Sunday, March 12, 2017

2016 books of the year, part 4- eureka street

Hi,

The final 'book of the year' from 2016.

Tim

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Eureka Street by Robert McLiam Wilson (October 2016)

Wilson's 1996 novel, set in Belfast during the tail end of The Troubles, is a story about how a city goes on despite the constant fear and turmoil brought on by politically-motivated violence.

One of the key events in Eureka Street involves graffiti. One night, the letters 'OTG' appear on a wall. There is no explanation. As the graffiti reappears again and again around Belfast, speculation mounts about what these letters might mean.

'OTG', unfortunately for the city's amateur sleuths, can stand for anything. It might mean nothing at all, an easy enough thing to scribble for anyone bored enough to vandalize a wall. But in bomb-torn Belfast, the most common guesses dismiss this possibility. Everyone is convinced of the graffiti's hidden political meaning. Perhaps a new group is announcing itself. Or maybe the letters are a new slogan from an existing group.

The way the characters of Wilson's world automatically assume political origins for the graffiti is a subtle but important point about how history shapes the stories told about a place. Each new report of pointless violence confirms its unassailable presence in the story of daily life. Every new happening is tailored to fit into the existing narrative arc of politics and division.

Thinking about the 'OTG' graffiti in this way confused me at first. It did not mesh particularly well with another feature I considered important in this book, its opening line- 'All stories are love stories.' How was this negative speculation about a vandalized wall an example of such a story? How could any of the violent stories in a city like Belfast be love stories?

One problem is that, like with 'OTG', Wilson's opening line could literally mean anything. Over the pages of Eureka Street, Wilson's writing is filled with various examples of what the opening line in action looks like.

Some of his explorations are simple, even expected, such as when he follows his characters on their searches for romance or in his descriptions of the many friendships that enrich the story. In other portions of the story, Wilson's idea of a love story comes through in a much more complex way, such as in his satirical depictions of how major cultural figures relate to their homelands or in the response of a character's witnessing the tender way a husband shows his love for a sick wife.

What I realized over the course of Eureka Street is that stories driven by an underlying love progress differently than those lacking the feeling. A love story is expansive in its possibilities and beckons the best of its characters forward. A story without love remains stuck in place and brings out the ugliness of those involved.

I think for Wilson the worst possible story is the one of death. The loss of life reverberates far beyond just the cessation of one person's story. Its loss is also felt as the stories that the deceased was involved in come to an end. The gravity of this reality pulls and tugs at those in mourning. The suffering and grief that comes with a death roots the bereaved to one spot.

The love story, its infinite possibilities, and the way it demands the best in people withers away. In its place enters the smothering reality of loss, the endless and unchanging experience of grief, and the ugliness that it brings out in those most deeply affected. The lost love writes a story that is permanently stuck in the past.

A city that loses too much suffers in this way. As losses accumulate, every citizen is touched. The pressure to turn towards their ugly sides becomes too great to resist. Ideology and politics in such an environment only fuel the negative feeling. A city that lives on despite frequent conflict and destruction spends each day in fear of the same violence that marred the past. The fear alters thought patterns and impedes the way life might move forward.

How does a city stand up again when it is pulled down by pain and suffering? I suppose its suggested in the opening line. People who love their home like Wilson's characters love Belfast will find ways to write a new story about a place.

The new story evolves and grows in spite of the suffocating forces that once authored an alternative narrative. It is no accident in Eureka Street that the main characters, best friends, are a Protestant and a Catholic.

Instead of defining others by the story of their politics, such people instead seek stories that build common ground across differences. In charged environments, it is so easy to mix together a person with their politics. But such interactions only fuel further aggression, violence, and hate.

As stories intersect and cultivate the potential of unexplored territory, the weight of the past becomes a lighter burden to carry. The hope for a better future becomes a destination that slowly comes into view. In Wilson's version of Belfast, events like the 'OTG' graffiti incident represent brief opportunities to glimpse this new future.

Sure, it could be some version of the same old. But it might stand for something new, something different. Each person who understands the infinite possibility of these letters becomes another example of how love nurtures what hate smothers.