There’s something about stories…

This is part of a modest series of articles about stories, narrative and performance. They are written as much for myself, an aid to critical reflection of my own thinking, as for any readership that may be interested. If there should be such a readership however, I would welcome your comments and perhaps even some of your own stories on this topic.

PK

I’ve been thinking a lot about stories recently. Or, more accurately, I have been wondering about them. It seems to me that lots of people are talking about stories and storytelling. There is however little consistency in what might be described as a story. What I understand as “story” seems different from what others seem to think “story” is.  I am even beginning to dislike the word because within its various manifestations, I perceive other things that I think are not stories but commodities and even just information.

Let me be honest, I have always loved a good story. I can still remember quite vividly the odd occasion when, as schoolchildren; we might be swapped with another class. Probably, our teachers were seeking to relieve the monotony of the routine school-day for themselves as much as for us; who could blame them? But this one teacher, his name was Mr. Sweeney as I recall. He was, or so it seemed to me, I was only 8 or 9 years old at the time, very tall and thin, but not at all intimidating as some teachers could be. And he seemed to have an interest in science as did I, well,the fiction kind anyway.

Mr. Sweeney told us stories! They were stories that took us on a journey of our own making, that seemed to allow our imagination to plot a course through the stars and see things for ourselves. I recall that the process of “paying attention” was never an effort during those times, and even afterward, because, Mr. Sweeney had taken each of us somewhere very special. So, even when he had returned to the more routine fare of the primary school classroom, listening and engaging was less of an effort for each of us. These were perhaps, the very few times in school when I really wanted to be there, just at that time and in that space.

I think I recall asking our own teacher why we couldn’t have stories in our class. His name was Mr. King, a kind man, but strict and not unwilling to make use of the “cane” when he considered it necessary. I remember him saying with some condescension that “you can’t live your life in a story boy”. It’s hard to recall exactly how I felt then, it is after-all a very long time ago. But, as I try to recall it now, I think, “bereft” is the word. Of course, I didn’t know that word then, but I think I knew how it felt. I’ve certainly learned more than I care for about its meaning since! God, if only I’d been able to challenge him then; as I would now. “Why?”, I would ask. Of course, I was just a child then, but my sense of disappointment was as sharp as any I can feel now. Mr. Thomas Gradgrind’s legacy was, and still is, alive and well.

Only two years ago, I was addressing an international group of nurses and midwives. They were over in Ireland on an exchange visit to learn about our healthcare system as they are trying to introduce reforms to their system in Romania.  I was told that most had very little English, and, I can tell you that I do not speak Romanian. There would be, I was assured an interpreter. And, there was. She was most helpful on the day too! I wanted to leave the group with the essence of what my colleagues and I were trying to achieve in our work. But, I love to talk with people, never more that with a group from a different country of culture then my own. So, I wanted to contrive some sort of conversation between myself and them. I resolved to tell a story. Actually, on the day; I told two. It was to be my turn to speak just before lunch so I listened to my other co-speakers for most of the morning. They had a lot of information they seemed to need to share, so, by the time it was my turn to speak, i looked down upon an audience that seemed shoe what grey-faced and tired.  I was glad I had chosen to tell a story. I won’t bore you with the details here, but here’s the thing. Despite our language differences, and thanks to the sterling efforts of the translator, my stories allowed me to engage in a conversation with the group. One of the stories  has a line in it that is calculated to raise a laugh, it’s just a little funny is all. I had no expectation that the humour would survive the kilometres between Dublin and Bucharest, let alone the deep language chasm. This audience began laughing, even before the interpreter had begun her translation. I don’t know how or why, but they did.  Actually, I tell a lie, because, I think I do know. Stories allow us to find common ground. Even before the punch line was delivered and translated, my audience know where I was going, they had anticipated it and told the story themselves. Stories create the ground upon which we may find common cause with each other. Where information and reports often lead to distancing, borders and official rules of engagement, stories create a territory upon which we may all stand. During the development of my own work, the project I was managing was often criticised and many people told me I couldn’t get it done. The project I lead has won many awards, including international awards and has now evolved into one of the most comprehensive health-service learning portals in Europe.  I wanted to share that experience with them and stories and conversation seemed like the way to do it.

In the telling of the stories, I got to learn a little about their situation in Romania; more importantly, I got to talk with them, to listen to their stories and anecdotes. I can tell you that things are not so different there. Much of what I heard was echoed in my own experiences.

After the presentation, one of my fellow speakers came up to me and told me; “well done”. I was just about to thank him when he continued, “Do you mind if I give you a little advice?” Well, how could I refuse,and still remain polite,  so I replied, “Not at all, please do”.

“We’ve a lot of ground to cover with these nurses and we only have them for a couple of days”, he paused, looking earnest and sage.  I nodded.

“I like your storytelling”, he continued,  “but, I am anxious that we tell them everything they need to know, and I don’t want to give them unrealistic expectations. Before they can even get started, there’s so much information and facts they need to be told and remember. It’s like when you’re teaching undergrads. You just have to fire the information at them, because, in the end, they need to pass their exams.”

I chose, wisely I think, not to get into this particular debate, and I do not seek to criticise either. The approach of firing information at students is well documented elsewhere, so my fellow speaker was only doing what countless others are doing daily. And who am I to say it should be different? And yet, to me,  it seems so shallow and soulless. My own daughter is currently at university, and she is, I can tell you, very focussed on “what she needs to know because she needs to pass her exams”. Other things, even those related to her subject might be interesting, but, if they’re not not the exam, they’re not relevant. How, I wonder are people to engage in sense-making if they are gorging themselves on high fat diets of information only?

I’ve been seeking a language with which to express how I think about stories and their wider social and political context. I make no apology for this, because, I am aware from the literature that there is considerable and ongoing debate about the nature of story, narrative and the research areas to which they are  relevant. Stories, as I imagine them, create a landscape in which meaning can be created and shared by the observer or listener. Stories are  the landscape where we make sense of things.

Recently, I was reading an article by Jean Mc.Niff in D. Jean Clandinin’s massive, “Handbook of Narrative Inquiry” (2007). She quotes Stephen Spielberg from an interview he gave in 2005 to Time Magazine about his movie, Munich. He is speaking about his movie making and responding to a question about whether his movie will “do any good”.

“I’ve never, never made a movie where I said I’m making this picture because the message can do some good for the world-even when I made Schindler’s List.  I was terrified that it was going to do the opposite of good. I thought perhaps it might bring shame to the memory of those who didn’t survive the Holocaust – and worse to those who did. I made the picture out of just pure wanting to get the story told. … I certainly feel that if filmmakers have the courage to talk about these issues – whether they’re fictional representations or pure documentaries –as long as we’re willing to talk about the real tough, hard subjects unsparingly, I think it’s a good thing to get out into the ether”, (Schickel, 2005, P. 71).

I have often struggled with this vexed question. Why would I write or tell something that seems very likely to upset another, or; shouldn’t I write or tell only what is calculated to do good or help in some situation? This is a complex question. More than once I have found myself aghast at the insensitivity of a reporter or other person for releasing a story at a particularly sensitive time in our local Northern Irish politics. “Couldn’t they have just waited a few days or weeks?”. Even as I ask myself the question I am repulsed by it, because herein lies the road toward censorship, which in turn leads to the inevitable diminution of personal freedom to think and say as one believes. And who is to decide what should be told and not told? The storyteller, whomever he or she is, must be free to tell their story. It is for those of us who are listening to choose whether we hear or not.

This presents us with yet another challenge, because in our post-modern, commercialised and highly individualised western cultures there are so many filters in place that make the hearing of a story very difficult over the din of the constant flow of information. We have even begun to commercialise or commoditize stories, using them to promote ideas, products and even philosophies.

 

To Be Continued.