Family ties: Examining the restrictive world of Jack Marshall
Lynne Freed's Reading, Writing and Leaving Home seems like a typical memoir at first glance. On the surface, the book discusses Freed's experiences in her native South Africa and her relationship with her mother, a theatre actress. Yet beneath this story - which by itself is interesting - lies an instruction manual for fiction writers. Freed doesn't shy away from discussing the writing process and these revealing, sometimes blistering insights make her short memoir worth exploring.
Freed dispenses with the notion that a writer should obsess about their potential audience. Her reasoning is simple - they have no idea who that audience will be. "The most important distinction between the story told and the story written . . . lies in the fact that a storyteller controls something that a story writer never can: who it is that actually hears the story" she explains (Freed 118). Anyone can pick up a writer's work - and the writer can't stop them, or offer clarifications midway through the story. (Full disclosure: this reader has not read any of Freed's novels. However, the memoir does not assume a mastery of Freed's work, though doubtless anyone who has enjoyed her writing will enjoy this memoir even more). Because the writer has no control over their audience, Freed insists they should not write with their loved ones in mind either, as they will get in the way of the writing itself:
Writers are natural murderers. Their muderousness is a form of sociopathy, fueled by resentment, scorn, glee, and deep affection. Before they can even begin writing, they must kill off parents, siblings, lovers, mentors, friends - anyone in short, whose opinions might matter. If these people are left alive and allowed to take up residence in the front row of the audience, the writer will never be able to get the fiction right (30).
The writer, in short, must not be distracted by the opinions of those closest to them. In Freed's view, the author must be focused on crafting a good story, instead of worrying about whether someone will enjoy their book. Freed is quick to acknowledge that her opinion does not fit the "modern idea of the writer-as good-citizen" (31). Freed despises this ideal-writer model, calling such a person a "midlist, pension-minded, smilingly affirmative, steadily productive, properly reviewed, ethnically overplayed, and in the main, rather innocuous collegiate schlep" who occasionally achieves the "equivalent of a winning lottery ticket - a bestseller - and becomes a cultural icon" (31). This withering critique is ironic as Freed herself is an award winning author who has written "five highly praised novels" as her back-cover notes explain.
But Freed could care less what others think of her, so long as she produces quality writing. When she was penning an early novel, Freed knew "that I would be accused of writing autobiography. I have been accused of this in almost everything I have written" (27). But Freed pushed on, as "to take heed of such accusations is to be paralyzed as a writer. And so I simply had to count on being understood by those I loved. Or, if misunderstood, on being forgiven. Or, if not forgiven, on not giving a damn" (27). The fact is, Freed writes, "Longing for an audience and therefore guaranteeing none is, perhaps, the greatest curse of the writer" (86). Yet, "Writers seem to suffer more than most in wanting to be loved, or, perhaps, in wanting to be admired" (86). Freed's solution? Forget the audience completely.
Freed admits that such dedication the writing process may lead to unsavory results. She herself recounts a time when her books were banned in South Africa because they supposedly depicted "sex with servants" However, she believes that those who are severely offended by books are afraid to see what these works reveal about humanity. She asks, "Is it any surprise then . . . that the interested public will rail against a writer who holds up too bruising a mirror?" (43).
Freed admits that such dedication the writing process may lead to unsavory results. She herself recounts a time when her books were banned in South Africa because they supposedly depicted "sex with servants" However, she believes that those who are severely offended by books are afraid to see what these works reveal about humanity. She asks, "Is it any surprise then . . . that the interested public will rail against a writer who holds up too bruising a mirror?" (43).
Leaving home is perhaps the central experience of the writer's life regardless of whether he or she ever returns. In a broader sense, being out of the society of home provides the remove at which the writer must live in order to see, in order to write. It is this enigma that informs the writer's perspective - the restless pursuit of a way back while remaining steadfastly at a distance (100-101).
It is her life experiences in America and other places far from home that give Freed the ammunition to write her novels. But while she travels the globe, Freed's personal life suffers. "Every time I came back from a trip, my house seemed smaller. It also seemed dark and cold, damp, and remote. So did my life" she says (114). Her marriage dissolves, and Freed finds herself alone. Yet only later does Freed decide to return to South Africa. Before deciding to travel home she had rationalized, "If I went back, I would not only have to rewrite not only my place in the family, but my own future as well" (106).
Despite these personal struggles, Freed believes that successful writers have two inherent traits: "long years of practice and a ruthless determination to succeed" (38). Some readers may wonder how writers can be "ruthless" and Freed, anticipating their arguments explains that writers have the ability to create a story that is more than just plot lines and characters. Ruthless writing "involves not only the obvious indecencies, the revelation of bathroom habits and petty adulteries, but more than this, the revelation, through the story, through the characters in the story, of the human condition itself - its sadness, its absurdity, its loneliness, its familiarity" (38). This is why Freed likes the theme of revenge in novels - "Revenge, for the purposes of fiction, concerns power," she writes. "The power to expose, the power to reorder, the power to understand" (24). Yet the writer wields such power at great risk to herself. Writing about life forces one to acknowledge its many ugly facets. But writing allows one to create a structured world. "It is against the brink of such silence, such darkness, that one pushes fiction, using words, images, metaphors, to create a shape for a character, for life itself. The process is one that approaches control, but it is a control achieved out of chaos," (196) she explains.
When Freed read from her work recently, she was introduced as a woman who was "fearlessly honest" in her writing. This description aptly describes her memoir - it is not afraid to challenge the stereotypical author image, nor is Freed afraid of expressing her frustrations with writing "I had deafened myself with thinking" (73) she says after hitting writers' block. She even quipped during her reading that she is "deeply suspicious of people who love writing" because of her 11 hour work days. Yet despite all her discussions of ruthlessness and solitude, Freed believes that the "sheer exuberance of the story telling" (34) is what truly helps good stories stand out. Readers will see that Freed's memoir reflects her belief that honest writing creates an enjoyable reading experience.
1,233 words, 4 pages
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