THE IMPORTANCE OF STORY

"How could I put everything down on paper? It seemed impossible. No matter what, the majority of life would be left out of this story, this sliver of a version of the life I'd known." (432)


—Valentino Achak Deng in What is the What by Dave Eggers

The story was important enough that all other activity needed to cease. Work had to continue and rearing of the child and eating and sleeping, but otherwise the story had to be followed and finished, squeezed in wherever time allowed. But, then, does the story finish just because it is followed to completion?

What is the What will most likely be the best book I read in 2007. It easily makes my list of top books. It is a story that compels the reader to read it. It is a story that haunts, that shifts one’s outlook on the world, and leaves the reader different, changed.

I began the book partly due to word of mouth—on the street, a good review in The New York Times Book Review, press on the McSweeney's website—and partly due to interest in the synopsis of the story and enjoyment of Egger's A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. The story is very compelling, and once I was immersed I knew that I had to keep reading, I had to get to the "other side" of the novel. But, what really compelled me to read with a sense of urgency was getting to hear Achak Deng's story in person, and to speak with him.

I am exhausted, and know that I will have to revisit the book at some point in the near future. But, for now, I am blessed to have lived in Achak Deng's story for the past two weeks. I hope that you will also live there very soon.

WILD PLACES

"I have no history.
I have no memory.
I am a fool."
—Don Cheadle as Paul Rusesabagina in Hotel Rwanda

"My anger was more intense than it had ever been toward the murahaleen. It was born of the realization that there were castes within the displaced. And we occupied the lowest rung on the ladder. We were utterly dispensable to all—to the government, to the murahaleen, to the rebels, to the better-situated refugees." (205)
—Valentino Achak Deng in What is the What by Dave Eggers

Sudan: Baggara Arab horsemen slaughter Dinka and Nuer. Dinka and Nuer eventually feud and kill each other, before once again collectively turning their attention against the Muslim-led northern government. Rwanda: Hutus kill Tutsis. The only way they can be told apart is by their identity cards, identities created during the time of colonization by Belgium. Yugoslavia: Croats murder Serbs; Serbs murder Croats; both murder Muslims. The nation fractures into individual states. Civil war: neighbor kills neighbor; friend murders friend; father turns against son and daughter, daughter turns against mother and mother-in-law.

What is the What: The Autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng by Dave Eggers has become the seminal, defining voice of a conflict for me, in this case the civil war of Sudan. In the same way that William T. Vollmann did for the Soviet-Afghanistan conflict in An Afghanistan Picture Show; Or How I Saved the World; Misha Glenny did for the Yugoslavia civil war in The Fall of Yugoslavia: The Third Balkan War; and Philip Gourevitch did for the Rwandan genocide in We Wish To Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families; Dave Eggers, channeling the voice of Achak Deng in What is the What, has now forced me to confront savagery that has taken place in my own lifetime. This is not distant history that has no overt connection to me. This is not the First World War or the Second World War, or even Vietnam. This civil war in Sudan is a conflict that continues to rage. This civil war in Sudan is a conflict that has claimed hundreds of thousands of lives, displaced millions, and should have spoken deep into my soul well before now and motivated me into action. This civil war in Sudan is complicated further by the presence of multinational oil companies in the region that want to ensure that they can take their oil at whatever human cost in order that they can reap billions in profits.

Therefore, I am having to educate myself further, in order that I can speak to some of the truth that has been kept from me. (Or, more importantly, the truth that I have kept from myself. The Buddha is telling the truth when he states that, "Ignorance is bliss." We "keep" things from ourselves, on purpose, all the time.) This means having to continue with What is the What until I am finished and then moving deeper into the history of the Sudanese civil war and genocide, through research and other works.

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The wife and I viewed Hotel Rwanda last night. This is another piece of art that is cutting deep into me at the moment. The world stood by while 800,000 to one million people were slaughtered in 100 days, the most people killed in the shortest amount of time in world history. Paul Rusesabagina saved 1200, all the while risking his own life and those of his family members. I am sick. I am ashamed at my culpability. I wish I was more courageous, more bold. I wish that I could speak against these atrocities with fervor and faithfulness to who I believe that I am, rather than just hiding in the safety of my home, my middle-class American life.

I am pretty sure that I am no prophet, however. There is a reason that people like Paul Rusesbagina and Valentino Achak Deng need to speak, to continue to tell their stories. I believe they truly are called to "fulfill a mission."

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Paul Rusesbagina and Valentino Achak Deng and hundreds of thousands of others have been to wild places that I will never know. They have been taken into the wilderness and tempted by the Devil in ways that I cannot even begin to imagine. They have stared into the mouths of the dogs of war, and won small victories in their own ways: they are still alive and still speak. Their presence is a testament to human will and persistence, in the face of the evil and sin that resides deep within us as a people.

VALENTINO ACHAK DENG

"I do not believe that I was saved because I am unique, an individual. I believe that I was saved because I have a mission to fulfill."
—Valentino Achak Deng, Elliott Bay Book Company, Tuesday 09 January 2007

Tuesday night brings more tales of the destruction of Marial Bai. Of the armed militias of Arab horsemen, known then as the murahaleen, known now as the janjaweed, who were intent on killing the Dinka, the tribe of which Achak belongs. Of death and survival in the bush. Of the loss of so many friends. Of years living in refugee camps in Ethiopia and Kenya. Of an opportunity to come to the United States, almost thwarted, since he was initially flying here on September 11, 2001, and incoming air traffic was halted due to the terrorist attacks in Washington DC and New York. Of the difficulty of adjusting to a new language and culture and people. Of his being mugged and robbed. The tales were right from the mouth of the man known as Valentino Achak Deng.

The child and I journeyed up to Seattle to hear Achak speak to a room of two hundred people at Elliott Bay Book Company. Achak is the subject of the novel, What is the What: The Autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng by Dave Eggers. Achak not only told his story, but also spoke of the way that the book was written. He told us about his initial meeting with Dave Eggers and their trip to Sudan in 2003. He told us about their talks and email exchanges. He told us how Eggers would write a section and have Achak review it for accuracy. He told us how Eggers would write a draft for a section and email Achak questions he had about that particular section. The book truly seems a collaboration between author and subject, between the facts that non-fiction provides and the truth that fiction provides.

So there we sat, a group of mostly young, middle-class, white people listening to this humble, generous man, who feels that he must speak out against the atrocities in his homeland in order that others will know about those atrocities, and also speak out and act to see them stopped. And, I kept wondering if any of us, myself included would actually do anything. I felt paralyzed and impotent to act, just as I did when Yugoslavia was tearing itself apart. I felt paralyzed and impotent to act, just as I did when the Tutsis and Hutus were killing each other in Rwanda, even after reading Philip Gourevitch's We Wish to Inform You that We Will Be Killed with Our Families. I felt paralyzed and impotent to act, just as I did when the United States invaded Iraq for the first time in 1991 during Desert Storm and more recently during our current quagmire known as Gulf War 2.

This time, however, I have met a survivor of genocide in Africa. I have heard his story. I have seen it enfleshed. I have spoken to him. I have shaken his hand. He flirted with the child, and treated her as though she was just as important as anyone else there. In my copy of What is the What he wrote "To Troy! With gratitude, Valentino Achak Deng." He thanked me for coming. I couldn't believe that he was thanking me. I thanked him for his story, at which he seemed somewhat embarrassed. He glanced down at his hands and thanked me again. Then he looked up at the child, raised his brow, and told her to be good. At that we departed.

I can read and inform myself, as I am doing right now, becoming more upset the more of What is the What that I read.

If I do nothing else, however, I hope to direct someone else to some of the story of Achak and the stories of the people of Southern Sudan and the grievous injuries that they have suffered, individually and collectively. Please take some time to visit the following links:

*Valentino Achak Deng—this website is hosted by Achak as he attempts to tell the world his story and to help the people, his people, of Southern Sudan.

*What is the What—learn more about the book.

*Southern Sudanese Community of Washington—an organization that helps the refugees of Southern Sudan who are relocated in Washington State start to rebuild their new lives.

*Eric Reeves—the website for a man who has spent the past seven years researching and speaking out against the atrocities committed by the Sudanese government against its own people. Reeves is considered an enemy by the government of Sudan. He is also a thorn in the side of many other governments that refuse to put an end to the violence, including the United States.

*Save Darfur—an alliance of over 170 religious, advocacy, and human rights organizations dedicated to speaking out against the genocide in Sudan and obtaining some sort of response to the 2.5 million people killed and 2 million people displaced by the violence.

TIME AT WAR

So now I set about fitting into the training programme of my platoon some of the stalking and catch-me-if-you-can games that I had played with Raleigh Trevelyan’s platoon at Ranby—for did not war seem to be a horribly over-the-top version of a children’s game? (56)

It was all quite like, yes, an apotheosis of a mad apocalyptic children’s game. (124)

—Time at War by Nicholas Mosley.

Two days ago, I completed Time at War by Nicholas Mosley. This was a Christmas gift from the mother-in-law.

Time at War is a memoir of Mosley's experiences in the Second World War. What I liked about the book is Mosley's deflation of his younger self. He challenges his youthful arrogance from the standpoint of a man at the end of life, but also shows how he was challenging many of his assumptions and values even as a young man. He is snivelling and brash and spoiled. He is warm and compassionate and warm-hearted. He revels in the friendships of his fellow students and officers. He wonders about their "playing" at homosexuality, which, for most of them, is left behind once the brutality and horror of war rears its ugly head. He finds fulfillment in war, even as he protests it. He faces the failure of being captured, the thrill of escape, and the redemption of being allowed to "repent" of his failure through the success of leading his platoon into battle. Mosley is contradiction squared. He is human. This humanity and confusion and self-effacement and reevaluation makes him rather endearing.

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Every minute I have to give to this war I grudge angrily. And when things are dangerously active I go about my business in a spirit of complete misery.
—Time at War by Nicholas Mosley, page 143

I was talking with a soldier and his wife on Sunday. He is about to be redeployed at a moment's notice to Iraq, as soon as President George W. Bush decides how many troops he wants to increase our current numbers with. His platoon could leave in a few weeks. It could leave tonight. He doesn't know. But, he does know that he is afraid and mad and wants American involvement in the war to come to conclusion. The insecurity and anxiety is gnawing at him. His fear and worry were visible upon his face and that of his wife. He looked sick and pissed off.

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One could begin to see how the simplicities of war might be easier to deal with than the complexities of peace.
—Time at War by Nicholas Mosley, page 160

Which is how President Bush was reelected. It was simpler to keep him in office and slog through the nightmare we have helped to create than to roll up our sleeves, put someone else into office, and do the real work of diplomacy, withdrawal, coalition building.

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Humans seem at home in war: they do not feel at home in peace. This cannot often enough be said.
—Time at War by Nicholas Mosley, page 161

May God have mercy upon us!

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As soon as I completed Time at War, I immediately began What is the What by Dave Eggers. What is the What is a fictionalized account of the life of Valentino Achak Deng. Deng survived the civil war of Sudan in the early 1980s and his subsequent trek to find shelter in refugee camps in western Ethiopia and northern Kenya.

This is another attempt of an individual to wrap his mind around the concept of war. Only this time the individual is not in his early twenties when he first experiences war, but six years old. I am only 85 pages into the novel at this point, but young Deng has seen his village of Marial Bai destroyed, had his family split up, seen bodies scattered about, and seen and heard fellow boys attacked by lions in the scrub as they flee. He has also been victimized in the United States as a young adult refugee due to his African heritage. His tale is being told to us while he is tied up on the floor of his own apartment after being robbed.

We really are filthy beasts, all of us...

on THE TAPHANDLE

Snoqualmie Wildcat IPA by Snoqualmie Falls Brewing Company

This is a great India Pale Ale. It looks like a pint of apple juice with a thick frothy head. The head lasted for quite some time and left good lacing behind. The aroma is of flowers and citrus, mostly grapefruit. Hints of apple and alcohol also hide in the nose. The flavor was very bitter, with an intense, slightly acidic, grapefruit flavor. This is a hop lover's dream. It was a good match for homemade tacos.

THE JOYS OF LIFE

These are pictures of a salt shaker taken by the child. The child took these pictures in the cafe of Elliott Bay Book Company.

The child insisted that she be allowed to take some photographs as I was readying a new 35mm camera for our visit to the Frye. I had to explain to the child that she could not use the 35mm camera as it was not ready and she was too young to play with it. (Well, not really. It's the Pop Cam, and functions very much like our low-resolution digital camera, relying upon ambient lighting and a vague "viewfinder.")

The fruit of the compromise—use of our low-resolution digital camera to take pictures—is Salt Shaker 1 and Salt Shaker 2.

PICK OF THE WEEK

Today is the pick of the week. The day was a fun one for the child and I.

First, we visited Elliott Bay Book Company. I had a gift certificate that I received from my boss. I was able to pick out four books today, which still left me a little bit to use in the future. This allows me to have new reading material for the winter and spring, along with the books I received for Christmas. Today I picked up:

*What is the What by Dave Eggers. Subtitled The Autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng, this is a novel based upon the life of one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Eggers extensively interviewed Deng, had access to pieces Deng had written himself, used other source material written about the Sudanese civil war, and then fictionalized it. It reminds me of William T. Vollmann's Afghanistan Picture Show, which was a blend of "fiction" and reportage, humility and bravado.

*Red the Fiend by Gilbert Sorrentino. A novel about victimization and abuse. Red is transformed into Red the Fiend through the physical and emotional torments of his grandmother, as well as others.

*I'm Not Stiller by Max Frisch. A man is framed by authorities for crimes he did not commit. Or did he? He insists that he is not Stiller.

*Norman Rockwell: The Underside of Innocence by Richard Halpern. A critical look at the work of Rockwell and the subversion contained within his art.

Next, we visited the Frye Art Museum. Our main reason for visiting was to see the sound sculpture by Trimpin. His installation, entitled Klompen, consists of 120 Dutch wooden clogs that contain wooden mallets. Each clog is suspended from a thin computer cable that also serves to tie the mallet to the computer that runs the compositions. Each "play" of the sculpture cost 25 cents, the proceeds of which are donated to charity. Different sized clogs and different sized mallets allow for different notes. The percussive songs were short, each about a minute in length.

The child was intrigued by "the dancing shoes" "that make music." She was also intrigued by her "interaction" in inserting quarters into its box to make it function.

We also had fun at the Erwin Wurm exhibit, I Love My Time, I Don't Like My Time: Recent Work by Erwin Wurm. It included photographs, video, sculptures, and spectator-involvement performance pieces, all of which bordered on the absurd. The child sat on one of the spectator-involvement sculptures and contemplated Spinoza. The child asked questions about some of the photographs and videos. I attempted to explain them to the child as best as possible. The child would watch me as I laughed at some of the photographs.

The child also really enjoyed a couple of video sculptures created by children inspired by the work of Wurm. Collectively entitled Pieces of Clothing, the child enjoyed stop-motion animations of clothing, shoes, and infant outfits that moved about. The child kept asking to go back and look at them.

Another exhibit that intrigued me was Spectatorship and Desire: Loss. These were rooms in the front galleries filled with paintings from the Frye's permanent collection. The layout of the paintings was such that it looked as though some pieces were missing, which upon more exploration I discovered was the case. The exhibit "catalogs" in the rooms duplicated the layouts of the walls, naming the artist and title for each painting, as well as for each negative space! The idea was that the "hole" was the size that the painting it represented would take up if it were hanging on the wall. Loss, indeed. I found it an interesting way to make the spectator think about the pieces that we see, or remember seeing in the past.

Later in the evening, at home, the child took a box, flipped it over, and began making her shoes "dance" on the box by dangling them from their laces like some strange marionettes. She insisted that she was "doing a puppet show." I would consider that the perfect end to a wonderful day: life imitating art.

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The pictures of Elliott Bay, the Klompen exhibit, and the Spectatorship and Desire: Loss exhibit were taken with the pocket digital camera. This allowed the child and I to continue our surreptitious photography in art museums and galleries. I don't think either Elliott Bay or the Frye would have objected to our camera, but it felt good to be continuing our own art project. The purple in one of the Klompen pictures is just one of the "hiccups" of a low-resolution digital camera. The darkness of the others is due to reliance upon ambient lighting.

THE OCEAN CALLS

"Dunes are classified by their shape, which is a function of sand and topography interacting with the wind. Sand particles begin to move when wind velocity reaches about eleven miles per hour."
—D.J. Waldie in the entry "Dune" from Home Ground: Language for an American Landscape, edited by Barry Lopez and Debra Gwartney, page 117

One week ago today, the atmosphere of Ocean Shores changes. The wind quiets until it approaches stillness. The temperature drops below freezing. In the early morning, I climb into the Clam Castle hot tub. The contrast of the 101 degree Fahrenheit temperature of the water with the chill of the dunes and their standing water, now frozen, is soothing. I relax as I watch woodsmoke puff from a nearby house's chimney.

The rest of the day is spent walking the beach with the immediate and extended family. We look at the snow covered Olympics to the northeast. We splash about in the waves. We wander. We explore. We return to the warmth of our temporary home.

I nap. I awake to a quiet house, where most of the children are also napping and most of the adults have left for a casino visit. I take pictures of the sun as it sets over the sea. I take pictures of Sasha, the dog who does not like her picture taken. I play with the child and the nephew.

We eat dinner. We ready the children for bed. The adults plays board and card games until midnight. Then we ourselves retire, but not before the wife and I take another dip in the hot tub, the chill of the ocean and dunes kept at bay for another short while. Then comes slumber and its attendant dreams...

THE OCEAN CALLS

"Shore can be parsed into the subsets of beach and coast. One could say that shore is the more formal-sounding and "elegant" of the three—as evidenced by real estate developers and bad poets."
—Luis Alberto Urrea in the entry "Shore" from Home Ground: Language for an American Landscape, edited by Barry Lopez and Debra Gwartney, page 326

One week ago today, I am walking the beach at Ocean Shores, being assailed by very strong winds and even stronger gusts that threaten to knock me over. I am alone, except for the occasional sea gull or group of plovers. I am wearing my father-in-law's spare coat because I forgot mine in the final chaotic moment of packing up and departing. The neck of the coat is drawn up over my mouth and nose. My fleece cap is pulled down to my brow. I am shielding the half-inch of space between with both gloved hands, walking into the wind. Even so, my eyelids are "flapping." Mist spatters the small amount of my facial skin that is exposed.

I am taking photographs of the few items that are actually on the beach and not being moved about by the wind or scoured by the waves: a bird braving the elements, a stranded jelly fish adorned with a thick stalk of sea grass, a water-logged feather, half of a sand dollar, driftwood. Every so often, a sports-utility vehicle passes. Otherwise, it is me and my camera being battered about by a minor storm.

It is cold. It is wet. I turn to walk with the wind rather than against it. I walk back toward the direction of Clam Castle, the rental house that is home for the week. I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my borrowed coat and walk and think and pray and wallow in being alive and aware of how small I am. I walk into the dunes of sand and grass. I try to get away from the line-of-sight of anyone who might be on the beach. I urinate and the wind carries the stream farther than I imagine it would. I finish and walk back toward the road and then "home." I need to be back before the wife and the child wake from their afternoon naps. Life is good today.

NEW YEAR

New Year's Eve was a quiet one for us. That was good. We enjoyed a dinner of steak and crab (no crab for me, thank you very much). I had a Thomas Hardy's Ale, my favorite beer of the year, and favorite barley wine; the wife had a Kahlua and Cream; the child had 2% milk. We toasted the past year and the year to come.

After dinner, we headed off to ZooLights at the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium. The weather was good: no wind, no precipitation, brisk and cold, but manageable. The people were few: even better. The child had a good time.

Then, it was off to home to ring in the new year in the warmth and quiet of our own living room.