Humor

A man walks into a bar with a chunk of asphalt under his arm. He says to the bartender: "I'll have one drink for me and one for the road."

Here is today's story, straight from my source: Uncle Bouqui and Little Malice. What really struck me about it was how funny it was. It takes a lot, I think, for something written in a book to be really funny, especially when that thing was originally told as a story. I'm sure someone telling the story of Uncle Bouqui and Little Malice well could have his audience rolling with laughter pretty much the whole time. It's a very special gift, this particular aspect of good storytelling, and it's one I'd really like to nurture in myself.

I was riding home with some friends tonight from a very somber play (Sleep No More if your interested - in a league of its own regarding storytelling), and we spent most of the time telling each other really terrible jokes. Sure, we were all exhausted, so that helped, but a lot of the fun of it came from how we were telling them. A stupid joke told poorly is no fun. A stupid joke told well is hilarious, or at least worth a groan, even if the audience has heard it thousands of times before. I was reminded of a kind of Japanese theater called Rakugo that seems to work on the same principle. Unfortunately English examples of it are sparse, but what I've seen of it suggests that it's all in the storytelling. The performers use a very few props, and act out different characters in silly ways, all leading up to one very simple, often predictable punchline, but it's hysterical if done well.

My drawing professor is asking us to examine the role that humor can play in our work this week, so I think I'll be focusing on it for a little while here as well. It feels a bit strange to be taking on this topic when, I'll admit, I haven't been very happy lately. Yes, plenty is going well for me, and I'm very very grateful to be surrounded by people I love, but there's been a lot of bad news in my life lately, for myself and people I care deeply about. That being said, I've always been of the opinion that a good sense of humor has its place in even the most dire of times, or when dealing with difficult subjects, and maybe even especially then. Some people insist that there are some things that shouldn't ever be the subjects of jokes, and I respect that opinion, but on the other hand I would insist that humor is often the healthiest way to deal with unfortunate but inevitable truths. If something makes me uncomfortable or, frankly, scares the hell out of me, I joke about it. I make fun of it. It takes away the power of a fear and makes me feel in control and less confined by what scares me.

Greed

Today's story is Greedy Mariani, another from Haiti. Unfortunately, I can't find an online version of it, so I will have to provide a synopsis for the purposes of my discussion: Mariani is a woman, and she is very rude to her houseguests. She lets people in, treats them very poorly, and then takes their money before kicking them out. One day she lets in a traveler who carries with him four bags of silver. Upon his leaving the next morning, he says he will leave her with one bag, but of course she wants all four, so she follows him down the road as he leads his mules away. She follows him for a while, shouting for him to give her her due, and he leads her right to the edge of a graveyard, where he turns around, revealing his true nature. He is a zombi! Mariani falls down dead of shock.

Now, as a contrast to Mariani, I will tell you a story about my mother. My mother is very good with money. It is thanks to her frugality and wise saving that our family has much of the money it has, not to mention her tireless work for as a nurse in the same hospital for the past... 30 years? Something like that. If anyone in my family is reading, feel free to correct any factual errors. In any case, I used to be not so fond of her practice of frugality, thinking it cheap or stingy. I am not very good with money. I give it away rather freely and have at times spent it on rather useless things. In any case, my opinion about my mother's spending habits changed a few years ago when she pointed something out to me. For all her scrimping and saving, she spends money quite freely when she finds something worth spending it on. For her, that's things for her family. Whenever an unexpected bonus or tax rebate comes her way, she thinks of us first and is happy and even excited to buy something new.

I have come to see saving money as a sort of moral or ethical issue lately. It has always been a bit difficult for me to find the discipline required to save money on a daily basis. I can usually go without buying myself unnecessary items, but I eat out more than I need to, have been pursuing ridiculously expensive art practices, and spend a lot on things like movies and other entertainments. I don't really think of myself as greedy, although prodigal probably wouldn't be too far off. Lately, though, I've been forced to pretty bluntly face a certain reality of money: there are a lot of people out there who simply don't have any. I try to be charitable, and I make a point never to let my (skewed) perceptions of my own lack of funds prevent me from giving to people who clearly need it more, but lately I've realized that I can do more than that. Can't I be more careful about what I spend, the luxuries I allow myself, so that more of the money I make can go elsewhere? For the time being, of course, I'm speaking about Haiti. Sometimes I think of how much money America spends on war. I try not to, because it's massively depressing, but I wonder how much nicer the world would be if that money went towards feeding people and keeping them healthy. With that in mind, I've been trying my best to save money lately, so that, like my mother, I can spend it on what is truly important to me.

I don't want to use this blog as an opportunity to preach, but I really do hope you'll consider using the link at the top of my page to donate to Partners in Health. You don't have to give much, anything you think you can spare will help, but really think hard about where that money would be going if you didn't donate it. As I imagine (and hope) that this will be a thought-provoking topic, I encourage your feedback.

Tradition

The Magic Orange Tree

Today's story is very rewarding because it demonstrates, as I had hoped, a number of connections to other topics and traditions I have come across in my fairy tale readings. The first thing I noticed about this story, as it is presented, is that it draws very palpably in its narrative style from the oral tradition in which it originated. The "Cric?" "Crac!" callback and group singing are familiar tropes of Caribbean storytelling, ones which I've only seen in film (and, if I'm remembering correctly, a film set in Martinique and not Haiti), but would love to be a part of in person. I love it when I can feel a speaker's voice in a written story. It serves as a reminder that these tales are quite older than the written word and indeed often flourish in cultures where writing is not at all common. The Grimms' stories often contain these little narrative indicators of a speaker as well, usually in sing-song rhymes or funny little jokes at the ends of stories. They seem odd in a written work, but happily remind us that words are meant to be spoken aloud. These stories work best when delivered by a practiced voice to an eager audience.

Another interesting comparison I found was in the commentary at the bottom of this story, which describes the practice of burying a child's umbilical cord with a fruit seed, and essentially giving the resultant fruit tree to the child. I read here (in a note to one of my favorite stories, The Girl With No Hands - incidentally, this is what inspired my brief obsession with pears in my paintings about a year ago) that a similar ritual was once common in Europe as well. The practice of allowing the child to use the tree for her own economic benefit seems unique to Haiti though, and implies a lot more self-reliance at an early age, a value that is upheld throughout today's story. I very much enjoy the tale of The Magic Orange Tree, and find its message of resilience and autonomous power much more appropriate and truthful when applied to real children, at least the ones I've met. I would say I'd be adding it to my repertoire for stories to tell at Lemberg, if not for that pesky recurring theme of killing evil step-parents. Somehow I don't think that would be well-received by the children, their parents, or my superiors.

Why

Today was not an easy day. It started when I read a Grimm fairy tale, The Strange Musician, that seemed to me yet another divisive, frivolous tale encouraging conflict over communication, an upsetting change from the Japanese stories I had been reading for a few days. I began debating with myself whether it was even worth it to keep reading the Grimms' stories, or whether all I would ever learn from them would be contrary to the lessons they seemed to be trying to teach. Unfortunately, with this minor conflict clouding my mind, I was later brought two very sobering pieces of news, the first being that a child at Lemberg had lost a family member in the Haitian earthquake (which, much to my dismay, I was just learning of this afternoon), and the second being that my paternal grandmother's health had gone into even further decline from its already precipitous state.

With such things hanging over my head, I naturally began to question the nature of the work that I'm doing with this blog. In times of great sorrow, do children's stories and folktales really have any place in our daily lives? Can I read silly fantasies with simple morals when events in the real world are so grave and require such immediate attention? The answer, of course, is yes, and this answer attests to the real, fundamental reason why these stories are important. Whether or not we agree with all of their messages, these are the stories that survive in our culture and have survived for ages, tying together often conflicting generations through common knowledge and belief. What's more, and particularly relevant now, is that these stories transcend cultural divisions, tying our world together as powerfully as mourning or grief. It is with this in mind that I will be reacting to this global tragedy in the only way I know how, by strengthening the bond with my fellow humans most affected by this tragedy and exploring the culture so hard hit by this disaster. In the coming days, weeks, and maybe even months, I'll be seeking out whatever recorded examples I can find of Haiti's rich folkloric tradition, through the internet and whatever books I can find. This will be an intermittent sub-project whose threads will weave together with everything else I seek to do in this blog, so please be on the lookout in future entries as I compile and read through my sources in order to integrate them with the rest of my materials. I urge you as well to reach out to those around you whose lives have been touched by the tragedy, in any way you see fit. Go with your heart and you will find the human soul that links us all. Thank you for reading, and please be safe.