My, my. A body does get around.

Hello neglected blog! I was planning to write an entry following the completion of my dissertation, but that rolled into my trip to San Francisco, and that rolled into my interview for a BAAS Graduate Assistantship position... And now, you see, I have several exciting things to talk about. Firstly, I wanted to talk about my dissertation. A lot of people have asked me what it's about, and when I say, "William Faulkner and empathy" the follow up is a blank look. Despite the length of time that I've spent on it, it's actually difficult for me to condense it into a soundbite. I therefore thought it would be more interesting if, rather than attempting to demonstrate my whole argument, I mixed it in with why Faulkner appeals to me and how my ideas developed over the last year. This fits in nicely to everything else I have to say, too.

My dissertation is closely linked to my time at UNC. When I first began researching back in January, I was a mess. I hadn't made many friends, didn't feel like I was fitting in, and was struggling to be positive about my experiences. Despite this, I was excited to get started with my dissertation. Faulkner was already one of my favourite authors, and since I was in the South I thought it was best to stick with a Southern author. Now, a lot of people don't like Faulkner at all. I have to admit that I can't understand this. His work is challenging for sure, but I've never found it to be boring or incomprehensible. Usually I discount the first reading as a time to enjoy his use of language and "hear" the dialogue of his characters, and worry about making sense of it later. I really cannot be effusive enough about how much I love his work, it's a reading experience unlike any other. My first time reading Faulkner was my first year at UEA. I remember reading As I Lay Dying in the launderette, sitting there far beyond the time that it took my laundry to finish because I was so engrossed. I fell in love quickly, and pursued my interest in the South all through my second year. I wrote about Rockabilly, Sarah Dessen, and back to Faulkner again with The Sound and the Fury. I prepared to move to North Carolina.

I probably shouldn't admit this, but my lightning bolt moment came when I was supposed to be listening to my professor. It was the last 5 minutes of class, she was assigning us homework, and I was mulling over my increasing frustration with feeling misunderstood by those around me. I asked myself what was missing, and the word "empathy" jumped out at me. It was a relief to put a word to my struggles, and a moment later I found myself realising that that was a big part of why Faulkner was so special to me. Class ended, I sped out of Greenlaw and over to Davis Library. Tommy Nixon, a research librarian at Davis, was kind enough to talk to me for a whole hour about what he thought of Faulkner. We didn't go into great detail about empathy exactly, as I had a lot of specific research ahead of me, but my conversation with him made me sure that I was on to something great. After finishing my studies at UNC I travelled to Oxford, Mississippi, where Faulkner lived and wrote. I walked around the University of Mississippi, the town square, and Rowan Oak, Faulkner's house. It was an incredible experience for me to see firsthand where he sat and wrote on his typewriter, where he scribbled story notes all along the wall of his study (I'm not alone!), the trees he walked beneath to get to his front door. It was more than pure fascination: I felt like I had seen a piece of Faulkner the man, and it gave me confidence that I understood him, and his writing, well enough to attempt my dissertation.

Frolicking in front of Rowan Oak, June 2011

As I have already written, coming home was a difficult step for me too. I was getting my life back together after so many problems, but I had to make peace with the mistakes and hardships of my year abroad. My dissertation was the perfect project to get me through. I read John T. Matthews's Seeing Through The South (I recommend!), and came to understand the extent to which Faulkner was haunted by the past and nervous about the future. He had a vivid imagination, valued his privacy, and wanted to understand others without giving too much away about himself. He could be hilariously obstinate towards reporters, and I was constantly finding the most biting, witty interview remarks. My dissertation traced the evolution of "empathy" from a concept related to aesthetics ("feeling into" works of art), to psychology (understanding others' mental states) and to morality (to what extent we are obliged to help if we understand). I applied this to three themes of Faulkner's works in three separate novels. "Empathy and Trauma in As I Lay Dying" considered the use of form and symbolism for encouraging readership empathy for the Bundren family's trauma. "Empathy and Gender in The Sound and the Fury" examined how failing to understand each other and meet gender expectations within the family caused the downfall of the Compsons. "Empathy and the Community in Light in August" looked at outsiders vs. insiders, individual vs. community, and how Faulkner saw a society as so connected yet so fragile without empathetic action. It was a pleasure to work with my supervisor, Dr Tom Smith, who gave me such helpful guidance and politely ignored my moments of hysteria.

During the last month of my dissertation, I discovered the British Association of American Studies. I was checking out my options for going back to work in America, and one of my friends mentioned Kirsty Callaghan, a UEA graduate who was studying in the US. As many of you know I am the ultimate social network stalker, so of course I found Kirsty's Twitter and got in touch to ask about the award. I searched on Google myself, which is when I found one of the options for this year, the MA Graduate Teaching Assistantship in Southern Studies, University of Mississippi. Need you hear more? I am a Southern culture obsessive, especially when it comes to food and music, and this would be in the very town that Faulkner lived. Not only would it mean a Masters, but the opportunity to teach and even apply for an internship. So it may surprise you to hear that my first reaction was to say No. I read it through, just barely gave myself time to imagine it, then shut the window and just thought No. I said to myself that the deadline was too soon, I needed to take time out after my degree, I couldn't possibly study abroad again. However, I found myself still thinking about it afterwards, and I couldn't help but mention it to people over the next day. I even said, "I wish I could apply for this." When no one looked at me with comprehension, but with utter bewilderment, I realised I was standing in my own way and had no good reason not to at least apply. So I hurriedly asked for references, requested transcripts and wrote a personal statement. I looked at my stack of Faulkner novels, and asked him to love me back.

Before Christmas, I was invited to interview for the position on January 14th at Keele University. Slight hiccup - I was due to be getting back from America that morning, and could never make it in time. A couple of phonecalls and a depressing amount of money later I was booked onto an earlier flight. I tortured myself with practice interview questions in my head, but otherwise enjoyed Christmas with my family. It was lovely to be at home with them this year after missing last year's, despite how wonderful that was too. Naturally I got disgustingly ill in time for the new year, and opted instead to drink tea and go to bed early. I didn't sleep well for three nights in a row, and by the day of my flight I was definitely someone you'd avoid on the bus. Unfortunately those next to me for 10 hours on the plane didn't have that luxury. So there I was, with a cold, cough and sore throat, my head pounding and the repeated thought of You are going to die! You are most definitely GOING TO DIE! as is standard for every flight I have to go on. It sucks that I love to travel but am still terrified of flying. 5 hours into the flight I was feeling very hot and sick so I got up to go to the bathroom. I then fainted in the aisle, and woke up with about four stewardesses grouped around me. They gave me water and an oxygen mask and I tried my best to be amused/keep my eyes away from the emergency door. Despite the journey, my trip to San Francisco was absolutely perfect. I ate Kahlua cheesecake, spent a day in Golden Gate Park, watched an adorable pug in Dolores Park, bought a sequin trapper hat from Forever21, watched the Tar Heels win twice, drank a couple of IPAs and most importantly spent time with my favourite Southern gentleman. (Yes, someone does come before Faulkner.)

Why do I always encounter the police on my travels? Golden Gate Park, San Francisco

I was well-prepared for my interview and was therefore uncharacteristically calm. Kirsty suggested bringing along a copy of my dissertation, so I did this along with a selection of Creative Writing Society workshop plans from my time as Secretary, essays relating to the South from UEA, and a couple of projects I did at UNC. I debated bringing along my short story, "Storms and Flurries", set in Charlotte, NC, which was published by What the Dickens? magazine, but I thought it might be inappropriate for the interview. Sadly they actually did express disappointment that I hadn't brought it along with everything else, but at least it is easy to find online! Anyway, I took the advice of my friends to remember that I was already qualified enough to get the interview, and to focus on demonstrating my personality. I felt a little flustered trying to explain my dissertation, but more confident once we talked more casually about the South and why it is so interesting. In some ways I was just so pleased to have got to that point. Just a year before, I had gone through some of the most horrendous moments of my life, and there I was sitting there discussing them honestly. More than anything, I am proud to say that I have made sense of the difficulties I experienced at UNC. I feel that not having had the perfect study abroad experience has actually strengthened me for later life. It gives me confidence that I will be an observant and understanding teacher, that I will persevere through academic challenges, that I will stand up for my own needs and aspirations. I said something to this effect in my interview, though of course with about 23% of the eloquence.

Honestly, it was just nice to get to discuss all of my work and have three accomplished people be interested in what I had to say. Whether I had got it or not, I felt pleased with everything I had achieved, and very much geared up for my final semester at UEA. My parents and I celebrated our Keele roadtrip with coffee and cupcakes then drove back to St Albans. I spent a lonely hour in my room unable to talk to anyone or read anything because I was waiting for the phonecall. When it got to 5pm, I told myself sternly that I hadn't got it and that was that. Who needs academia when you can bake cupcakes and write about people sleeping with their housemate's girlfriend! (Watch out for my next short story, "Gooseberry Pie".) At 5.30pm I got a phonecall to tell me that they would like to offer me the position. I know that I said the word "wonderful" (I'm still British) and that it was difficult to listen to the rest because I was busy thinking Is this real? IS THIS ACTUALLY REAL? rather like whilst flying but altogether more pleasant. I nearly fell down the stairs, celebrated with champagne with my family (though we all paused to grimace after taking a sip; it was "matured" apparently), then called as many of my friends as I could to shriek and request that they come and visit me.

Finally I have had the perfect excuse to use my favourite Faulkner quote! I love it so much, because it perfectly sums up part of my personality and where it's lead me. In Light in August, Lena Groves pauses to consider how she has got all the way from Alabama to Mississippi and then on to Tennessee. Like Faulkner characters, I've always been obsessed with my own journey and past, mapping out where I started and how I got to this point in my life, imagining where I could go next. I mean it both literally and figuratively. I've always loved being abroad, though as a child it was usually Ireland or France. The best trips, obviously, were to America. We went to the East Coast when I was 8, and the West Coast when I was 12. I jumped at the chance to go to New York City at 16, and to travel several cities at 18. I lived there temporarily at 21, and will return again at 23. As I walked around San Francisco, a city I am completely in love with, I wondered if one day I would live there. Maybe. I still have 5 months of Norwich ahead of me, then 2 years of Oxford, Mississippi. Who knows where my reading and writing will take me next. My, my. A body does get around.

Jamestown, Virginia, August 1997

"I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance."

During my first year at UEA I took a module called Introduction to American Studies, which covered a large range of topics such as race, gender, religion, youth, etc., applying this to many aspects of American culture ranging from Native Americans to congress to television shows. In short, it got us to consider America's ideologies and the ways in which they influence the country as a whole. America and ideology go hand in hand, evidenced by how easy it is to name its oft-quoted values. What values can I name quickly that I think of as “American”? Freedom. Prosperity. Opportunity. Many other pleasing words. How about “British”? Er, well... I'm struggling – are you?* It's obviously not that Britain is devoid of values, nor that we aren't proud of our culture and heritage. But patriotism isn't quite so encouraged; in fact, announcing that one is proud to be British must almost always be followed with, “But I don't read The Daily Mail or anything!” Britain is tiny, yet our identity isn't as cohesive as America's, at first glance, appears to be.

(* Natasha Ross, UEA Community & Student Rights Officer-elect, via Facebook chat: “Hmm... British values... I have no idea.” I'm not alone!)

Let me first say this: America has always fascinated me, and I have an inexplicable love for a country that I never had an obvious connection to. Despite this, there are aspects of the culture I dislike. I have no idea who to blame for making me this way, but I hate Categories. Many of you have heard the real time, audio version of the rant that is about to appear so feel free to skip if you can't bear another go-round. We love to define other people's identities. We love to say, “That person is a theist/agnostic/atheist. That person is heterosexual/homosexual/bisexual/transsexual. That person is liberal/conservative.” I understand why this is obvious and in some circumstances, useful. But I get bothered by the extent to which people rely on these incredibly broad terms to skip out on appreciating individuality. I don't think it's out of line to suggest that some people look at the Categories before the person, and make judgements based on tick-boxes. Categories are more and more becoming a part of British culture (thanks, Prime Minister), but America is King of the “us/them” rhetoric.

Let's take a look at this:

Of course this is from a movie. Of course it is exaggerated. But I am constantly surprised at the degree to which this can translate to real life, and the way in which some people really and truly believe Categories are a beneficial way to look at others, whether in a comical way like Means Girls or in a way that has more serious repercussions. (Take a look at how Native Americans are still marginalised, particularly twentieth-century efforts towards assimilation. It’s heartbreaking.) At home I'm not sure all of my friends could tell you that I'm an agnostic, or what party I voted for in the last election. Here, I found that my religious/spiritual beliefs come up pretty quickly, and it's the first time I've ever been called “a liberal”. I'm obviously aware that my views can mostly be counted as liberal, but does this make me “a liberal”, an extension to my personality that I did not ask for or seek out? Obviously I can't avoid the association. But it feels like, for all my resistance of being categorised, of being part of a group, I can’t avoid being stereotyped either.

Growing up in England in a mostly white, middle-class town, I can’t say that I have ever been the subject of prejudice. I have never really had to deal with being stereotyped or judged for simply being who I am. (The only exception would be in telling someone I’m a feminist. Feminism is not misandry, it means believing in equal rights, friends.) I think I’ve already hinted at this in my previous posts, but America has been something else. On the whole, Chapel Hill is a great place to visit, and to live, but I was unlucky in the way I was treated at times. Sometimes people were rude to me in class, such as insisting that they couldn’t understand my accent at all. This stung at the time, but I know I’m not alone in that, and other international students have dealt with the same. What’s worse is the fact that some people just cannot get over the fact that I’m foreign. To them, I will never just be a person, or a woman, or a UNC student like them, because I’m foreign and therefore different. I’m sitting on the other side of the “us/them” table.

I know that this is not just America: being an exchange student must be hard wherever you go, and I think people tend to be more dismissive of those that will only be there a short amount of time, and dismissive of those they deem more effort to understand. It takes a certain kind of person to be curious about people from other cultures, and a certain kind of person to see that they’re more similar to you than they are different. Here’s the best part about my hardships in America: my dissertation topic struck me like lightning. I am going to be exploring the idea of empathy. Of course, my actual dissertation will be tailoring this to William Faulkner and Southern culture specifically (anyone get the reference in the title? Just me?), but it’s got me thinking about it more generally, too.

So here are, thus far, some of my thoughts on how empathy functions and what that means for cultural encounters. We grow up with the “us/them” rhetoric, with varying degrees of subtlety. It may be simply that our media is obsessed with the problems of immigration, that our schools naturally form cliques according to religion/race/class, or that we’re never really exposed to people outside of our own sect. Many people grow up believing – or being told by guardians – that others in the world are fundamentally different, incompatible for friendship, and even harmful to be around. Take, for example, if you are someone who is raised as part of religious sect where any non-believers are considered the dangerous “other”. If or when you encounter someone of that sort, your sense of empathy for that person may well be small or non-existent. You can rationalise it that they are not deserving of your kindness or notice because they are different from you, living an immoral lifestyle, fundamentally wrong.

I’m pushing it to an extreme example, but hopefully this process is helpful in considering prejudice, whether for race, religion, sexual orientation, gender, etc. I’m not sure to what extent empathy is natural, and to what extent it is learned. I have always been an empathetic person – I would say uncontrollably so. I’ve grown up writing, which is an activity that demands of you to get inside other people’s heads. (Fun fact: far from being socially strange bookworms, those who read fiction are more likely to have close relationships. Reading develops your ability to empathise with others!) Even when I am angry at someone, I automatically start considering their viewpoint too, wondering how they see a situation differently to me. In some ways, being empathetic is a good thing; I’m probably more reasonable for it. In other ways, it sucks. I take on other people’s emotions as if they’re contagious, and I feel compelled to help people even when they’re not nice to me. Some people view this as a weakness. I agree that I would definitely make a rubbish soldier, but this wimpishness is beneficial for my writing, right?

I seem to have rambled more even than usual, so let’s movie trailer conclude: Categories, assimilation, us/them rhetoric… This forms a cohesive, mainstream identity for a country, which is both wonderful and harmful. You could argue that it brings people together, but it also makes those who do not measure up to the ideal feel inadequate. And as for empathy… It also promotes the idea that there is a “right” way to be, when we’re actually all so individual that it’s impossible. It gives us the excuse to judge those who are different, to deem them unworthy of our empathy (if we are empathetic people in the first place – as far as I know so far, some people barely have the ability at all). As you can probably tell… I’m struggling to write a decent conclusion, partly because all my final papers are on my mind! I may have to return to these ideas later, when my research is further along. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a much better writer than myself:

“It's so important for us all to be ourselves, warts and all, even though you might be considered a bit odd. We're programmed to conform from a very early age, which restricts us and causes more tensions than it relieves. We're encouraged to suppress the subconscious and beware of imagination because it's destructive to the behaviour codes we've developed. So most people lead fairly boring, monotonous lives and a jester in society becomes quite a privileged figure. But there's a jester in all of us and it should be encouraged.” 

(Probably my favourite non-conformist alive today. Michael Palin interview, Radio Times, 15-21 April 1995, pp 17-20.)

"You've got to think for yourselves! You're all individuals!"

 "... I'm not."