…do what exactly?
In Three Dog Life, Thomas used traditional page breaks to introduce new topics within a chapter. Of the memoirs we have read thus far, the spacing in the first was the most traditional and easy to follow. Vivian Gornick also used page breaks to indicate a change in topic, time , or place. Unlike Thomas, Gornick dispensed with chapters and simply relied upon generous spacing at the top of a page to create the sense of separation–the pause, the new beginning, that comes with a new chapter. Santos had chapter titles anddivided the memoir into four sections. Santos modified the page-break-as-transition utilized by Thomas and Gornick, adding a graphic to the page break. In Santos’s memoir, the graphic divider appeared roughly once a page as a means of moving through time and space. That is a quick analysis of how page breaks have functioned thus far. In June Johnson’s Soldier, her use of a page dividing graphic a la Santos is significantly different and more difficult to decipher. Because I enjoyed Johnson’s memoir immensely, I have to believe that there was rhyme or reason to her approach. hence, my study of–ta daaa!–the transitional page-break graphic in Soldier.
In Part I, I felt confident that Johnson was using the graphic divider as a means of including facts, anecdotes, and scenes in a very non-linear manner that verged at times on listing. Some of these could easily have been integrated into the story without such emphasis. In some cases, the emphasis seemed unequal to the content For example, “I never wanted and never got a Shirley temple doll.” ( 23) Okaaay. I can see how this is indicates her treatment as a boy and her lack of girlishness and it is a sign of the times. But how important is all of that? Not so much, in my opinion, that it warrants the kind of emphasis that the page breaks creates. Is this, then, a sign of laziness? Like, Why integrate it when I can just plop it in their between some Celtic-looking bricks? Further investigation suggests no….
In Part II, the passages isolated in the page breaks are more revelatory in nature. Mixed in with the scenic and the anecdotal transitions are one-liners that warrant the refection that results from the separation from the rest of the narrative. The isolated passages reveal: “My father hurt me but I never knew why” (38); “I only used to get sick after we moved to Brooklyn” (55). One page break that baffled me, though, occurs on pages 63 to 64. Jordan is reflecting on attending church, and then splits to her Sunday muff. the Sunday muff anecdote fits nicely with the reflections on church that precedes it, yet Jordan sets it apart. Why, I’m not sure. I’m thinking, easy on the choppiness, woman! you’re giving me whiplash!
In Part III, Jordan’s use of the picture break becomes compelling and effective. She uses it (almost exclusively) to jump in time between her and her father’s fishing trip and her reflection on family days at the beach. This more consistent use of the break is easy to understand and marks time transitions. I approve of the break most when it serves a function!
In Part IV, Jordan reverts to the inconsistent use of the breaks. Here, it mostly serves to separate anecdotes about each boy in her life as well as scenes pertaining to courting, wooing, and cats in heat : ) Here again, I feel like Jordan uses these breaks as a crutch. When she is happily in scene listing mode, there is no pressure to write in a more continuous, cohesive style. She can go all over the place, from boy to boy and scene to scene without worrying about connecting them through any other means than the theme revealed in the section heading.
Part V represents a tipping point in my understanding. At this juncture, I have read enough of Jordan’s poetry to see that she uses poems to create a scene–each poem is a picture of sorts. I suspect, too, that as a poet, she is most comfortable working in scenes. the memoir, then, is a compilation of scenes, strung together by these little metal grommets that are the illustrated page break! This theory certain holds tru through section V. What about the rest?
PART VI has NONE of these! Why ever not?? Has my trail gone cold? The section, comprised of a poem (?) and prolonged conversation but seems to find no need forsec separation between its various parts.
In Part VII, an endearing passage of softness and rare relief about Nanny, the breaks are fewer and further between. Perhaps as Johnson grows older her thought processes are growing more fluid and less fragmented and she represents this is more fluid, less fragmented writing. Alas, Part VIII shoots this theory to pieces. Back are the breaks, used at inconsistent intervals; the account of teddy and the ill-fated raccoon are just as choppy as accounts from her life in Harlem at the beginning of the book.
So as not to belabor the point and analyze parts nine through eleven ad nauseum, what does Jordan’s use of the illustrated page break do? Is it in fact a means of stringing together a series of scenes, structured thematically by section heading? Does she do this because she is a poet and deals in small bites of scenes-as-poems? Is this approach a means of emphasis?
While I do not have a brilliant answer, I do find it interesting that the segmented nature of the memoir did not bother me in the least. Instead, I took Jordan’s cue and digested the sections as she doled them out. I was more taken out of the narrative by the insertion of poetry than anything else. I examined this craft issue of the page breaks because it sparked in me an interest of how I might adapt such breaks into my own writing. What are the rules? How does it alter the narrative or add to it? And this is where I come to my ultimate uncertainty about Jordan’s craft decisions. I don’t sense a rhyme or reason to the placement and function of her breaks; instead of detracting or adding from the narrative, it seems to define it.
So what do you think?
The fact that both of us weren’t turned off the “segmented nature” is a good thing.
But I confess, I wouldn’t have finished it on my own. I felt like I was picking up gems/parts I enjoyed, but never completely satisfied.
And I also loved the Nanny scene in section 7.
I didn’t answer your questions! Arg. Just wanted to say, you’ve articulated your thoughts well. . . that I feel the same.
Do you think she used the line breaks to demonstrate how it feels to walk back through childhood memories? To show how recollecting childhood feels? What I mean is, I think for a lot of folks, memory comes back as a mosaic of little moments, not necesarily as a liner narrative- especially for childhood. That was my take on what Jordan was doing in Soldier.
I am also curious as to whether the segment separation operates like a line break in the larger metapoem/prose of her book. In poetry one breaks a lines predictably, surprisingly and sometimes for pure aesthetics. Like in the pg 63/64 break, I feel the comparison between the warmth, safety and investment in the church ceremony & her precious muff. True it is a somewhat abrupt transition but it cushions her sense of wonder and safety between the two kinds of leaders in her life: the welcoming church & the unpredictable father.
I also think that in certain places, mainly in the beginning with early childhood the segment separation or fragmentation also underlines the way trauma changes ones perception and understanding. Trauma has a way of disembodying us while scrambling and fracturing our sense of experience and recall. Something Jordan has lots of practice surviving.
it’s really hard to know, as a writer, when a vehicle or motif morph into a gimmick and sometimes you can point to the place it tips and say, here, it’s over the top; sometimes it’s an accumulation and the reader starts to roll eyes. but a good motif or vehicle can make a book memorable and original. and then there’s taste.
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