Feeling Infinite with The Perks of Being a Wallflower

There are certain novels that reach us in ways we can barely articulate. They come into our lives at just the right time and fuse into our identities. The Perks of Being a Wallflower is one of those novels. Charlie is one of my favorite narrators; he’s so sweet and thoughtful that I wanted only good things to happen to him. The tragedy, of course, is this kind and empathetic character has had so many bad things happen to him. That’s probably why I feel so attached to him, protective as well.

I think that every lonely high school freshman wishes that nice, friendly, and smart seniors would befriend them the way that Sam and Patrick do for Charlie. They accept him and don’t judge him for doing things like pretending he’s been away at college and hasn’t seen them for months even though he just saw them earlier that day. Sam and Patrick see past Charlie’s quietness and don’t try to change him, or bring him artificially out of his shell. That isn’t what Charlie needs. Patrick tells Charlie, “You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand.” For an often shy and quiet boy, this is a fantastic compliment because it makes Charlie realize, perhaps for the first time, that people notice him too.

In return, Charlie accepts Sam and Patrick as well. How adorable is it that Charlie’s response to learning that Patrick is gay is to go to the library so he could learn more about it? That’s very “Charlie-esque,” as Sam might say. I like the way that this novel presents Patrick being gay as just a part of who he is, and none of his friends make a big deal about it. I wish more teens had this experience. Of course, we also see the flip side in Brad who’s terrified that someone will find out he’s gay. In fact, Brad’s father beats him when he finds him with Patrick—that passage was difficult to read—and it sets off another cycle of violence when Brad lashes out at Patrick in the cafeteria. Afterwards, we watch the bittersweet moment when Brad thanks Charlie for protecting Patrick.

Here, we see that Charlie isn’t just an amiable and sensitive boy; he’s struggling with suppressed anger and rage. I wasn’t expecting Charlie to be able to fight, so much so that he needs to hold himself back. We realize this most acutely when Charlie attacks Brad’s friends after they gang up on Patrick. He almost goes into a fugue state.

There’s a lot of abuse in this novel—much of it taking place in the past, but some occurs during the novel. Charlie’s father, his mother, Aunt Helen, and Brad all receive beatings from one of their parents, and Charlie’s sister gets hit by her boyfriend. Aunt Helen, Sam, and Charlie were all molested. I wonder if people who have experienced abuse in their lives gravitate towards other people who’ve had similar things happen to them because they feel, perhaps subconsciously, that they would understand them in ways that others can’t.

I didn’t realize at the beginning of the novel that Michael was Charlie’s best friend. I’m not sure if that was me not paying close enough attention, or intentional because Charlie isn’t ready to tell us yet. It’s still too painful and locked inside him. The tragedy of Michael’s suicide hits Charlie even deeper because he’s still reeling from his Aunt Helen’s death years before. This is a dark thought, but I wonder if Aunt Helen’s car accident was really an accident, or a result of the guilt she felt for molesting Charlie, coupled with the problems she had with drinking, drugs, and her own abusive childhood.

Even without the abuse, Charlie having to deal with his favorite person dying on his birthday on her way to get his birthday present is horrible. I was thinking about how Charlie says that his Aunt Helen was the only person in his family who ever really hugged him. It’s difficult to imagine all the confusing emotions that Charlie must have running through his head—he adored his Aunt Helen and she gave him the affection the rest of his family didn’t, but she also molested him, so he has love, trust, guilt, shame, and betrayal all wrapped up into one highly charged tangle. No one should ever have to experience that.

One of the ways that Charlie copes is by reading. The first book he mentions is To Kill a Mockingbird, one of my favorites from ninth grade. He tells us that, “the teacher assigns us a few chapters at a time, but I do not like to read books like that.” He prefers to experience the book as a whole, and even reads each one twice—a clear sign that he loves reading. Further, Charlie tells us that whenever he finishes one book it becomes his new favorite until he reads another one. I love that detail.

I wish I had an English teacher in high school who gave me books to read the way Bill does. I also like the way that Bill is careful to offer Charlie books with similar themes that are emotionally and developmentally appropriate for him. Even with more complicated texts like Hamlet, Bill tells Charlie not to get caught up in the language, but instead to think of Hamlet as the same kind of character he has read about in other works. That’s great advice at all ages. Many of the books that Bill gives to Charlie have sensitive, insightful protagonists, such as Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, Holden in The Catcher in the Rye, and of course Hamlet. Since Charlie tells us that he often imagines himself in the books he reads, Bill’s selections seem perfect. I think it’s interesting that Holden Caulfield and Hamlet both grapple with mental illness as well.

Music is also significant in this novel. Who can forget how vital mix tapes were in high school? I also remember when I was a teenager deciding that a band was my favorite after hearing just one of their songs. Charlie does this with The Smiths after hearing “Asleep.” Is there a more perfect band for Charlie than The Smiths? Their songs are about being sensitive, introspective, shy, lonely, thinking too much, and noticing things that no one else does. Maybe it’s strongest in adolescence, but I truly believe that music has a seemingly magical ability to show us windows into our emotions. Plus, there’s something so reassuring about hearing a song that articulates a feeling you thought no one else in the world ever had but you—no matter what age you are. Charlie talks about how he hopes that the songwriters realize the impact they’ve had in people’s lives. I think this book has that same special quality as the songs Charlie loves so much, and I’m grateful for it.

I Am Not Your Negro Is a Poem About America

I just finished watching I Am Not Your Negro, Raoul Peck’s remarkable documentary about James Baldwin. It’s a poem about America, but not the apple pie and Doris Day version. It’s difficult and maddening. It’s fearful and violent. It’s the America we don’t like to talk about because it makes us uncomfortable.

The film does an extraordinary job of interweaving Baldwin’s interviews and writing with present day events, such as Ferguson and the seemingly endless series of murders of innocent Black men and women by the people who are supposed be protecting us, all of us. Has nothing really changed? Are we still living in the bigoted world of 1963? This film forces us to think about these powerful and challenging questions.

My main connection with James Baldwin is through his writing, especially his 1956 novel Giovanni’s Room. I’m not sure I’ve read anything like it, especially given the era Baldwin composed it. In I Am Not Your Negro, Baldwin talks about how he felt compelled to return to America to participate in the Civil Rights movement. Imagine how brave that was; Baldwin was a gay, Black expatriate in the 1960s. He had everything to lose by returning to the US at that time. Yet, he returned.

As an American raised way past Civil Rights, it’s sometimes easy to forget how charged and dangerous that time was. The film also makes it clear that our times pose a significant and heartbreaking threat as well; it shows how far we haven’t come. I feel utterly uninformed for admitting this, but I had no idea that James Baldwin had relationships with Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, and Martin Luther King, Jr. Well, I guess that’s why we watch documentaries, so we can learn more about the world and expand our knowledge. Peck shows how these men influenced each other, but also, and I think more significantly, how they were different.

I recently read The Autobiography of Malcom X, which was a glaring hole in my personal reading library. In that book and in this documentary, it’s clear the differences between the non-violence of King and the aggressive action of Malcolm. I think that we forget that the Civil Rights movement wasn’t just one thing—there were a plethora of viewpoints and approaches. I think that Peck manages to highlight the humanity of both men in such a way that we see them not only as beacons of justice, advocacy, and strength, but also as human beings who were living in their times. By transcending their symbolism, the film makes a deep emotional impact because we see them as friends of our main character, and their loss feels new once again.

Is that what Peck is intending, that we feel this sadness and even hopelessness, and it sparks us to change? By holding up a mirror to how things really were (and are), he’s challenging us to be better, or at least to stop pretending that everything is okay. It’s not, and now maybe we have a place to start.

Are We Living In Orwell’s World?

George Orwell’s 1984 was always a book I couldn’t believe I never had to read in high school or college. I was always vaguely aware of it, with phrases like Big Brother and Thought Police permeating our culture. So recently when 1984 started trending because of recent events, I finally decided to read it. I’m glad I did.

It’s so easy to get caught up in now without realizing that for generations thoughtful people have worried about leaders, war, technology, and ideology. For Orwell, I suspect, it was Communism and Stalin. Yet, in the actual 1980s, people compared Ronald Regan and his Administration to Big Brother. More recently, the Edward Snowden leaks and NSA surveillance sat uncomfortably in 1984’s bleak vision. Of course, Orwell’s uncanny predictions reach into current news with Kellyanne Conway’s attempt to sell “alternative facts.” What strikes me as more chilling is President Trump’s self-proclaimed war with the media, deeming anything he doesn’t like as “fake news,” and his seemingly unconscious propensity for lying.

What he’s really trying to do is convince us that his version of reality is the “right” one and we shouldn’t believe anyone who tells us differently. That way he controls the narrative. How far is that from Big Brother’s three slogans of war is peace, freedom is slavery, or ignorance is strength? In Winston Smith’s world, the past is whatever Big Brother wants it to be. His work in the Ministry of Truth centers around altering and erasing the past. What a terrifying thought. What if history was whatever the current leaders said it was? Is, as the quote goes, history written by the victors?

Isn’t it amazing that a book written more than 60 years ago can raise such important questions about our times? I’m reminded once again of Louise Rosenblatt’s theory that reading is a transaction between the work and the reader. We bring our experiences, hopes, anxieties, beliefs, and values to the books we read. The magic happens when we interact with a piece of writing and both have an influence on each other. There’s nothing else like it.

A People’s Blog Post

I recently finished reading A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn. I picked it up and put it down about a decade ago. That seems unfathomable now, but I think I wasn’t mature enough, or lacked the context, to appreciate it then. I guess books find you when you need them.

There are certain books that make you want to change the world, and A People’s History is just that type of book. What struck me most as I was reading was how contemporary it felt. Even after civil rights, women’s rights, gay rights, and environmental awareness we’re still living in a patriarchy. There may be a few more women or people of color in the mix, but the same old powerful are still in power. Their interests are still inflicted on the rest of us, and we all just take it. Half the country did, after all, vote to “make America great again,” which is both terrifying and maddening.

Zinn points out that real change won’t come from the two archaic political parties, but from, well, the people. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the divisiveness that permeates our culture. Sure, 2016 was a master class in partisan pettiness, but it didn’t spring fully formed just in time for the election. For as long as I can remember there has been a bottomless chasm between the liberal and conservative ideologies, one that isn’t just philosophical, but visceral.

Here’s a Zinn-ian idea—what if the powers that be want it that way? If we’re all squabbling about guns, taxes, and abortion then we don’t have time to see what we all have in common. We certainly won’t realize that we’re all suffering from the inaction in our democracy.

While I’ll never understand why folks who live paycheck to paycheck are voting for billionaires who represent everything that’s working against them, why is the other side losing so badly? Are conservatives just marketing geniuses who brainwash people into voting against their interests? I’m beginning to think Mad Men is 21^st century civil life. But, like Zinn, I don’t want to let the other side off the hook. Where are the programs for the poor? Why isn’t anyone protecting the vulnerable? Who could be against that?

Will the people rise up? Are we capable of that? Or will we snuggle into the comfort of Netflix and fake news on Facebook? The pundits talk about how the election in November was a sort of revolution, a rejection of the status quo. Maybe that’s true, but it feels false. Instead, I can’t shake the sense that just under half the country was conned, and now we all have to pay for it.