’m judging. She seems to be getting by all right. I don’t want you to worry about her or anything.
So, lets see what I’ve got. Banana bread from your mom. I even brought a candle and some matches. I know that’s kind of silly, but I’m gonna do it anyway. Ebby made you a card when her class had art time. She misses you. Isaac made you a little dog figurine out of clay. I’ve got no idea what that is about, but he sent it to me in the mail, so here you go. And my mom sent flowers.
Haha, dude, when I light this candle it’s gonna look like I’m worshiping an alter or something. Oh man, you probably think this is hilarious don’t you? Well, I’m gonna do it anyways, and just hope nobody walks by, so you can just shut up and listen to my terrible singing.
Okay, banana bread. Candle. I know technically there should be twenty four of them, but that’s just not happening so we’re going to go with one. Okay.
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday dear, Avery!
Happy birthday to you!
I should probably blow this candle out so it doesn’t catch anything on fire. Not, that there’s much around here that’s flammable. I wonder how much money they spend to keep the all this grass this green. I guess I could just let the candle burn out on its own.
So, you know how Ebby was so obsessed with horses a couple years ago. Well, Mom finally had enough money this year to get her lessons. She was so excited! It was all she would talk about for weeks and then mom took her to her first lesson and you’ll never believe what happened. That girl is terrified of horses. My mom said she took one look at the horse and got so pale she was afraid she was go to pass out. And she looked like she was going to start crying throughout the whole lesson and then when they got in the car to go home afterward she just started sobbing, like, flat out bawling. Mom had to pull the car over to give her a hug.
Well, Mom bought those lessons in like a package or something, so they went right back the next week and I think she’s getting over her fear now. It’s been like a month now, so I hope so. She was telling me about the horse she rides the other day and she seemed pretty happy about it.
She’s growing up so fast, man. It seems like just last week that my mom sat me down and told me that she was pregnant. Huh. Time really does fly.
Oh! Speaking of, I graduated! Like, I know that’s not really shocking or anything, I was right on schedule. Four years of high school, four years of college, then real world here I come. I guess its still a big deal though. I lived at home or a couple months and then I found this little studio apartment like ten blocks from the day-care I’ve been working at.
I wish you could see it. It’s not the nicest place ever. I’ve got a really lovely view of the back of a Fred Meyer, but I think I’ve cleaned it up pretty nicely. I’ve still got that mural you put up in our apartment sophomore year. It’s in the hall by the bathroom. Is that weird? That I have so much of your stuff still? Like, I’ve got some of your shirts and sweatshirts. And half of my kitchen appliances were yours. Even furniture. Pretty sure you said that couch belonged to your uncle at one point.
Man, anyone I date in the future is gonna be in for a world of complex baggage, aren’t they?
I went on a date the other day. It wasn’t… it wasn’t the first date I’ve been on, but it was the first time I’ve considered a second. He’s this guy who goes to the same yoga classes I do. Nice guy. Nothing like you. I don’t know. I feel like… I feel like I need to move on. I should move on. I have, sort of. But it still doesn’t really feel like you’re my ex. Like, we’re never going to get that kind of closure.
I guess I’m gonna have to find someone who’s okay with me being half in love with someone else.
Enough about my dismal love life though, Isaac has a boyfriend! I just found out about this like, last week and it sounds like he only just started telling people, but I guess they’ve been together for over a year. I don’t know if he ever told you. It didn’t seem like the right time to ask about that. But, he seems pretty darn happy. He had a hard time last year so… with everything that happened, and then he graduated in the spring and had to find a job and figure out how to support himself. I guess it’s nice to know he had someone through all that.
The two of us sort of drifted apart for a little while. I mean, he was always more your friend then mine, but still, I like to keep in touch. He’s a good guy and he’s always over at your mom’s house still. You’re mom is very good at adopting more children at any given opportunity. I think she was looking forward to having grandchildren….
Well, maybe someday Ben will be a dad. Uh, can you imagine? Actually, I think he’s make a good parent some day, in a few years when he’s grown up a bit more. And possibly not with this Holly girl he’s dating. She seems a bit intense and career driven to be really thinking about kids anytime soon. Although…maybe Ben can be a stay at home dad. Oh, he’d be good at that. Hah. I should tell him.
Well. I have to pick Ebby up from school in half an hour because my Mom is having a girls night with some friends. I just wanted to come give you these presents and wish you a happy birthday. I’m gonna…I’m gonna take this muffin so that groundskeeper doesn’t have to deal with moldy bread later this week. I’ll come by again at some point. Yeah. I’ll….I’ll see you later. Bye. Happy birthday.”
He just really wants to impress this girl’s family. It’s kind of cute. He’s met her sister, Ellen, cause she came out here to stay with Holly for a week last spring break, so at least he’s got one foot in the door. Ellen’s nice. She’s in high school but she’s planning on coming out here for college next year. She wants to major in art, so, you know, their parents can’t be that strict.
I talked to your mom the other day too. It’s sort of weird to me that we’re all closer now than we were before. Anyway, she made these chocolate chip banana bread muffins that were so good. So good. She said she used to make them for you to take to school as a snack when you were in primary school. I brought one with me for you.
I think this is her way of wishing you a happy birthday, even though you know she’d never actually say that. Remarkably unspiritual woman, your mother. Not that I’m judging. She seems to be getting by all right. I don’t want you to worry about her or anything.
So, lets see what I’ve got. Banana bread from your mom. I even brought a candle and some matches. I know that’s kind of silly, but I’m gonna do it anyway. Ebby made you a card when her class had art time. She misses you. Isaac made you a little dog figurine out of clay. I’ve got no idea what that is about, but he sent it to me in the mail, so here you go. And my mom sent flowers.
Haha, dude, when I light this candle it’s gonna look like I’m worshiping an alter or something. Oh man, you probably think this is hilarious don’t you? Well, I’m gonna do it anyways, and just hope nobody walks by, so you can just shut up and listen to my terrible singing.
Okay, banana bread. Candle. I know technically there should be twenty four of them, but that’s just not happening so we’re going to go with one. Okay.
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday dear, Avery!
Happy birthday to you!
I should probably blow this candle out so it doesn’t catch anything on fire. Not, that there’s much around here that’s flammable. I wonder how much money they spend to keep the all this grass this green. I guess I could just let the candle burn out on its own.
So, you know how Ebby was so obsessed with horses a couple years ago. Well, Mom finally had enough money this year to get her lessons. She was so excited! It was all she would talk about for weeks and then mom took her to her first lesson and you’ll never believe what happened. That girl is terrified of horses. My mom said she took one look at the horse and got so pale she was afraid she was go to pass out. And she looked like she was going to start crying throughout the whole lesson and then when they got in the car to go home afterward she just started sobbing, like, flat out bawling. Mom had to pull the car over to give her a hug.
Well, Mom bought those lessons in like a package or something, so they went right back the next week and I think she’s getting over her fear now. It’s been like a month now, so I hope so. She was telling me about the horse she rides the other day and she seemed pretty happy about it.
She’s growing up so fast, man. It seems like just last week that my mom sat me down and told me that she was pregnant. Huh. Time really does fly.
Oh! Speaking of, I graduated! Like, I know that’s not really shocking or anything, I was right on schedule. Four years of high school, four years of college, then real world here I come. I guess its still a big deal though. I lived at home or a couple months and then I found this little studio apartment like ten blocks from the day-care I’ve been working at.
I wish you could see it. It’s not the nicest place ever. I’ve got a really lovely view of the back of a Fred Meyer, but I think I’ve cleaned it up pretty nicely. I’ve still got that mural you put up in our apartment sophomore year. It’s in the hall by the bathroom. Is that weird? That I have so much of your stuff still? Like, I’ve got some of your shirts and sweatshirts. And half of my kitchen appliances were yours. Even furniture. Pretty sure you said that couch belonged to your uncle at one point.
Man, anyone I date in the future is gonna be in for a world of complex baggage, aren’t they?
I went on a date the other day. It wasn’t… it wasn’t the first date I’ve been on, but it was the first time I’ve considered a second. He’s this guy who goes to the same yoga classes I do. Nice guy. Nothing like you. I don’t know. I feel like… I feel like I need to move on. I should move on. I have, sort of. But it still doesn’t really feel like you’re my ex. Like, we’re never going to get that kind of closure.
I guess I’m gonna have to find someone who’s okay with me being half in love with someone else.
Enough about my dismal love life though, Isaac has a boyfriend! I just found out about this like, last week and it sounds like he only just started telling people, but I guess they’ve been together for over a year. I don’t know if he ever told you. It didn’t seem like the right time to ask about that. But, he seems pretty darn happy. He had a hard time last year so… with everything that happened, and then he graduated in the spring and had to find a job and figure out how to support himself. I guess it’s nice to know he had someone through all that.
The two of us sort of drifted apart for a little while. I mean, he was always more your friend then mine, but still, I like to keep in touch. He’s a good guy and he’s always over at your mom’s house still. You’re mom is very good at adopting more children at any given opportunity. I think she was looking forward to having grandchildren….
Well, maybe someday Ben will be a dad. Uh, can you imagine? Actually, I think he’s make a good parent some day, in a few years when he’s grown up a bit more. And possibly not with this Holly girl he’s dating. She seems a bit intense and career driven to be really thinking about kids anytime soon. Although…maybe Ben can be a stay at home dad. Oh, he’d be good at that. Hah. I should tell him.
Well. I have to pick Ebby up from school in half an hour because my Mom is having a girls night with some friends. I just wanted to come give you these presents and wish you a happy birthday. I’m gonna…I’m gonna take this muffin so that groundskeeper doesn’t have to deal with moldy bread later this week. I’ll come by again at some point. Yeah. I’ll….I’ll see you later. Bye. Happy birthday.”
POEMS
|
AT NIGHT
It’s a long road between here and home the light light light flicker of street lamps on damp pavement the steel grey curves of on ramp off ramp on ramp off ramp on road signs like green flags saying looking at me long enough and I’ll tell you just how far from home you are again and again and again. I can see the speedometer from my bus seat. I can see stop lights and brake lights and window lights I can see a McDonalds I can see a city scape smeared sideways and freckled by rain WHAT'S IN MY JOURNAL Forgotten things, like coat pockets on the first cold day of fall. Ticket stubs, brochures. Tears already dry before they hit the page. Lunch meetings, scrambled eggs. The straight narrow lines of day planners. Temporary feelings strung out and stuck to the page like used chewing gum. Promises broken before they were made. The empty shadows of literary genius. Everything not important. Seashells of sea change, peanut butter toast, heartbreak. Shame along the torn edges of pages leaving spaces for regret, and a strange fondness for impulsive decisions. Spare change, far more valuable than anything you could ever spend. Lies I used to believe. All of it, really. NOTES ON THE EXPANDING COSMOS What is it to believe in something you cannot see nor comprehend? And yet to trust so fully in the instruments and the checks and balances and words of other people as to be able to say I believe in love. I believe the cosmos are expanding. I believe that scientists have tested and retested their hypotheses and came to the most likely conclusion. I take all their words, their promises and professed beliefs, I cup them in my palms like water and bring them to my forehead where they spill in through my eyes. I make them mine. And so I can say, with all the faith in all the people who walk different paths than I do, I believe the cosmos are expanding. I believe that sometimes when she smiles at you across a counter, a breakfast table, a coffee shop, she is imagining you naked. I believe that sometimes you can see a thousand future kisses sparkling like dew at the corners of his eyes. I believe that decades can be built in the spaces between hands and lips and shoulders. I believe that when you dance, you dance to music I cannot hear. Your body beats an ancient rhythm in the footsteps of everyone preceding you, a dance you were not taught, but know nonetheless You twist in joy and delight and agony, falling in and out of step with one another. In the silence, I watch you You tell me love exists. You tell me the cosmos are expanding. I believe you. |
LOVED ONES
The first time I met you I misunderstood gentleness and softness for exactly what it was Swaying, swinging, sleeping in your arms such strength could only belong to someone who loved me less legally legitimate more lyrically singing lullabies late at night to my latent fears of you leaving leaving leaving me, and you, more or less loving me more or less leaving anyway The first time I met you I stared straight into your eyes and saw the net that would catch me over and over again as I fell and fell, though never for you And it’s true that you caught me, over and over again, lifted me up again, cleaned me off again, and tucked me into bed again until the rush of falling wasn’t enough and I cut you loose took the blade of silence to my safety line stifled your cries of warning and fell The first time I met you you were already looking at me hard eyes like iron pinning me in place pushing, pushing pushing boundaries I didn’t even know I had curious, curious, but never cautious You fooled me into believing that I was being taught, not teased tamed, not toyed with, But you were testing me, testing me, then touching me, but still testing testing, always testing until I broke And figured out just how much you never belonged on this list. The first time I met you I almost turned away baby, heavier on my heart than in my arms half-heartedly swaddled in a blanket I had begun to hate before you were ever wrapped up in it. I tossed it away so as not to let it poison you or me and held you to my chest instead cradled you in my own shirt with my own hands and called you mine and mine and never mind her you were never her’s anymore than I was. The first time I met you I willed myself blind to you, hands and heart. Like you ever had any intention of taking anything from me that I didn’t want give My heart resting restlessly years later, unaware that I was anywhere near ready for you. You, right on the periphery mutely offering me everything palms upturned and waiting for me, waiting for me willing me to see them. |
