Michael Steinberg

This post is Part 2 of a two part entry. See # 17 below for part 1.

This month’s guest is Rebecca McClanahan, a writer/teacher whose poetry, literary nonfiction, and essays on/about the genre I’ve always admired. Her piece below, Family History Meets Memoir grows out of her latest book, The Tribal Knot, a poetic, deeply human, family memoir.

Note: Anyone who follows this blog and is interested in learning more about the genre and its craft, I urge you to look into the River Teeth Conference, May 17-19. Rebecca will be one of the keynote speakers and I’ll be on a panel about structure in memoir.
River Teeth Conference

Blog No. 18

FAMILY HISTORY MEETS MEMOIR - Part 2 by Rebecca McClanahan

3. Re-enact history for your readers.

Reconstructed or imagined scenes can enliven your family history memoir, filling in the blanks that remain after the research is complete. Consider these possibilities:

• THE TELLING OF THE TALE: This type of scene grows out of an interview or conversation between you and another family member or informant. Whether you transcribe the conversation word for word or rely solely upon memory, your goal is to give the reader a sense of the storytelling moment itself. As in most effective monologue or dialogue scenes, the words spoken are often not as important as the manner in which they are delivered. As you write, include details such as pauses, voice inflections, repetitions and gestures. When you asked your uncle about his duty in the Vietnam War, did he look out the window, light another cigarette and change the subject? These clues are part of the telling of the tale, as are details about the interview environment. Was it a stormy afternoon? What song was playing on the radio? When the phone rang, did your uncle ignore it, or jump up to answer it? Was your uncle’s ancient dog sleeping across his lap? Put the reader in the moment with you, any way you can.

• RECONSTRUCTED OR IMAGINED EVENTS: Just because you weren’t present at an event—for instance, your great-aunt’s 1904 wedding—doesn’t mean you can’t write a scene based on the research material you’ve gathered. Build on what you have, whether it’s a photograph of her wedding dress, a letter or newspaper clipping, the weather report from that January day (easily accessible from archival sources), pages from that year’s Sears catalog, or memories of your conversations with your great-aunt. Create the scene that might have been, should have been, or even—if you enter the territory of negative space—what could never have been. As you write, create as full a scene as you would for a fictional story. Describe the sights, sounds, smells and textures you encounter. Let us hear the voices of the characters, watch them move through the room. Just remember to supply navigation tools for the reader. Phrases such as “I imagine” or, “In my mind, the French doors open into a parlor,” alert the reader that you are moving into reconstructed or imagined scenes.

4. Draw upon your personal connection to the facts.

Ask yourself, “Why am I drawn to this subject at this particular time in my life?” Quite often, events in the author’s life trigger an interest—even an obsession—with family history. Perhaps you recently received a cancer diagnosis or gave birth to your first child, or your parents are entering an assisted-living center. Although the author’s life is not usually the central focus of a family history memoir, his story often intersects with those of the family members or ancestors in the spotlight.

If you decide that a current situation in your life relates to your family history, you can weave that situation into the larger narrative, as Terry Tempest Williams did in Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place. You can also create a double-strand text, alternating your present-tense story with your ancestors’ histories. Your personal story can even form the narrative timeline for the book, with family research details carefully selected to illuminate your own account.

Yet even if your personal story remains in the background, your stake in the proceedings should be clear, or, to paraphrase Rust Hills in his discussion of the peripheral narrator in fiction, you must be “the one moved by the action.” You are the reader’s guide through the text, and he will probably sense your personal connection through your selection and arrangement of research details, your voice and tone, and even the rhythm and sounds of your sentences. Here are more explicit methods for revealing your connection to the research:

• TALK BACK TO THE MATERIAL: When you have a personal reaction to the research, include that reaction in the text. If during your tour of the ancestral cemetery, you wondered why your great-great-grandmother was not buried beside her husband, let the reader overhear your thoughts. Weave your questions into the factual reporting. As you study the photograph of your father, what are you thinking? Does the photo reinforce your firsthand experience with him, or suggest a different identity altogether? Speculate about the circumstances surrounding the photograph: Who held the camera? Who is missing in the scene? What might have happened right before the camera clicked, or right afterward? Use all of your literary muscles, not just description and reporting. Argue. Imagine. Extrapolate. Reflect.

• SLIP THROUGH THE SEAMS OF TIME: Use research as a form of time travel. Step into that 1965 Vietnam battle scene you’ve described so carefully. Tap your uncle on the shoulder and tell him not to worry, that he will survive, that he will go on to father three children and six grandchildren. The young soldier can’t know this at this point in his story, but you, the author, do. Your research has provided you with a longer timeline, a broader context, and more knowledge of both past and future events than some of the characters whose stories you are telling. Use that knowledge to enrich your memoir.

• REVEAL YOUR JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY: The process of researching and writing is a narrative in and of itself; think of it as a mystery story. Beginning with unanswered questions, take the reader with you on your research journey as Ian Frazier did in Family, letting the clues accumulate meaning as you proceed.

5. If you get lost, look through a small keyhole.

This advice applies not only to those of us who have inherited an attic filled with documents, but also to writers who labor mostly in memory’s rich soil. When you become overwhelmed by the material and can’t seem to focus your attention, stop for a moment. Remind yourself that a family history memoir isn’t the Congressional Record; your job is not to include everything but rather to use the research to inform the story that only you can write. Trust that the research you’ve done will come to your rescue. Go back to the small things that caught your attention. Put your eye to the imaginary keyhole. There it is: one 60-second event that changed your family’s life forever. Three green cars your father owned. Your great-grandmother’s wedding ring, wrapped in a handkerchief and placed in an envelope marked “recipes.”
Take a big breath, stretch and go back to the writing desk. Only there will you discover how your family history memoir will turn out.

Rebecca McClanahan’s newest book, a multi-generational memoir based on hundreds of family letters, documents, and artifacts spanning more than a century, is The Tribal Knot: A Memoir of Family, Community, and a Century of Change (Indiana University Press). This article first appeared, in slightly different form, in Writer’s Digest, Spring 2013.

See mcclanmuse and tribalknot and writers digest and
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