Split.

split

/split/

verb

1. 1.

   break or cause to break forcibly into parts, especially into halves or along the grain.

Alexander, M. (1993).  Fault lines: A memoir (2nd ed.) [Kindle Fire version]. New York: The Feminist Press of the City University of New York.

Wow.  After reading more and discovering more, Alexander's story breaks my heart.  No child should ever have to experience what she did.  To have someone you love and trust so much sexually abuse you, is in so many ways wrong.  Her grandfather hurt her so greatly that she had no choice but to bury it deep in her mind.  She couldn't even tell her father before he died.  Alexander talks about how she didn't realize what really happened until later in life.  And she wonders how didn't realize when things like the below were written in her childhood notebook.

"...from Shakespeare's play: 'Sorrow concealed, like to an oven stopp'd, /Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is'" (Chapter 16).

Using her beautiful skill of writing she elaborates more...
"I taught myself to accept that there is knowledge that is too much for the nervous system to bear, that disappears underground, but sparks up through fault lines" (Chapter 16).  In this quote, we learn the meaning for the title of her memoir.  She not only feels torn apart due to her migrating childhood, but also because of her familial relationships.  I can't imagine what it would be like to have grown up in a family where the mother / the woman is supposed to lead a set life of serving her husband.  

Like her, I did grow up in a Christian household but not as strict.  Also like her, I grew up with privilege...maybe a different kind of privilege and more so, but nevertheless we have some commonalities.  I think it's once we realize our own privilege and strength, then we can have an open heart and mind.  I try to put myself her in her shoes, but it's very difficult.  What I can do is have an understanding of her story and use what I've learned to accept who I am as a woman and accept other perspectives that aren't my own. 

Considering her traumatic incident with her grandfather, it's no wonder she struggled with her identity as a woman.  And still does.  I do wonder if she'll come to some sort of peace within herself later on in the memoir...

Image source

https://davemcdowell.wordpress.com/2014/07/18/a-world-split-apart/

Cracked.

cracked

/krakt/

adjective

1. 1.

   damaged and showing lines on the surface from having split without coming apart.

Alexander, M. (1993).  Fault lines: A memoir (2nd ed.) [Kindle Fire version]. New York: The Feminist Press of the City University of New York.

The figurative language used in Meena Alexander's memoir is beautifully painted across the pages.  "I sit here writing, for I know that time does not come fluid and whole into my trembling hands. All that is here comes piecemeal, though sometimes the joints have fallen into place miraculously, as if the heavens had opened and mango trees fruited in the rough asphalt of upper Broadway" (Chapter 1).  I'm instantly drawn to her words through her storytelling and imagery.  The first thing I notice is Alexander's use of the word "her" when she is referencing herself--the past version of herself.  The "cracked" or broken version.  She was born in India, but has lived quite the journey and now resides in New York City.  
It's interesting how she tells her story by intertwining her past and present.  To me it makes logical sense to write as one would speak, while swinging from one's past then propelling into the present.  I believe this style adds depth to Alexander's story.  She begins to illustrate a life full of many lives if that makes sense.  "Sometimes I am torn apart by two sorts of memories, two opposing ways of being towards the past...a life embedded in a life, and that in another life, another, and another" (Chapter 3).

Growing up in a Christian military family, she didn't want for much while in India.  As in, she seems to have been quite privileged.  Life revolves around the men in the family.  They are the head of the household and it's believed that a woman serves her husband with her place being at home.  I wonder how she will navigate through life when she crosses into another country.  A burning question I have, as I continue to read...

What will she face as she moves from country to country?  How will the men in her life shape her past and present?
I'm truly enjoying this cross-cultural story of a woman displaying such poetic grace and turmoil. 
 

Cracked Skin

by gelumbe