On Austrian Soil

[Sondra Perl]

#746

On a guttural sense, I wanted to avoid reading this book because HOLOCAUST loomed on and in it. I could feel, through the very tight way that it was written, the tension that Perl was experiencing and battling while entering this life changing Journey. The tension is even more encapsulated by the intimacy that Perl develops with Margaret. Their letters to each other say everything—ask all the necessary questions but without all of needed answers. I, as an avoidant reader, found myself falling into this same uncomfortable tension that constantly brought me to the brink of public tears.

HOLOCAUST is a lauded word. One that I can’t write without full capitalization. Familiar with the Jewish genocide, I don’t feel that I have grasped the idea of 6 million people dying while the world watched—and in the case of Austria: while a country helped. Perl’s decision to not only confront her own sorrow, grief, and prejudice was brave but also challenging. We get the sense that things can be lost in translation—in the rapping of knuckles. We see the author trying to move through this struggle by not only writing it, but braving physical. A pain that cannot compared to those rounded up, beaten, raped, tortured, and killed by the Gestapo. As I read On Austrian Soil, I couldn’t help but wonder about all the other genocides in the world. Will there be teachers like Perl in the Congo? Rwanda? Armenia?

Taking this class has put a desire in me to teach. Reading “On Austrian soil” has made me think about teaching as an emotive art form, similar to writing where little acts, like words, come together to piece the story of how we learn—which informs the process of how we heal, and enriches the story of our lives. This book is hard to read, not because of the gliding prose, the vivid images, or the authors strong voice but because, like the Austrians, it’s hard to remember– to take global Response-ability.

[Sondra Perl]

#759

That’s so beautiful, Chrislande. So honest. So real. I was in my late 40s when I first traveled to Austria. The third trip (the last course with the Austrian teachers) occurred when I had turned 50. So it was, truly, a journey that encompassed what felt like a lifetime or at least half a century. What I’m trying to say is that even with having lived and taught for many years, I was unprepared for what happened. The good thing was that I had enough experience as a writing teacher to know that I had to pursue the questions.

So it heartens me that the story is leading you to see teaching as a place where meaning gets discovered and created in artistic ways, where we learn from the journey in each new class, each new telling.

Thanks.

[Sondra Perl]

#761

Chrislande,

You wrote: “HOLOCAUST is a lauded word. One that I can’t write without full capitalization. Familiar with the Jewish genocide, I don’t feel that I have grasped the idea of 6 million people dying while the world watched—and in the case of Austria: while a country helped.”

It happens all the time, over and over.

I read stories of atrocities, of accounts of horrific misery, of unbearable pain, so I can bear witness. I want those who died, not to have died in vain. I want to shout, I will remember you.

Today, I am amazed how victims forgive their perpertators. Look at the link I posted on Rwanda. It is unbelieveable.

I do not know how people can have such grace.

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2014/04/06/magazine/06-pieter-hugo-rwanda-portraits.html?_r=0

[Sondra Perl]

#762

Chrislande,

I think it’s awesome that this book makes you want to teach. And I love your formulation of teaching as a creative act, “an emotive art form, similar to writing where little acts, like words, come together to piece the story of how we learn—which informs the process of how we heal.” The more I re-consider my attitudes about reading and writing, the more I re-consider my attitudes about teaching. You are absolutely right that it is creative, in the sense that it’s performative: it involves a bit of theater, an ability to command a space, a talent for giving shape to coherency. I’m thinking of the set up of a traditional classroom, how it really does mirror that of a theater. The desks are arranged in rows like seats for the audience, and the teacher inhabits a space that’s like a stage. Seminars are different in that they usually happen around a table–which is, I guess, a kind of theater-in-the-round.

And with that in mind, writing is kind of like theater too. There is a performance on the stage of the page. It reminds me of what we talked about earlier at the start of the semester–about voice. One’s writing voice is a bit like an actor on the stage, articulating the thoughts of an author. And, I think this can get into all sort of interesting ideas about persona. Does the writing voice speak for the author? Does it define the author? I’m not sure, but I think it’s interesting.

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