PROTOTYPE and SINGULARITY

“Everyone is kneaded out of the same dough,

but not baked in the same oven.”

—Yiddish Proverb

Aside from the notion of whether it is nature or nurture that shapes personality, and with it, destiny, there is something that every writer must struggle with and every reader must decide whether to accept or reject: how stereotypical can a character be before we call the narrative racist, or sexist, or simply poor and formulaic? There is nothing to make the character singular and thus fully fleshed out.

And the other side of the coin is really the same question, only read in reverse: how unusual can a character be before we exclaim that such person would never do this or say that? Would a twelve-year-old use proper archaic English they could have only glimpsed from Shakespeare? Would a four-year-old remember something that happened when they were two? Both are possible, but not typical, and many would say are unbelievable.

I ask, because I have read enough reviews, given reviews, or gotten feedback, and have seen both reactions. “Formulaic,” and “unbelievable.”

Classical musicians face similar balancing dilemmas when interpreting well-known pieces of music. A piece of music must sound different and new, thus it lives. But it can’t be so singular that the composer wouldn’t recognize it, and the listener would have their expectations smashed.

I like the Yiddish proverb above, because it reminds me of this delicate balance: similar, but not the same. Made of the basic stuff, but formed into a different shape.

A delicate, almost undefinable balance. A good visual is the tightrope walker. I think of her as I dialogue with my characters, and pray I don’t miss a step and fall off.

©Tightrope Walker by Seiltänzerin (1913)



PURIM, the Festival of Lots

As written in the Book of Esther, it means a "lot.” Purim is the plural form of the word `Pur', and thus means "lots.” The festival is called Purim because of the lots cast by Haman. The word Pur is also related to the Hebrew word `porer,' which means to dismantle, break, destroy, or break into crumbs.

 

Purim is around the corner. It has few reverberations outside of Synagogues and Hebrew schools in the United States. But when I was growing up in Israel, it was THE HOLIDAY for us kids. Think of it as Halloween for dress-up and merry making, and then take out the ghoulish creepers. Unless you consider the historic back story, which is re-told and re-read in synagogues at that time, and includes the first of many hateful men who set out to kill all the Jews.

 

When the miserable haters bent on destroying us are part of a people’s reality from time immemorial to today, we don’t need skeletons and zombies to make merry. Besides, this is a story of triumph over adversity. I still remember the end of the story, with its joyous exclamations about Haman being hung from a tall tree along with all his children. I remember NOT being too happy about that, but I got over it with some delicious Hamantaschen (literally, cookies shaped like Haman’s ears) and the promise of competing in Best Costume with a prize to boot.

I did win first prize once, in fifth grade. For the life of me I can’t understand why. I can only assume my “Mad Man in Pajamas” was so pathetic it was a pity-prize.

 

While we ate our rectangular filled cookies, the grown-ups were commanded to get so drunk they could not tell the difference between the evil Haman and the pious Mordechai. That’s the same as between the bad and the good, and the injunction to drink was a commandment, not a suggestion, folks.

 

Add to it that this holiday is named for “lots,” and extend that to the lottery, gambling, and other vices-- and you get one happy party. That it sometimes fell on or near my birthday didn’t hurt.

 

What can I say? I miss it.

 

  

The Author of All

“God made mankind because God loves stories.”

Elie Wiesel

I have a friend who is facing some serious health challenges. My friend is also a writer, and (lucky me) one of my best Beta readers. She is my “make it logical and consistent” cop on the beat.

When I lamented the illogicality of her predicament, as she had lived a model healthy lifestyle, I also grieved that, unlike the stories we writers conjure where all the pieces must fit and make sense, we don’t get to fully author our real life stories.

Her response blew me away. “I'm very thankful The Creator is in charge of my story. No matter what life brings and even if it appears from the outside that the story doesn't have a happy ending, I know, if I let him be the author, the story will be a love story and the joy at the end will be beyond imagination.”

 Unlike me, my friend was raised in a devout Christian home, and to the best of my knowledge has never wavered from that course. Her academic training is in logic (mathematics, to be specific) and she is rational in every way. But reason had not made a dent in her house of faith.

I am not so blessed. My road is paved with doubt and fear of ceasing control, even as I know this sense of control is illusionary.

Ah, the joy of writing. There we are the authors.

Empowering in Yiddish

Every language has a personality, and when I think about Yiddish, I think “self-mocking,” “Ironic,” and “wistful humor.” The last contains the contradiction that makes the Yiddish voice, or narrative personality, so hard to define and yet so appealing. We all know the best storytelling makes you cry and laugh at once.

What Yiddish does not connote is power. It is the language of a people who were shaped by powerlessness. Even a blunt statement such as “you can't pee on my back and tell me it’s raining” suggests someone is humiliating you while you're determined to stand tall. (A parallel idiom in English would be, “I don’t take wooden nickels,” and it is clearly of a different, self-possessed, voice. Both mean you can't fool me. But they don't taste the same.)

So when I heard this saying translated from Yiddish—

 וואס אין אים פאלט מען אריין קען מען פון אים ארויספאלן.

*What you fall into you can fall out of*

I’m going to repeat this^ to self as often as needed. In Yiddish, English, Hebrew, or by thinking while humming intelligibly. If I did it I can undo it. Wow-wee.