ࡱ> i ;~bjbj.. .xDbDbqr+r r ,,,8d4,.LLbbb===I.K.K.K.K.K.K.$n0$3fo.=====o.bb.&&&=<bbI.&=I.&&&b@H _y&5..0.&3m$ 3&&03&x==&=====o.o.&===.====3=========r B : Challenges of the Global Village and the Ties that Bind, The Writing of Barbara Kingsolver By Dr. Sylvia Bailey Shurbutt, ϳԹUniversity Center for Appalchian Studies and Communities Roots and the Ties that Bind Picture for a moment a solitary figure, sitting down at her desk commencing a task she was created for. But first, she lays her hands gently across [her computer] keyboard and offer[s] up silent thanks to readers, to the people who publish books, and to people who sell them (Small Wonder 217). Barbara Kingsolver recalls when she published her first novel, The Bean Trees: I earned enough royalties, she writes, so I didnt have to go back to my day job to feed my baby and keep up with the mortgage. Instead, I got to stay at my desk and write a second book, then a third and a fourth (217). She has said more than once that being a writer is a presumptuous undertakingthat is, assuming one has something of interest to say to others who will spend moments of their being pondering ones words. Kingsolver continues in her essay What Good Is a Story: Literature should inform as well as enlighten (Small Wonder 213). A good story must be beautifully executed, must be nested in truth, and above all must not be trivial, though one may write about trivial, or common, things (212-13). She has said this about the writing that she will invest a portion of her own life readingwriting by the likes of Doris Lessing, Virginia Woolf, Bobbie Ann Mason, George Eliot, Dickens, Twain, or Steinbeck, among others: I love it for what it tells me about life. I love fiction, strangely enough, for how true it is (210). Good writing then is no trivial endeavorit can change our opinions, our minds, or our hearts; it can champion those whose voices are seldom heard; it can unhinge governments that need serious adjustment. It can challenge the status quo or embolden us to live life deliberately, as Thoreau was wont to say. The power that words wield cannot be underestimated. Kingsolver recalls seeing her father, a man who revered books, grow misty-eyed after reading a poem by Robert Burns. I was seven, maybe, she writes, and my heart stood still, and I understood that words could have more power over people than any sort of physical object. So that, combined with being a social misfit, I think, probably made me a writer (qtd. in Wagner-Martin 11). To live deliberately was exactly what she determined to do, coming from parents who modeled the idea that there was much more to life than accumulation of the materialrather, service and making a difference were what made life meaningful. So strongly was this idea embedded in Barbara Kingsolvers core beliefs, that when she reached the end stage in her Ph.D. work in sociobiology and ecology at the University of Arizona, after completing her course work and passing her initial exams, she questioned whether her dissertation topickin selection systems of eusocial insectswhich would likely be read by only a handful of scholars and scientists was really worth investment of two years of her life (Wagner-Martin 46). Instead, she took her MA degree in ecology and evolutionary biology and a job as a science writer at the University of Arizona and became a journalist, setting her sights on both a larger readership and, more importantly, making a difference in the world through the power of words. If one considers the idea of existential authenticity and the concept of making a meaningful life through the quality of ones choices, then Barbara Kingsolver has lived a life that has been uniquely authentic, though she has more modestly said that her life has often seemed the result of mere serendipity. Gifted with the imagination of an artist and the mind of a scientist, Kingsolver was given unique talents with which to wend her way into the literary world. The seeming happenstance of her life incidents belies the lodestone that underpins everything about her award-filled and accomplished career as a writer, the centerpiece or moral compass of which is to have lived a significant and purposeful life. Few can argue that nine extraordinary novels, two collections of poetry, two volumes of essays, multiple nonfiction collections and short fiction works have not signaled a profoundly significant life. The ideas that permeate her writing also speak to that moral compass, themes that include social justice and the environment, re-visioning the idea of family and defending non-traditional families and members of society, championing the outcast and unheard in a patriarchy that controls the destinies of both men and women, and ultimately looking with hope at a troubled geopolitical and economic world that appears at times to be careening toward self-immolation. Great writers do not live in a vacuum, though the writers life is often a solitary endeavor. Kingsolver has said many times that she does not use her life in her fiction but her fiction comes from her life, and we are lucky that she has spoken often about those experiences that first set her on the road to authorship and developed her unique sensibilities. Barbara Ellen Kingsolver was born on April 8, 1955, in Annapolis, Maryland. She was the middle child of Virginia Henry Kingsolver, a well-educated housewife and mother, and Dr. Wendell Roy Kingsolver, a rural physician and part-time farmer, a man who, Kingsolver told Linda Wagner-Martin, had a drive to matter in the world (6). She grew up on a farm near Carlisle, Kentucky, her best friends, older brother Rob and younger sister Ann. She writes of the singular childhood that she knew, one of rolling hills and the freedom to run and play in nature: I grew up roaming wooded hollows . . . keeping their secrets between the wide-open cattle pastures and tobacco fields of Nicholas County, Kentucky. She continues, My brother and sister and I . . . haunted places we called Crawdad Creek, the Downy Woods . . . and Dead Horse Draw. We caught crawfish with nothing but patience and our hands, boiled them with wild onions over a campfire, and ate them and declared them the best food on earth. We collected banana-scented paw-paw fruits, and were tempted by fleshy, fawn-colored mushrooms but left those alone (170-71). Kingsolver remembers as a child running free in the nature: I really credit my parents for raising me with an eye always to the natural world. Ive always drawn a lot of comfort from growing a garden [in every place she has lived including apartment planters]. Its the predictability of the natural that I find so comforting (Conversations 152). In Conversations with Kentucky Writers, Kingsolver remembers looking forward to the book mobile and visiting both sets of grandparents, who lived in the exotically, to her eyes at least, urban setting of Lexington. Her family life was wholesome and simple, though not necessarily typical, with no TV after it happily went on the blink and then unrepaired. Hers was a life free from the consumerism of most children growing up in the 1960s (151-52). The Kingsolvers were a talented musical family, with father Wendell playing guitar and violin, Virginia a talented singer, pianist, and mandolin player, brother Rob a guitarist, Ann a flautist and bass player, and Barbara a keyboardist and clarinetist (Wagner-Martin 10-11). Barbara believed for a time they were poor, since her cousins hand-me-down cloths given her to wear had a slightly shabby look and for this self-conscious child made her feel socially inept. Elementary school only heightened those feelings, with one particularly horrendous memory standing out when a clueless teacher reprimanded the precocious Barbara in her reading circle. She had taught herself to read before starting school, and when she sped through the simplistic stories, her classmates were instructed to call out Stop! whenever she failed to pause adequately after a period (Conversations 153). However, there were also grand adventures for this close-nit family owing to Wendells hankering for travel and service. The family participated in a physicians exchange to central Africa, as well as to the island of St. Lucia in the Lesser Antilles, where her father offered his medical services. Kingsolver remembers the value of these experiences as really important to me that I know I absorbed early on, in particular the value of service over material gain (Conversations 154). She also remembers when she started keeping a journal, at age seven on that first trip to Africa. She says: Thats when I officially began to write, thinking that she would write each day in her journal, beginning as the plane flew over Africa on their arrival. My first sentence that I wrote, officially and self-consciously, was, When I first saw Africa I thought it was a cloud (Conversations 154). The journals, diaries, and notebooks continued throughout her adolescent years and after, with writing, both poetry and prose, helping her to process the experiences that she had. This need to understand continues to be a driving principle behind her writing. The experience of living for a time in Africa was immensely valuable. The Kingsolvers discovered that the political tension of the 1960s was rife in the villages where they lived. Though the living conditions were fairly basic, Kingsolver doesnt recall the family complaining much and remembers their year in the Congo as joyfully absent of any formal schooling. Once a month a plane would flyover to drop supplies, and it was the childrens task to find where the parcels had parachuted down. They also discovered they were the only white children in the village, with their white skin and Barbaras long hair viewed suspiciously at best. She had the epiphany that they were a minority and initially unacceptable by the darker Africans. Barbara remembers, [E]veryone around looked at me as someone who was peculiar and possibly repugnant because of the color of my skin. However, the children quickly learned to speak Kituba and eventually they were accepted. For the writer that Kingsolver would become, this early understanding of normality itself as a cultural construction was significant, as she would go on to write about ethnocentrism and the prejudices attached to race and culture (Wagner-Martin 17-18). What living in Africa during the troubled 1960s and experiencing this family adventure also engendered in Kingsolver was a fearlessness, if not a recklessness, that comes with living life on the edge of danger. She writes in a poem called Swimming in the Wamba: But yes, after all, here is the river where crocodiles bellied in shallows and I also bellied like that, half-eyed above the cold breach and half below in a childs needy gambol with thrill and dread. And among all the wily forgotten tastes, nsafou fruits and green saka-saka, here are the palm nuts I pulled through my teeth to suck their marrow of fat for a body yearning, running from day to dark with no milk or meat, the humming of that special hunger. The crocodiles are gone now, shot from canoes by men who know the endless incaution of children, . . . Still when I come home to Africa, this happens: I pull red palm nut gristle through my teeth, I belly in the river with watch-ticked eyes, I am small in love with just this fear, this hunger. And this cold current was always exactly here. (How to Fly 95) As Kingsolver said in an interview, [H]aving lived in a place where lions might follow you home from getting the water doesnt help you fit in, but it . . . gives you license to see yourself as a little bit different (qtd. in Wagner-Martin 19). If living in Africa was an expanding experience, the high school years were perhaps scarier than a river full of crocodiles. Tall, gangly, Barbara was 59 by the time she was in the sixth grade and under a hundred pounds until she became a high school senior (Wagner-Martin 22). Feeling socially inept and awkward with boys, Kingsolver recalls her isolation and not fitting in as a teen, and no small sense of satisfaction years later as a successful writer returning to Carlisle to celebrate a new book and seeing some of those boys who had never asked her out waiting in line at a book signing. Attending high school in the 70s, when great expectations for most of the girls was to avoid teen pregnancy, marry well, and settle into housewifedom, Kingsolver viewed the gender landscape as particularly hostile to girls. She once asked her mother to name one good thing about being a woman, yet receiving no satisfactory answer to address what seemed like bleak prospects ahead for her (Small Wonder 164). Spending a lot of time in the school library and having already read through the encyclopedia in elementary school, she encountered school librarian, Miss Richey, who saw a light in the gangly teens eyes. In How Mr. Dewey Decimal Saved My Life, Kingsolver tells how Miss Richey found a way to engage her beyond the confines of adolescent angst: Barbara Im going to teach you Dewey Decimal, the librarian told her one day, much to the chagrin of Kingsolvers sarcastic teenage incredulity (High Tide 49). One more valuable skill in my life, she thought silently, but she accepted the task of cataloging and re-shelving. Along the way, she discovered books that might not have received the family seal of approval for her to read, books like Gone with the Wind, Saroyans Human Comedy, Lessings Martha Quest, and writers like Margaret Drabble, Nadine Gordimer, Virginia Woolf, and Margaret Atwoodwomen writers who helped her see that the stories of women were valuable and could be told. Kingsolver writes that she began to think about words as tangible and glorious, and somehow caught the scent of words. She says, recalling the clever grin of Miss Richey watching her work: It came to pass in two short years that the walls of my high school dropped down. She began to conjure a vision of herself: So I didnt end up on a motorcycle. I ended up roaring hell-for-leather down the backroads of transcendent, reeling sentences. A writer (High Tide 49). Kingsolver is clear-eyed about her public-school days. Ive never gotten over high school, she says in the essay In Case You Ever Want to Go Home: But it made me what I am, for better and for worse. . . . And I gained things from my rocky school years: A fierce wish to look inside of people. An aptitude for listening. The habit of my own company. She adds through hindsight, From the vantage point of invisibility I explored the psychology of the underdog (High Tide 42). What high school gave her as well, was the opportunity to graduate valedictorian in her class and to use her band and music experience to acquire a scholarship to DePauw University to study music. Though Kingsolver missed her close-nit siblings and parents, college was a grand adventure, offering the opportunity to have friends for the first time who could talk about ideas and who gave her the kind of intellection comradeship and freedom to acquire and expand independent ideas. She had a hungering for experience and an insatiable gusto for life, confessing an associated driving force in her life from the beginning: Ive always had this . . . undercurrent of terror flowing through me when I think about time passing. She explains, When I look at a calendar I feel this profound urge not to stop time, but to stick pins in every inch of the way to make sure that its attached to me, to make sure that I have passed through and will know that . . . when its over, . . . it wont have just vanished (Conversations 154). University life was liberating. She read Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem, and Germaine Greer, and began to frequent coffee shops and poetry readings. She talked long into the night about her ideas with like-minded people, and best of all she felt freer than ever before just to be herself, eschewing the traps that young women often fell into to be thought appealing and being quite vocal about the insidiousness of those trapsNaomi Wolf would offer a name for it decades later. Kingsolver tried to describe it in the poem Reveille about the war within women who disparaged their bodies in order to fit societys impossible ideal: I am the woman whose flesh does not move when she walks, the nipple-less, the bloodless, sweatless woman . . . . I do not smell like any living thing. I am the woman at war with body hair: who curls her Asian hair straightens her African hair, garnishes her eyelids with hair and removes it from her eyebrows, pursues it and relentlessly destroys it, engaged in war with her mammalian origins. Literally you have seen me a million times: the radically altered female who doesnt stand out in the crowd of radically altered females, I remain because the potential of my body is a universe. . . . if I were to become the animal that I am, then what? (Another America 31) While Kingsolver immersed herself in music at DePauw, which her major and her scholarship required, she was also drawn to science classes and at the same time began to realize that only a handful of students would be successful enough as musicians to support themselves. Without losing her scholarship, she took as many science classes as she could and found time to take at least one creative writing class. The story she wrote for her class, The Last Remaining Buffalo East of the Mississippi, was inspired by her curiosity about a female Native American on her fathers side, a Cherokee at least two generations back, about whom she knew very little. Eventually, that story would evolve into Homeland, which explores the importance of storytelling and the idea of home which lives most vividly in our hearts. The story became the title piece in the Homeland and Other Stories collection (1989). Homeland is narrated by the granddaughter of an ancient Cherokee woman whose tribal name was Greenleaf. Great Mam, or Ruth as she was called by her white name, married the narrators great grandfather John Murray. Great Mam comes to live during her final years with her Murray family in the Kentucky coal town of Morning Glory. There she tells stories to the children, about the animals, their personalities and kindnesses and trickery (6). When she asks her great granddaughter Gloria to remember these stories, the child answers that the task is too hard, but Great Mam replies, If it is important, your heart remembers (6). When Gloria brings Great Mam a flower she has picked, the Cherokee wise woman replies that the flower is alive, just as much as you are. A flower is your cousin. Didnt you know that? (11) One day, Gloria announces that she is not going to have any children . . . No boys going to marry me. Im too tall. Great Mam tells her Dont ever say you hate what you are. . . . Its an unkindness to those that made you. Thats like a red flower saying its too red (12). During the last June of Great Mams life, the family carries her back to her home in Hiwassee Valley, where she was born, a member of the Bird Clan. The village is nothing like Great Mam remembers; it is commercial and crass now, and the Indians they meet seem mere parodies of the past. Likewise, the principal attraction of the town is a tired buffalo, billed as the last remaining buffalo east of the Mississippi (19). But Great Mam is undeterred and tells Gloria the Cherokee creation story about the smallest creature, the water bug, who is responsible for creating the landa herculean task for one so small. Gloria tries to remember Great Mams stories, and she finds comfort sitting by her side on the porch in the evenings, away from the noise and sometime strife inside the house. When October comes, Great Mam passes away. Those in the family who understood her least put her white name Ruth on the gravestone, and they cut flowers to take to the gravesite, but Gloria is certain that the flowers will soon wilt and be tossed away by the small people that Great Mam had told her about, who will scatter them like bones (22). Homeland, written in first person and a story Kingsolver calls very personal, was first drafted when she was nineteen and rewritten and polished for her first short fiction collection, as well as to give the volume its title. The story, which has a magical and almost spiritual quality about it, tells us as much about Kingsolvers body of work as it does to spin a yarn about a Cherokee ancestor. The story is a roadmap pointing the way to what the author will value and deem authentic in her writing. It gives us a portrait of those seemingly less appreciated in our society and certainly less powerful in Patriarchy, in this case a young child and an old woman. It suggests the importance of our stories and storytelling, as well as the significance of names and naming. It asks us to understand that we are all connected, both to each other and to the natural world, having our own distinctive place in the design of the natural world, neither more nor less than the humble water bug. Despite the sad ending, the story is underpinned with a modicum of hope.  It speaks particularly to the idea of home. Though home changes with each passing dayas does the world itselfit still holds wonder and magic, if only in our minds and imagination. Kingsolver said this about Homeland: I feel Homeland expresses my reason for being a writer. I hope that story tells about the burden and the joy and the responsibility of holding on to the voices that are getting lost. Thats what I want to do as a writer (qtd. in Wagner-Martin 37). There was one exception to this new-found pleasure of freedom and being ones self that came with university life. Silas House, Crystal Wilkinson, and other Appalachian writers have talked about the shame they have been made to feel because of their Appalachian dialect that they brought with them to the academycriticisms coming more often than not from English Departments themselves, where an understanding of the vagaries of English and the rich history of the language should have made them more tolerant concerning accent and pronunciation, if not grammar (which for Kingsolver, as for House, was flawless). Linda Wagner-Martins excellent biography of Kingsolver deals with this issue somewhat differently from Kingsolver herself as she references the authors Appalachian dialect. Wagner-Martin portrays the change in her dialect this way: While Kingsolver did not need to change her name or her wardrobe on the surprisingly eclectic Midwestern campus, she did need to change her speech . . . a marker that, for the early 1970s, was unfashionable. . . . [Thus she] eliminated her Kentucky accent (34). Kingsolver writes about this important part of ones identity, ones dialect and accent, with perhaps less direct intent associated with its demise. She tells Elisabeth Beattie in Conversations with Kentucky Writers: It was a shock to me to go to Indiana . . . that hotbed of intellectualism and be embarrassed for the way I talked. People I didnt know would stop me on the sidewalk of the campus and try to get me to say hair and oil. She explains, I never meant to change the way I spoke, but I just did, because of the lifelong habit of . . . being a chameleon, not morally, but sociallytrying to blend into the wallpaper. . . . I just leveled out into speaking . . . a nonaccented English, in exactly the same way I sort of smoothly and gradually dropped my sense of having come from here (156). It was actually the comfort of dialect, those familiar sounds of home, that drew Kingsolver to the writing of Bobbie Ann Mason, an event that she calls life-changing because, she says, I suddenly understood that what moved me about those stories . . . was the respect that she has for her people. Kingsolver explains, What moved me most about Bobbie Ann Masons work is that when her characters speak, I hear them exactly. Im hearing exact inflections, and it makes me homesick. Mason, she contends, writes about people who have had their voices stolen from them. The people I write about and the way they talk and the way they live and the way they think has to grow out of who I am (157-58). Kingsolvers accent may have melted away but not her memory of Kentucky or her longing to understand home. Despite the fact that her early novels are set in Tucson, they give us narrators from Kentucky and that place is never far from any of the stories that come from her penhowever, it is true . . . Barbara Kingsolver sought to escape, though not necessarily from her Appalchian roots. In her second year at the University, in 1974, Kingsolver was raped, by an acquaintance she had met a few days before at a bar. It was a deeply traumatic experience and a subject that she wrote about, both in her prose and poetry. It was also a time when few talked about date or acquaintance rape and the idea of Me Too had not yet been born. She tried to process this event, as she did everything that troubled or enthralled her, through her writing. The most poignant rendering is the touching essay Letter to My Mother, where she is also trying to process the paradox of time and her confrontation with her own being and nothingness. As she touches on those events that make life both fearful and finea troubling and fearful symmetry in a universe supposedly divinely createdshe writes, I am nineteen, . . . curled like a fetus on my bed hoping to just disappear. I do not want to be alive. She says, I know his name, his addressin fact I will probably have to see him again on campus. . . . I was supposed to prevent what happened but how could she do that, having her head slammed against a wall, suffocating, screaming, [f]ighting an animal twice my size. My job was to stop him, and I failed. She concludes this segment of her letter: I will be able to get up from this bed only if I can get up angry (Small Wonder 167-68). When she attempts years later to process the experience through poetry, she expresses a deep empathy she feels for a friend going through such a trauma, just told to get over it. Kingsolver writes in This House I Cannot Leave: I offer no advice. . . . I am thinking of the man who broke and entered me. Of the years it took to be home again in this house I cannot leave. (Another America 59) Kingsolver did gradually get angry enough to leaveand her choice of escape was to study abroad. The next autumn, she traveled to Greece having enrolled at the Hellenic-American Union in Athens. She took the opportunity to explore Europe and to be away from the place that had turned her life upside down. She completed science courses there and worked on archeological digs, in both France and in Britain, falling in love with the French countryside and French life. During the years she would live abroad, she worked as a model at the Sorbonne, did translations and typesetting, and cleaned homescalling this time of her life her rolling stone period (Wagner-Martin 38-39). However, when she had stayed the length of her visa, she decided to return to Indiana long enough to finish her degree, actually graduating with her class magna cum laude in the spring of 1977, then returning to live abroad. When her family finally caught up with her in Beaurieux, France, her mother told her that her brother was getting married and she needed to come home (Small Wonder 168). Home she went, but when the celebrations were done, she got into her Renault and, like Huck Finn striking out for the western territories, she just drovehaving no grand plan but the expectation to live somewhere in the desert and experience the life she wanted and needed. She writes of the seventeen years she lived in the Tucson area: I like it here, far-flung from my original home. Ive come to love the desert that bristles and breathes and sleeps outside my windows. Yet she adds, I never cease to long in my bones for what I left behind. . . . [and] I have deeply missed the safety net of extended family (High Tide in Tucson 6). Kingsolver looked back at this time of her life and said this: In my life Ive had frightening losses and unfathomable gifts: A knife in my stomach. The death of an unborn child. Sunrise in a rain forest. A stupendous column of blue butterflies rising from a Greek monastery. . . . The end of a marriage . . . . For each of usfurred, feathered, or skinned alivethe whole earth balances on a single precarious point of our own survival. In the best of times, I hold in mind the need to care for things beyond the self: poetry, humanity, grace (High Tide in Tucson 7, 13) This was also the period when she was coming to terms with what would be her own personal belief system, when she was beginning to understand the fundamental interconnection of all matter. She would say about the natural world: I think biology is my religion. Understanding the process of the natural world and how all living things are related . . . those questions . . . are the basis of religion (qtd. in Leder 5). She also began to think of herself as a writer during this time, landing first a job as a medical technician at the University of Arizona Medical School Physiology department, and eventually beginning work on her Ph.D. Perhaps most important, Tucson, where she finally landed, brought her in contact with the Sanctuary Movement. When she was twenty-four, she met Joe Hoffman, a chemistry professor at the University of Arizona, who encouraged her to go to graduate school in 1980. She applied to study biology and ecology, finishing her course work in record time, but in 1983, she made that propitious decision not to write her dissertation but instead to take her MA and work as a science writer at the University, wanting her writing to have a larger impact than what the social life of termites might afford. When The Virginia Quarterly Review gave her $300 in 1983 for her story Rose Johnny, she wrote in her diary, I am a writer (Wagner-Martin 46-48). These were apprentice years when Kingsolver honed her craft, reading and appreciating Mason, Eudora Welty, Carson McCullers, and Flannery OConnor, all of whom gave us stories of common and working-class folks. The working common folk that Kingsolver was most interested in, however, were women and Mexican Americans in Arizona and particularly Hispanic women, at the bottom of the class pyramid. Working as a free-lance journalist, she began to cover the Phelps Dodge mine strike for a number of newspapers. The story had everything that intrigued heran overbearing political patriarchy that was under the spell of big business and industry, an intransigent industry that cared little for its workers, and a David and Goliath tale that completely captured her imagination, one with an intriguing feminist slant. She watched Governor Bruce Babbitt call out the National Guard and Huey helicopters to torment workers at the mine, she saw the men on strike banned from picketing, and she watched their wives taking to the picket lines and standing fearlessly against overwhelming power and odds. As she worked to win these womens trust and become more involved in their story, she determined to get an agent, naively and perhaps serendipitously selecting from the Literary Market Place at the library one Frances Goldin, whose ad touted her stand against sexists, racists, ageist, and homophobes. Kingsolver thought that this was the agent for her, and she wrote to Goldin about her idea for a nonfiction book on the strike, a book that would become Holding the Line. This is just the kind of thing I love to represent, Goldin replied. Itll probably never make a dime, but it sounds like a really worthy idea (Beattie 159-162). Kingsolver would eventually complete the book, as well as win the Arizona Press Club Award for her journalism (1986), but life has a way of side-tracking the best of intentions. After her marriage to Hoffman in 1985 and a pregnancy that left her with 9 months of insomnia, she just took advantage of the sleepless nights to begin to write another story living in her imagination, The Bean Trees. When she finished the book, taking about the same period of time as her daughters gestation period, she sent it to Goldin, who told her that Harper and Row (now Harper Collins) had picked up the book with an offer of $25,000the second publisher to accept it but with a better offer. Harper Collins, whom Kingsolver still publishes with today, agreed to give her an advance that would allow her to be a mom and a writer. She told Beattie, I signed the contract . . . I think twenty-four hours after Id had Camille and brought her home from the hospital. So I became a mom and a novelist on the same day (162). I Am a Writer, The Bean Trees and Pigs in Heaven The Bean Trees (1988) is a story that had been churning in Kingsolvers mind since she had arrived in Arizona and had become involved in both the Sanctuary Movement and the Phelps Dodge Mining Company strike; however, in some respect it had also been churning in her imagination her whole life. Catherine Himmelwright has written about the book as Kingsolvers attempt to revise the classic Western myth of striking out in search of freedom, a male myth that she recasts as a female story where women are the questers. Himmelwright further posits this as a mythic creation story, set within a Native American framework where the narrator Taylor Greer (Missy) and her adopted Indian daughter Turtle are archetypal figures representing Star Woman and Turtle in the Native American creation story. The bean tree itself, the Wisteria plant that thrives in the poorest soil becoming a thing of beauty, provides a controlling image in the story, signaling the hope possible for even the least and most neglected among us. The tale begins with narrator, Missy, leaving her Kentucky home, with all her worldly goods packed in her 55 Volkswagen, determined to carve a life of her own and not end up another pregnant Kentucky wife in a world dominated by men. Her initial aim is to just drive west, and in the ensuing adventure she lands in Arizona with a Native American child in tow, a little girl she calls Turtle who has been abused and given to Missy along the way. Missy and little Turtle end up at the Jesus Is Lord Used Tire establishment where she finds work and a network of strong women friends. Along that way, Missy renames herself Taylor Greer, meets two refugees from Guatemala, Estevan and Esperanza, whom she befriends, along with Father William, the resourceful members of the Sanctuary group, and a network of women friends who assist her as she tries to make a home for her traumatized daughter Turtle. In the process, she forms an unconventional family of those outcast and abandoned, who will, when all is said and done, inherit this earth and create gardens in unlikely spaces, even in an auto repair yard. The Bean Trees is a bildungsroman, or coming of age story. It is a tale about healing, about accepting those who have been abused, othered, or spurned, and about the connection that we all have with the natural world around us and with each other. Himmelwright explains the book this way, noting Kingsolvers use of the desert (with its capacity to flower in unexpected ways) and Missy/Taylors regional move to express the need to escape any type of limited vision (45). When Missy renames herself Taylor, she re-creates herself. She is made by Kingsolver into an individual who empowers the American experience by stitching together two mythologies, the male Western myth and the Native American in order to reveal a need for balance. Himmelwright writes, Kingsolver provides a vision of the feminine as well as the masculine. The hero is both adventurer and domesticator. The power of creation and motherhood, as well as the need for action and adventure, are essential for growth and productivity. Himmelwright concludes: The garden no longer symbolizes [as in the patriarchal vision] that space relegated as a safe portion outside the male experience, nor does it symbolize a limited place: it is instead the communal garden (48). Kingsolvers re-visioning of the mythic journey of the hero and the setting that she provides which will nourish and offer sanctuary include a garden among the scattered debris of cast away tires and auto parts, and the tillers and inheritors of that erstwhile fertile space are women and children, accompanied by gentlemen who offer a helping hand and an understanding and sympathetic nod. Pigs in Heaven (1993) was not Kingsolvers next book, but it was the continuation of Taylors and Turtles storythough a sequel had not been her original plan despite being encouraged to continue the tale. Kingsolver explained to Elizabeth Beattie that she had been struck by a drama that had unfolded in south Tucson. A native American child had been adopted informally by a white family . . . and this adoption came to the attention of the tribe who demanded the child be returned. While the media portrayed the story as a child torn from the mothers arms, tribal officials kept repeating, How can it be in the best interest of the tribe to lose its children? (Beattie 170). Thus there was a clear conflict and debate between individual rights and rights of the community. Kingsolver, who has said she begins each of her books with a question, posed this conundrum that would drive her narrative: In this dialogue, is there any point of intersection [between these two disparate points of view, the White dominant culture and Native American]? (170). In her essay The White Imagination at Work in Pigs in Heaven, Jeanne Sokolowski adds another dimension to the question, one that ratchets up the stakesthat is, the idea of internal colonization, as she references the work of Jenny Sharpe who posited how the multiculturalism of the 1960s and 1970s drew upon the anticolonial writings of Third World liberation movements to suggest . . . the disenfranchisement of racial minorities (qtd. in Sokolowski 157). While Sokolowski and Sharpe focus attention on writers like Melville and how they portrayed indigenous people and people of color, setting up these racial and colonial perspectives, Kingsolver was aware of the issue and the problematic ending of The Bean Trees, and that issue is why the writing of Pigs In Heaven was undertaken. As Kingsolver said in a 1993 interview, I had completely neglected a whole moral area, which she would resolve in Pigs in Heaven (qtd. in Wagner-Martin 89). A central image in Pigs in Heaven is the Native American myth of the constellation Pleiades, which Native Americans explain through the tale of six lazy Indian boys who will not work and are thus fed food fit only for a pig. When they complain, the ungrateful boys are transformed into pigs and cast into the sky, with the reprimanding mother, the seventh star in the constellation, holding fast to them as they whirl away through the heavens. It is a complex and paradoxical story where the mothers actions are both justifiable and regrettable. In The Bean Trees, Taylor concocts a phony adoption plan and lies to officials in order to achieve legal custody of Turtle, whom she has grown to love and who begins to recover from the abuse and trauma suffered before her Native American aunt gave her to Taylor. Taylor wants the best for Turtle, understanding that motherhood is the one job where, the better you are, the more surely you wont be needed in the long run (Pigs in Heaven 30). When a Native American attorney hears a TV interview on the Oprah Show after Turtle and Taylor have saved the life of a young man while visiting Hoover Dam, this conflict between what the Cherokee tribe wants and what Taylor wants is set in motion. Initially, the confrontation between Cherokee legal activist Annawake Fourkiller, who speaks for the tribe, and Taylor, who has been Turtles devoted mom at this point for years, does not go well. When Annawake locates and confronts Taylor with the tragedy of her people and the 1978 Indian Child Welfare Act that has attempted to address that tragedy, Taylor bluntly says, I dont understand what that has to do with me (95). However, she also knows that her claim to her daughter is tenuous, so Taylor flees with Turtle in order to avoid losing custody, clearly a legal possibility at this point in the tale. Taylor calls on Alice, her own mother, for help, and Alice travels from Kentucky across the country to join her daughter and granddaughter on a remarkable road-trip. While Taylor and Turtle remain in hiding in Seattle, Alice, hoping to find some way to resolve the dilemma, travels to Heaven, Oklahoma, to visit her cousin Sugar, who has married into the Western Band of the Tribe. It is this intersection of the two cultures and the conflict between individual and community rights that provides the intellectual meat of the story. On the one hand, it becomes clear to Annawake Fourkiller that Taylor is devoted to Turtle and that Turtle was clearly abandoned as an infant by members of the tribe, but on the other, both Taylor and Alice begin to understand the unique culture that Turtle is part of and will one day want to understand and identify with herself. Additionally, Taylor is confronted with her daughters lactose intolerance, common among nonwhite children, so the physical reality of her daughters unique racial heritage is something she must acknowledge. It becomes apparent to Taylor that the tragedy that occurred to Native Americans, including the 1838 Trail of Tears, is indeed her concern. The issue is resolved through acknowledgment of the rights and feelings of all involved, including Turtles feelings; and both Taylor and Annawake are compelled to compromise for the sake of both the community and the individual. The essential themes running through Kingsolvers prose work their will on the storythe invisibility of people of color (as exemplified in the character of Turtle whose silence and innocence are apparent in both The Bean Trees and Pigs in Heaven), the injustices of patriarchy and institutional racism that are manifested upon people of color and ethnicity, and the hope for some sort of resolution to the conflicts that besiege us. However, there is also present, as in other of Kingsolvers stories, an acknowledgement of the power of place and the pull of ones Appalachian roots. For example, in one quiet interlude while Taylor and Turtle are on the run, they have a picnic with one of Taylors friends Steven, who drives the three to see the Seattle locks and watch the salmon run. Steven points out the heroic effort these creatures make, after traveling the worlds oceans, to return home to this very river to spawn. When Taylor tells her story about leaving Kentucky, Steven questions, And youll never go back? Taylor responds, Oh, I might. I guess. You shouldnt forget who made you. When Steven turns his attention to Turtle to ask where she was born, the little girl answers, In a car. Seeing her answer thoroughly perplex him, Taylor explains. It was a Plymouth. . . . Thats about all I know about it. Shes adopted, whereupon Turtle declares she doesnt want to go back [home] to live in a car (316-17). This conversation about home and roots seems on the surface innocuous, but it is a poignant and propitious response that clearly points toward the necessity of the resolution at the end of the bookwhere Taylor, Annawake, Turtles Cherokee grandfather Cash Stillwater, and Alice all must accept and honor Turtles roots. In between the publication of The Bean Trees (1988) and Pigs in Heaven (1993), Kingsolver published Homeland and Other Stories (1989), her novel Animal Dreams (1990), and a poetry collection Another America/Otra America (1992), the latter juxtaposing Spanish translations of each poem by her friend Rebecca Cartes; however, despite her growing success and recognition, including American Library Association awards for both The Bean Trees and Animal Dreams, which also received the PEN Fiction Award, this period was filled with stress and personal upheaval. Kingsolver writes: Nineteen ninety-two was a rotten year. My marriage of many years had been transferred suddenly from the intensive care to the autopsy table. I was single . . . and reeling between shock and despair. She recalls feeling overwhelmed with the tasks of being mother of a preschooler, full-time author with big deadlines, carpool driver, chief cook, good citizen, breadwinner, and fixer of all broken things around the house (qtd. in Wagner-Martin). In 1991, she found some solace living for a time in the Canary Islands, where she had taken four-year-old Camille to find a bit of breathing space. At the same time, this was a profoundly creative period, and Kingsolver did what always came naturally to her when life was perplexing: she wrote her way to understandinga component of which in this case was exploring the dynamics of memory, both in individuals and in the larger community. Animal Dreams (1990) began, as all her books begin, with a question: Why is it that some people are activists who . . . feel not only that they can, but that they must, do something about the world and its problems, while other people turn their back on the same world and pretend that it has no bearing on their lives? (Beattie 164). To answer this question, Kingsolver, using both first and third person points of view, tells the story of two sisters, social activist Hallie Noline, who gives her life to help working class Nicaraguans suffering through U.S. political meddling and support of a dictator, and Codi Noline, who turns away from a life of service after a decade studying for her medical degree, leaving her almost completed studies to work at inferior jobs and to be with unsuitable men. The two narrative points of view are in the consciousness of the two most damaged characters in the story, the father Homer and sister Codi. When Hallie goes missing in Nicaragua, where she has gone to help as an agricultural specialist and aid worker, word comes that Dr. Homer Noline is sinking slowly into the fog of memory loss and Alzheimers. Codi returns home to Grace, Arizona, after years of being away, feeling herself, as she says, a baglady with an education (265). Upon returning home, she must confront her memories of a deceased mother, a disengaged father melting into terminal forgetfulness, and guilt and rejection suppressed from her youth. That confrontation with past memory comes with community support that Codi finds in Grace, with reconciliation with an old Pueblo boyfriend, Lloyd Peregrina, who plays a part in her guilt, with Codis work teaching science to high school students, and with her immersion in the communitys struggle against an industrial power that has polluted the water and thoughtlessly destroyed lives. These memories are the woes and refuse from patriarchal power gone awry. These events converge, as bits and pieces of Codis memory begin to clarify her traumatic life. Sheryl Stevenson sums up the broader significance of this story in the essay Trauma and Memory in Animal Dreams, in which she discusses how the book prescribes what American citizens needcommitment to individual and collective remembrance, to acts of memory that are inseparable from risk, mourning and social involvement (107). Finding Home and a Matter of Style Few of us get second chances in life, when it becomes clear that neither money, fame, nor success will bring one happiness. Kingsolver writes about finding a partner who would also become a soulmate, Steven Hopp, teacher and ornithologist at Emory & Henry College in Virginia, where she would serve as a visiting writer in April 1993, on a Lila Wallace Fellowship. She was invited to speak to Dr. Hopps wildlife conservation class. She writes about meeting Steven in the essay Reprise. Hope is an unbearably precious thing, worth its weight in feathers, she says (High Tide in Tucson 268), and then she goes on to talk about after she arrived and Steven invited her to his nearby farm to take a walk. As they strolled and he identified the birds they encountered, she thought, Here is a man who listens carefully to every voice (268). Meeting Steven made her feel like the erstwhile hermit crab Buster that she writes about in the first essay in the High Tide in Tucson collection. Buster had been brought from the seashore to the desert, living his curiously satisfying life as a transplant, collecting new shells and new lives. She writes after marrying Steven in 1994, and so I have molted now, crawled out of my old empty banged-up skin with a fresh new life (270). In her essays and poetry, which Kingsolver often turns to after the intensity of writing a novel, she slips into a style that is informal, familiar, and a superb source for what she is thinking beyond the fictional characters she creates. Of her marriage to Steven, she writes in the poem Watershed: Insomnia was once the thief I hated, tucking tomorrows triumphs in his pockets. But after these years I am easing myself out of triumphant ambitions, that bath has grown too cold. I can lie here in the watershed of your sleep, instead, watching dreams pass under the perfect ivory aquaduct of your bones. Had I slept, it would only have been another hour in which you were lost to me. (Another America 95) In another poem in the collection, her reading is interrupted by sounds coming from the kitchen, the sounds of her husband making bread possibly with a small child helper; and these domestic noises make her smile and . . . thank the kitchen gods for what marriage is: throughout this immutable passage, these square impossible constraints, these petty clinkings of half against quarter, and oh this needing, oh this falling and this rising, I am blessed with a husband who makes bread (Daily Bread 93) In 1996, Kingsolver gave birth to her second child, Lily. She was forty and had achieved remarkable success as a writer, and at long last had found the peace of mind that had been largely elusive for a person of passion and empathy in such a flawed world as we have. In Letter to My Mother, Kingsolver closes her touching memory of Virginia Kingsolver, with a beautiful memory or spot of time after she and Steven bring Lily home. Kingsolver remembers how she sat quietly with Steven, nursing the new baby, admiring her perfect hands. Steven is in a chair across the room, and Im startled to look up and find he is staring at us with tears in his eyes. When she asks what is wrong, he respond, Nothing. Im just so happy. She muses as she finishes this love letter to her mother, her children, and Steven: I love him inordinately. I could not bear to be anyone but his wife just now. I could not bear to be anyone but the mother of my daughters (Small Wonder 174). As an accomplished and recognized writer and now with a supportive partner, Kingsolver was in a position to tackle some complex and ambitious projects. She had evolved a style that was distinctive, with a solid readership following. After Pigs in Heaven, all of her books would find their way to the NY Times Best Selling list. One of the most distinctive and appealing qualities of her writing is her humor and a playful intellect, with a prose style that can be grandly lyrical at times. While she came at writing from a different avenue from many of her contemporaries, eschewing the MFA route and relying on literary influences and models like Lessing, Mason, Steinbeck, and Atwood, her experiments in narrative unfolding and the contemporaneity of her themes and issues have made her writing both appealing and significant. When asked how she believes creative writing ought to be taught, she has responded, Minimally. She says, I really believe the best criticism comes from non-writers. . . . Every reader brings a different experience to the work, and takes away a different experience . . . . What I want is for a story to be good enough that youll read it to the end (Beattie 166). She also adds that one essential for a writer is to keep a large trash can beside your desk . . . . Youve got to throw away a lot of stuff before you get to something good (166). As for access to good literature and learning something constructive and new, Kingsolver says it is important to diversify ones own reading: Hispanic women writers . . . African-American writers, people that might be a little bit out of the mainstream (160). However, the one essential that may trump all others is to have a broad knowledge of other subjects besides writing, because all your characters will come from a range of backgrounds. You have to know everything they know and then some (167). Readers go to Kingsolver, in some sense, for the same reason she writesto find answers and understanding, as well as to be entertained. Kingsolver was fortunate early on to have connected with both a first-rate agent (Frances Goldin) and a first-rate editor (Janet Goldstein), who were willing, in that classic tradition of a Maxwell Perkins, to give her honest feedback as well as allow her to follow her instincts. She writes of Goldstein: She is a very good critic. . . . good at identifying problems and letting me fix them (Beattie 169). Kingsolver has worked out a composition process that fits well her alternating routine of discipline [tension] and relaxation, so that when she is in the throes of finishing a fiction piece (the tension phase), she is focused solely on her writing; and when she is finished with a fiction deadline or project, after which she is usually mentally spent, she is ready to do the book tours and promotional events or to turn her attention to poetry and essay writing which have different demands. This compromise between focused intensity and release/relaxation has achieved a workable creative balance for Kingsolver and has helped her to remain prolific, while that fear she had voiced to her mother as a child about ceasing to be still runs true as an undercurrent in her consciousness, giving her a sense of urgency as a writer and a human being. She writes in The One-Eyed Monster, and Why I Dont Let Him In: I have struggled all my life with a constitutional impatience with anything that threatens to waste whats left of my minutes here on earth (Small Wonder 135). Perhaps the most important aspect of writing is point of view. Kingsolver pays close attention to how she unfolds her narrative. In The Spaces Between, she said this about how she tells a story: A magnificent literary tool is the dramatic point of view; one of its great virtuosos was John Steinbeck. Without ever pretending to know female or Mexican laborer . . . from the inside, he rendered those characters perfectly from the outside. Kingsolver continues that after reading Steinbeck, she first realized this precious truth: bearing witness is not the same as possession (High Tide in Tucson 155). This distinction between bearing witness and possession is important. Like Silas House, who portrays the viewpoint of a Cherokee woman in A Parchment of Leaves, Kingsolver can, without any hint of appropriation, bear witness through the point of view of a gay man in The Lacuna or through a virtual cast of characters as she does in The Poisonwood Bible. Writing to Understand: The Poisonwood Bible (1998), Prodigal Summer (2000), and The Lacuna (2009) In The Spaces Between, Kingsolver writes this about her concept of God and fundamental beliefs: I believe in trees, and that heaven had something to do with how dead trees gentle themselves into long, mossy columns of bright-smiling, crumbling earth, lively inside with sprouting seeds and black beetles. She continues, I could not make myself believe in a loud-voiced, bearded God on his throne in the clouds, but I was moved to tears by the compost pile (High Tide in Tucson 155). This was the perfect state of mind for writing The Poisonwood Bible, a book that would figuratively shoot Kingsolver into the stratosphere among American writers, winning for her the National Book Prize of South Africa and short-list status for both the Pulitzer and PEN/Faulkner awards, not to mention an Oprah Book Club selection. The financial success of The Poisonwood Bible allowed Kingsolver to realize a long-held dream of establishing a $25,000 prize for authors of socially conscious fiction, the Bellwether Prize for Fiction (now PEN/Bellwether), whose judges have included Toni Morrison, Maxine Hong Kingston, Russell Banks, and Grace Paley (Wagner-Martin 114). Truth be told, the book, which Kingsolver called a political allegory, took almost twenty years to complete. It ostensibly tells the story of a missionary family posted in Africa, but it serves as a metaphorical commentary on the CIA supported ousting of Patrice Lumumba and installation of the dictator Mobutu Sese Seko in the Congo, as well as addressing the kind of Colonial ethnocentrism condemned by Chinua Achebe. To tell this complex tale of Patriarchy gone amuck, which is both a retelling of Conrads Heart of Darkness and Achebes Things Fall Apart, Kingsolver selected, as did Faulkner in As I Lay Dying, an array of narrators, each with a distinctive voice, as she says in Writing D.A.B., revealing the range of White attitudes about the complex moral issues the book raises. Kingsolver explains, I decided to construct five narrators who would bring different moral overtones to the questions posed about Colonial power, ethnocentrism, and racism in America. She continues, explaining why the project took so long: I studied the King James Bible, the six sections of her book taking both imagery and its ironic narrative unfolding from the BibleGenesis, Revelation, The Judges, Bell and the Serpent, Exodus, and Son of the Three Children. She used a Kikongo-French dictionary compiled by a missionary nearly a century before, adding that the dictionary was a goldmine of words with double and quadruple meaningsthe basis for infinite misunderstandings underlying the themes of The Poisonwood Bible (10-11). While she could not travel to the Congo itself because of the toxic political landscape as she was researching and writing, she did return to Africa a number of times (12). The Poisonwood Bible has been written about by literary scholars and critics more than any of Kingsolvers other books. Several notable essays are Women, A Dark Continent? by Heloise Meire and Hemmed In: Place Disability and Maternity in Animal Dreams and The Poisonwood Bible by Breyan Strickler in the Seeds of Change critical collection. Other interesting explications of the book are found in Re-visioning Southern Identity: Transatlantic Cultural Collisions in Barbara Kingsolvers The Poisonwood Bible by Sophie Croisy and The Gospel According to Barbara Kingsolver by William Purcell, which provides a Catholic critical point of view. All of these scholars offer insights into the rich literary landscape of The Poisonwood Bible, with Croisys essay particularly interesting as she explores the clash of African and Southern culture which the narrators, the Price family, who come to the Congo bearing the burden of their monolithic Southern heritage, bring to their experiences in Africa. Kingsolvers text, writes Croisy, is a transcultural one, a kaleidoscopic critique of local cultural heritage and a call for a more schizophrenic envisioning of cultural identity through cultural boundary crossing and beyond cultural absolutism (224). The Poisonwood Bible, taking its name from the bangala tree whose wood is toxic (The Poisonwood Bible 93), is a brilliantly told tale serving as an indictment against racism and Colonial and religious ethnocentric attitudes toward third-world countries, as well as a political commentary on our governments sometimes thoughtless machinations and meddling in the politics of third-world countries. The Price familypatriarch and preacher Nathan, his long-suffering wife Orleanna, and their four daughters, the malapropism prone and radically materialistic Rachel, the twins Leah and Adah, and the youngest Ruthfind themselves on a mission trip to the Congo and a world they little understand and even less will improve through their evangelical work. The women in this fictional response to Things Fall Apart and The Heart of Darkness are the narrators, each rendering a vastly different point of view concerning attitudes toward Africa, and each, in one way or another, undergoing change or transformation from the powerful experience that their intransigent and tyrannical missionary father has exposed them to. The parallel Kingsolver makes between patriarchal control of land and of womenboth African and White Evangelical controlruns strong throughout the story, and the bungling and literal babble of Nathan who tries to subvert a culture he little comprehends is appalling. While the children and mother attempt to survive, get on with their neighbors, and even learn the language, Nathan sees no need, relying on his sermons being sketchily translated by a brilliant young African teacher, the revolutionary Anatole, who sees through the willfulness of this white preacher. Anatole befriends Mrs. Price and her children, and will eventually marry Leah, who is transformed from the child who unthinkingly admires her father and seeks his seldom-rendered approval to an activist and revolutionary herself as she matures to understand the pig-headedness of her father and her own countrys interference in Congolese politics. This story is told with a wry humor yet serious intent and is set during the period of chaos and upheaval when Lumumba, the democratically elected leader of the Congo, is overthrown and a dictator supported by the American government is installed. The tale is sprawling and epic, over time and continents. A wonderfully dramatic and darkly comic moment and climax comes midway through the narrative, as Nathan sermonizes and takes full advantage of the drought that has fallen upon the village. He has already cajoled his congregation to repent their sins and the Lord would reward them with rain, but now he is lecturing them on laying aside and repenting their superstitions (328), oblivious of his inconsistencies and illogic. As his Congolese congregation listens, seeming to Nathan to little comprehend the wealth of knowledge and truth he has to impart, one of the village leaders Tata Ndu stands up to call for an election. Nathan is disbelieving at the interruption but replies with patient condescension, Well, now, thats good. Elections are a fine and civilized thing. In America we hold elections every four years to decide on new leaders. Tata Ndu replies with equal patience, A yi bandu, if you do not mind, Tata Price, we will make our election now. Ici, maintenant. . . . we are making a vote for Jesus Christ in the office of personal God, Kilange village. As the debate continues, Nathan loses his cool and eventually the vote; red-faced with anger at this usurping of his authority, he screams, This is blasphemy! Tata Ndu responds, Tata Price, white men have brought us many programs to improve our thinking . . . . This program of Jesus and the program of elections. You say these things are good. You cannot say now they are not good. Tata Ndu concludes, Jesus is a white man, so he will understand the law of la majorite, Tata Price. Wenda mbote. The die is cast as well as the votes, and . . . Jesus Christ [loses], eleven to fifty-six (328-334). The Poisonwood Bible is a brilliant commentary upon social and civil politics as well as a look at a people who have lived close to the land in a sustainable way. Kingsolvers next two books use both these themes to weave stories that portray vastly different worlds, one Appalachian and the other the colorful and richly artistic world of Mexico and Frieda Kahlo: Prodigal Summer (2000) and The Lacuna (2009). Prodigal Summer, which means season of extravagant procreation (51), follows three remarkable, seemingly disconnected women whose lives actually connect in the story in the same way that all living things are interconnected in the natural and human world, which are one and the same. Deanna Wolfe works for the Forestry Service, intent on saving those keystone predators, like the coyote, whose annihilation has been detrimental to all native species and the whole ecosystem. Lusa Landowski is a trained university biologist who has married into a farming family whose tobacco farm hangs on the brink of survival when husband Cole Widener suddenly dies. Lusa struggles to save the dying Widener family farm as well as its extended Appalchian family, which the Scots would call a clachanall living and working in close community. Nannie Rawley is an older woman determined to grow organically and coming into conflict with retired teacher Garnett Walker, who is equally and incongruously determined to both eradicate all weeds and pests with poisons that taint Nannies orchard while at the same time hoping to bring back the vanishing chestnut tree. All these stories are interrelated, just as the bio-systems and human systems are fundamentally connected. When Lusas sister-in-law comes to borrow the farm pressure sprayer to exterminate bees that have moved into the church wall, she repeats an oft-heard mantra about nature, which must be tamed or it will take you over (Prodigal Summer 45). Lusa expresses the novels theme when she addresses this unthinking and very human response, a response Peter Wens calls an anthropocentrism understanding of how nature works (110): Youre nature, Im nature. Lusa counters, We shit, we piss, we have babies, we make messes. The world will not end if you let the honeysuckle have the side of your barn (Prodigal Summer 5). The critical reception to Prodigal Summer, which Kingsolver calls one of her most complex narratives, was remarkable. Kingsolver herself said this about the book: My agenda is to lure [the reader] into thinking about whole systems, not just individual parts. . . . Notice the sentence that begins and ends the book: Solitude is only a human presumption (qtd. in Leder 233). While Susan Hansons Celebrating a Lively Earth focuses on the women mentors in the story like Lusa, Deanna, and Nannie Rawley, Priscilla Leders Contingency, Cultivation, and Choice: The Garden Ethic in Prodigal Summer illustrates how Kingsolver reminds us of the delicate, nuanced negotiationswith each other, between biology and consciousness, and between ourselves and the environmentthat make for responsible action (249). Suzanne Jones The Southern Family Farm as Endangered Species: Possibilities for Survival in Barbara Kingsolvers Prodigal Summer reveals specifically those complex interconnections of human and natural ecosystems and the imbalances in the natural environment caused by human ignorance . . . creating complex environmental problems that threaten both ecosystems and the viability of local farms (Jones 85, 95). However, one of the most interesting motifs posited in Prodigal Summer is the ecofeminist idea that sexism and anthropocentrism are mutually reinforcing. Peter Wens explains this idea, which Kingsolver also poses in The Poisonwood Bible: People associate women with nature and reinforce their denigration of women by associating women with already denigrated nature. In turn, they reinforce their anthropocentrism through associating nature with already denigrated Women (Wens 119). With The Lacuna, Kingsolver again crafts a complex narrative set in the past that deals with a very contemporary eventin this case, 9/11 and its aftermath, summed up in the words of George H. W. Bush, Youre either with us or against us, an intolerant and simplistic response that belies the complexity of patriotism and undermines truth. The central image of the story is the sea caves off the Mexican coast, into which the young protagonist, Harrison William ϳԹperilously dives. The lacuna is a symbol for mystery, the missing or silenced stories that must be told to achieve truth, the dangers that surround us when truth remains untold, as well as a political allegory using the McCarthy era hearings to put down or silence anything not sanctioned by the political and social powers that be, an abyss for democracy that appears to be recurring in America and the world with disturbing frequency. In conversation about The Lacuna, author Silas House shared that this was his favorite Kingsolver novel and the best portrayal he has read of a gay protagonist (in this case, living within the timeframe of the first half of the Twentieth Century). The Lacuna has a complex structure and narrative, using the young protagonist Harrison Shepherds point of view as well as his devoted secretarys, Violet Brown, and additionally their letters and other communications. The book is also a kunstlerroman or artists coming of age story, yet a sprawling historical novel that takes us from the politically charged and colorful world of Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera to the literary setting of Ashville, North Carolina, where after becoming a famous author, Harrison ϳԹsettles. The book likewise brings to life such historic figures as Leon Trotsky, who is betrayed by both Stalins brutality and his blatant disregard for truth. As a political allegory, the book caused a flurry of critical response because of its uncompromising excavation of the aftermath of 9/11, winning for Kingsolver Britains most prestigious literary award, the Orange Prize. Some of the more perceptive commentaries on the story have come from scholars like Judith Seaboyer, whose Barbara Kingsolvers Singing Shepherd: The Lacuna as Pastoral Elegy sees the book in the elegiac tradition of Virgils Eclogues and Miltons Lycidas, as well as Thomas Wolfes Look Homeward Angel. In Excavating The Lacuna: Barbara Kingsolvers Allegorical Understanding of Americas Post-9/11 World, Clair Sheehan renders a close reading of the metaphorical structure of the book as an allegory for understanding both the post-9/11 world as well as the personal attacks on Kingsolver herself. Sheehan notes: As Kingsolver explained to journalist and author, Susan Faludi, her family received threatening mail; a trustee at [her] alma mater sought to revoke her honorary degree, invitations, both social and professional were retracted and a veritable political witch-hunt ensued, reminiscent of the political witch-hunts from the McCarthy era that she writes about (196). However, Sheehan also makes clear that the real tour de force of the book is found in the narrative experiments. Use of first person, long a preference for Kingsolver, is different in this story, particularly in the last two thirds of the novel, where the allegorical content directly link[s] Harrison ϳԹto his creator, Barbara Kingsolver (205). Beyond the subtle art of The Lacuna, Kingsolver gives us a story that celebrates the rich history of Mexico, a sensitive coming of age narrative for a young gay artist caught up in the negative politics of an era that threatened the very cornerstones of American democracy, as well as an understanding of the power of storytelling which addresses such threats. Toward the end of the novel, Harrison and Mrs. Brown travel to Merida as they prepare for the writing of what might be his last book about the Yucatan. On this journey, they drive to an ancient stone roadbed at the mouth of a lacuna. A cenote, its called . . . a deep, round hole with limestone cliffs for its sides and blue water at the bottom. Harrison says that the Mayans built their towns and civilization on these cenotes, . . . these water caves running below, with round mouths opening, gaping mouths like a painting by Munch of human dread (395). When Mrs. Brown asks Harrison about his next book, he tells her that it is about how civilizations fall, and what leads up to that. How were connected to everything in the past. He adds, I think the readers wont like it. We dont like to see ourselves joined hard to the past (398). Yet, Kingsolver makes clear that lest we understand our past, our future will be as unfathomable and dangerous as that gaping hole in the earth, waiting to swallow and drown us. Then and Now, Past and Present: Unsheltered (2018), Flight Behavior (2012), Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (2007) Unsheltered is a book that explores how civilizations do in fact fallor decay in the most disconcerting way. This book also caused quite a stir among a few critics, with its close and metaphoric reading of the 2016 Presidential election, perhaps because the critics did not understand the satiric nature of the story. It is, however, also a book filled with hope, as well as composed so that its structure and meaning parallel in a wonderfully artful manner. The controlling image, not surprisingly, is the idea of shelter, which as the tale evolves, takes on a myriad of meanings. The motifs of American materialism and its connection to the environment, the interplay and interconnection between past and present, and the power of truth dominate the storyall tied together in a parallel narrative structure that has alternating chapters focusing on a contemporary middle-class family and a post-Civil War family, both inhabiting the same house that is slowly falling apart. The contemporary family is composed of a free-lance writer and West Virginia expat Willa, her middle-aged professor husband Iano, who has lost his tenured position when the college he worked at failed in hard economic times, their rebellious daughter Antigone (Tig) whose off the grid spirit becomes the familys saving grace, and their uber-capitalist Harvard-educated son Zeke, who is saddled with a mountain of student debt and embroiled in a start-up financial company at the time his wife commits suicide leaving him with an infant son Dusty. Willa Knox and Iano Tavoularis have moved to New Jersey into a dilapidated house dating back to the Nineteenth Century, which Willa has inherited. In the throes of hard times, they are also saddled with Ianos irascible and ailing father Nickan immigrant who cant stand immigrants and a rabid supporter of the billionaire Presidential candidate whom Willa calls the Bullhorn. Willa complains to daughter Tig: He loves this billionaire running for President, whos never lifted a finger doing anything Nick would call work. Tig responds to her mother, Theres a lot of white folks out there hanging on to their God-given right to look down on some other class of people. They feel it slipping away and theyre scared. This guy says hes bringing back yesterday . . . . Hes a bully, everybody knows that. But hes their bully (248-249). Later, Willa decries this electorate [that] could validate such a mean, grabby, self-aggrandizing man who has legitimized personal greed as the principal religion of our country (352). The sentiment echoes Gordon Gekkos epithetic greed is good, in a film that captured the raison dtre of an earlier generation. The first chapter begins with Willas family story and the tragedy of her daughter-in-laws death, while the second chapter tells us of equally hard times in post-Civil War America and another family struggling to make ends meet in the same house, broken and literally falling down around its inhabitants. The protagonist in this time warp is scientist and teacher Thatcher Greenwood, who lives with his young wife Rose, her sister Polly, and Roses mother Aurelia, who owns the decrepit house. The house is in Vineland, New Jersey, a planned village tightly controlled by the autocrat Charles Landis. Thatcher, is struggling to get on with Principal Cutler, who eschews science, particularly the uncomfortable truths of Darwinian science, and he only wants Thatcher to imbue his young scholars with religious pabulum that will prepare them to go out into the world as pliant workers. Kingsolver again draws from history for characters like Mary Treat, friend and confidant of Thatcher and a scientist in her own right as well as correspondent with Darwin. The post-Civil War and contemporary stories are pointedly parallel, with alternating chapters connected by the final line of each chapter which becomes the following chapter title. Past and present are inexorably linked, and truth battles distortion in the war to win control over the minds and hearts of the community, in order to maintain the status quo and power structure. The community is divided, the family is divided, and things fall completely apartthe house that is, as Thatcher tells Rose: They said it will eventually pull itself apart down the middle (42). And so goes the way of the world and civil society, with home offering less shelter with each growing day, and eventually we find this evolving metaphor referencing the illusions and lies that feed our longing for comfort and validation of our own prejudices, a different form of shelter. Willa, who has spent her energy, as did Thatcher the century before, trying to save the house, begins to doubt whether there may be something sinister in the kind of shelter it offers: You cant shelter in place anymore, she says, when there isnt a place (409). Eventually, she thinks it might be best to just give up the house, at least in its shattered and divisive state, to just tear it down: [S]he was starting to see advantages beyond decent shelter that is, the advantage of being shelterless without the false shelter and divisiveness it provides (438). Perhaps the house had been casting a lot of shade and when a house no longer provided shelter, it turned out to be worth exactly the sum of its parts (438-439). Thus in the spirit of Jonathan Swift, Kingsolvers brilliant satire of contemporary politics and houses divided ends, but not without the hope of a richer and more fulfilled life that comes with scaling back ones material wants and finding a better way of looking at and interacting with both the human and natural environment. Scaling back and paying attention to the environment is exactly the message that Flight Behavior (2012) and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (2007) provide. Flight Behavior, Kingsolvers choice for the 2022 One Book, One West Virginia Common Read selection, offers an early warning about the vicissitudes of global warming, tied inexorably as it is to consumerism and materialism that stoke the fires warming the globe, and now is at a crucial crisis point. As we watch the polar ice shelves disappear, the seas rising, the storms and disasters on Earth wreaking havoc, and this beautiful blue planet despoiled by mountains of our trash and carbon refuse, it is clear that climate change is quickly heading toward the point of no return. As always, Kingsolver ties together the natural and human worlds so that we may follow the story of Dellarobia Turnbow and the revelations she encounters after she discovers on the Turnbows mountain property an amazing gathering of Monarch butterflies, called King Billies by Appalachians (392). Readers are engaged by the interconnected human and environmental stories that help us understand the crisis threatening the planet. Dellarobia is a mother and wife, trapped in a marriage to lackluster husband Cub, whom she married right out of high school in typical shotgun wedding style. Dellarobia thinks, With occasional exceptions in the bedroom, Cub did every single thing in his life in first gear (43). Her own self-view commensurate with that singular teenage mistake, this twenty-eight year old mother of two great kids, Preston and Cordelia, sees herself as limited and hardly capable of the task that she finds before her: Who was she anyway? A girl who got knocked up in high school and scurried under the first roof that looked like it might shed water (161). As the book opens, Dellarobia is on her way up the mountainside for a romantic assignation with Jimmy the telephone guy, when something catches her eye, a burning bush revelation on the mountain that stops her cold. The sight of the butterflies filled the sky. Out across the valley, the air itself glowed golden. Every tree on the far mountainside was covered with trembling flame, and that, of course, was butterflies. . . . The fire was alive, and incomprehensibly immense, an unbounded, uncountable congregation of flame-colored insects. . . . Air filled with quivering butterfly light (52). This moment becomes the turning point of Dellarobia Turnbows life, a moment of existential choice. It is mystical, magicalthe butterflies in Mexican legend a symbol for the souls of dead children, which the reader comes to learn is significant for Dellarobia. Instead of a cheap, and likely unfulfilling, romantic liaison, she begins a journey of discovery that will allow her to bring attention to this unnatural phenomenon on the mountain, learn from the scientists who come to study what it signifies, and put her energy to use doing something to counter the consumerism and financial impetus behind her father-in-laws plan to clear-cut the mountainside that hosts the strange flight behavior of the remarkable creatures whom scientists call the canary in the coalmine. Dellarobia joins forces with her mother-in-law Hester, biologist Dr. Byron, and his graduate students who have come to study the event, in order to dissuade Bear Turnbow, who is determined to sell the trees. In the process she comes to an understanding with her clueless husband Cub, who has never really stood up to his father. She likewise becomes a surprising force in the community to help these incredulous Appalachians understand the significance of this environmental turning point. As Dellarobia learns about these marvelous creatures and the natural world that is so intimately connected with our own lives, so does the reader. Her awakening and involvement with the Monarchs help her come to an understanding about herself and her unfulfilled potentialwhich requires her, and we, to become engaged, when all is said and done, in this the biggest news story of our time. However, she learns that it is not the scientists job to find solutions to this imminent catastrophe to the planet, but it is her own and ours. Dr. Bryon tells her, Im not here to save monarchs. Im trying to read what they are writing on our wall. . . . Science doesnt tell us what we should do. It only tells us what is (320). The awakening and growth that Dellarobia encounters in the narrative offers hope to us all, as we come to understand that mistakes are part of being human. In the end, Flight Behavior is a hopeful book about the necessity for making accommodations for the inevitable mistakes that are part of the human condition in this post-lapsarian world of ours. If the pattern and plan of Earth and the laws of the natural world are close to perfect, the human beings that inhabit this planet are decidedly imperfect. In the dramatic denouement when Cub and Dellarobia talk about the life they built upon one consequential mistake, she tries to get him to understand how they now travel different paths: We were headed in different directions. You cant tell me we werent. . . . Its like Im standing by the mailbox waiting all the time for a letter. Every day you come along and put something else in there . . . not bad stuff. Just the wrong things for me (382-383). Hard words for Cub to come to terms with, and likely he does not have the capacity to ever comprehend fully what his wife is telling him, but the conversation closes with Dellarobias sharing what his mother Hester once told her. She says to Cub, People make mistakes . . . . Mistakes wreck your life. But they make what you have. Then she recalls, You know what Hester told me when we were working the sheep one time? She said its no good to complain about your flock, because its the put-together of all your past choices (384). We are left to ponder whether Dellarobia and Cub Turnbow will stay together, as she leaves with the children to get a degree in science and set her life on course to make a difference. The inevitability of choice and change are in our minds as we turn the final page of Flight Behavior. Choice and change are, in large part, all we have to make something significant of the moment we have on the planet. Certainly, the whole of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle is singularly about those two conditions of being human. Kingsolver, with husband Steven Hopp and daughter Camille Kingsolver, has given us a lyrical as well as informative book of creative nonfiction about how her family was changed by one year of deliberately eating food produced in the same place where we worked, loved our neighbors, drank the water, and breathed the air (20). Animal, Vegetable, Miracle is, like all the books in this prolific writers canon, a narrative gaged to entertain us and to make us aware, to change our worldview and inspire us, in the face of what seems an improbable and overwhelming task: to transform ourselves as we attempt to transform the damage we have done to planet Earth. Though she credits Wendell Berry with inspiration for her familys experiment in living life deliberately, as Thoreau wrote, it is the simple fact that in reaching the masses that ones work will make a difference. Kingsolver has been immensely successful, but she has at the same time been conscious of the principal reason for that success. In the extraordinary collaboration and volume that she created with photographer Annie Griffiths Belt for National Geographic, Last Stand, Americas Virgin Lands, Kingsolver makes clear her purpose and beliefs as an artist: In times like this it comes to me, she writes, the folly of what were doing on the face of this world: behaving as if [Earth] were ours, utterly. And I wonder at the arrogance of the agenda weve inherited from our forebears. What would a raven think of our notion that he is only here to serve our needs for food or a feathered cloak or at best, our hunger for beauty? What would a raven care, really, if we were all to remove ourselves tomorrow to some other planet? Most likely, hed be relieved. He does not need us, except insofar as he needs us to refrain from destroying every forest, tundra, or canyon in which he might make a home. Kingsolver goes on to write of Thoreau who walked away from what most of his peers thought to be the necessary comforts, as happily as a raven diving off a cliff. He went to the northeastern woods to live deliberately and simply, to learn appreciation for the wildness that burgeoned around him, and to find a better way to think about being human (15-16). When all is said and done, is that not what each of us has to do as we wend our way through this brief but spectacular moment we have on Planet Earthfind a better way to think about being human? Works Cited Beattie, Elizabeth. Conversations with Kentucky Writers. Lexington: UK Press, 1996. Croisy, Sophie. Re-visioning Southern Identity: Transatlantic Cultural Collisions in Barbara Kingsolvers The Poisonwood Bible. Journal of Transatlantic Studies 10 (September 2012): 222- 233. Himmelwright, Catherine. Gardens of Auto Parts: American Western Myth and Native American Myth in The Bean Trees. Seeds of Change: Critical Essays on Barbara Kingsolver. Ed Priscilla Leder. Knoxville: UT Press, 2010. 27-46. Hanson, Susan. Celebrating a Lively Earth: Children, Nature, and the Role of Mentors in Prodigal Summer. Seeds of Change, Critical Essays on Barbara Kingsolver. 251-262. Jones, Suzanne. The Southern Family Farm as Endangered Species: Possibilities for Survival in Barbara Kingsolvers Prodigal Summer. Southern Literary Journal 39 (Fall 2006): 83-97. Kingsolver, Barbara. Animal Dreams. NY: Harper Collins, 1990. _______________. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. NY: Harper Collins, 2007. _______________. Another America. NY: Harper Collins, 1992 (2022). _______________. Flight Behavior. NY: Harper Collins, 2012. _______________. High Tide in Tucson. NY: Harper Collins, 1995. _____________. How to Fly. NY: Harper Collins, 2020. ______________. The Lacuna. NY: Harper Collins, 2009. ______________. Pigs in Heaven. NY: Harper Collins, 1993. ______________. The Poisonwood Bible. NY: Harper Collins, 1999. ______________. Prodigal Summer. NY: Harper Collins, 2000 ______________. Small Wonder Essays. NY: Harper Collins, 2002. ______________. Unsheltered. NY: Harper Collins, 2018. Kingsolver, Barbara and Annie Griffiths Belt. Last Stand, Americans Virgin Lands. Washington: National Geographic, 2002. Leder, Priscilla. Contingency, Cultivation, and Choice: The Garden Ethic in Prodigal Summer. Seeds of Change. 233-250. Meire, Heloise. Women, A Dark Continent? The Poisonwood Bible as a Feminist Response to Conrads Heart of Darkness. Seeds of Change. 71-86. Purcell, William F. The Gospel According to Barbara Kingsolver: Brother Fowles and St. Francis of Assisi in The Poisonwood Bible. Logos 12 (1 Winter 2009): 93-116. Seaboyer, Judith. Barbara Kingsolvers Singing Shepherd: The Lacuna as Pastoral Elegy. Australian Literary Studies 30 (Number 2, 1915): 132-143. Sheehan, Clair A. Excavating The Lacuna: Barbara Kingsolvers Allegorical Understanding of Americas Post-9/11 World. European Journal of American Culture 35 (2017, 3): 195-208. Sokolowski, Jeanne. The White Imagination at Work in Pigs in Heaven. Seeds of Change. 157-74. Stevenson, Sheryl. Trauma and Memory in Animal Dreams. Seeds of Change. 87-108. Strickler, Breyan. Hemmed In: Place Disability and Maternity in Animal Dreams and The Poisonwood Bible. Seeds of Change. 109-126. Wagoner-Martin, Wendy. Barbara Kingsolver: Great Writers. Philadelphia: Chelsea House, 2004. Wenz, Peter S. Leopolds Novel, The Land Ethic in Barbara Kingsolvers Prodigal Summer. Ethics & the Environment 8 (2003, 2): 106-125. Woods, Gioia. Together at the Table: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Thoreaus Wild Fruits. Seeds of Change. 263-276.  The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf (1991) would describe these traps and how women were debilitated by social expectations of the time.  Throughout her writing and inspired by Emily Dickinsons famous poem, Kingsolver references hope as a thing with feathers. It comes to us in the bleakest or saddest of times, ephemeral yet solid, and proffers the faintest sense of optimism: And sweetestin the Galeis heard / And sore must be the storm. Kingsolver has spent her literary life helping readers to understand the danger and direness of how we treat each other and this fragile blue planet we live on, but she has insisted on the possibility of hope.  Star Woman in Cherokee myth is responsible for the creation of the natural world, imbuing it with sentience; and with the assistance of Turtle, who is responsible for the land masses erupting from the sea, creates the garden and variety and color in life on Earth.      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Segoe UIA$BCambria Math"1h)G)GlGJ7';!7:>!0qOuJQHP  $P.32!xxK Sylvia ShurbuttSylvia Shurbutt Oh+'0\@ $ D P \ ht|Sylvia ShurbuttNormalSylvia Shurbutt2Microsoft Office Word@@pP^@v _@v _!J7';G>VT$mm P  !1.@"Calibri---  2 0 1  2 0    0''  2 `0    0''@Garamond--- 2 rZ0 Challenges of the Global Village and the Ties that Bind,               2 0 The Writing    2 k0   +2 q0 of Barbara Kingsolver        2 30   @Garamond--- 2 `0 By Dr. Sylvia Bailey Shurbutt, ϳԹUniversity Center for Appalchian Studies and Communities     2 0     2 0   @Garamond--- 52 `0 Roots and the Ties that Bind         2 #0   @Garamond--- 2 `0 Pictu  d2 ;0 re for a moment a solitary figure, sitting down at her desk     2 0   2 0 commenc  2 -0 in 12 90 g a task she was created    &2 `0 for. But first, s  2  0 he lays  52 0 her hands gently across [her  2 0   2  0 computer]   +2  0 keyboard and offer[s]  2 0   2  0 up silent  @Garamond------------ ,2 3`0 thanks to readers, to  J2 3*0 the people who publish books, and to peopl  &2 30 e who sell them (  --- 2 3~ 0 Small Wonder ---  2 30   --------- @2 N`#0 217). Barbara Kingsolver recalls w    >2 NM"0 hen she published her first novel,  2 N*0  ---  2 N00 The Bean Trees   ---  2 N0 :  2 N0   2 N 0 I earned   #2 i`0 enough royalties  2 i0 , she writes,   2 i0    2 i!0  p2 i(C0 so I didnt have to go back to my day job to feed my baby and keep     82 `0 up with the mortgage. Instead   v2 G0 , I got to stay at my desk and write a second book, then a third and a       2 `P0 fourth (217). She has said more than once that being a writer is a presumptuous     2 T0   2 X 0 undertaking  2 0  2 0 that   2 0    :2 `0 is, assuming one has something    2 . 0 of interest  2 o0   2 t0 to say  2 0   C2 %0 to others who will spend moments of t     2  0 heir being    2 `0 pondering one 2 0 s  2 0 words  2  0 . Kingsolver   2 G0   2 M 0 continues in  2 0   2  0 her essay  2 0   A2 $0 What Good Is a Story: Literature    --- @2 `#0 should inform as well as enlighten    2 Q0    2 Y0 (--- 2 ^ 0 Small Wonder ---  2 0   I2 )0 213). A good story must be beautifully     w2 `H0 executed, must be nested in truth, and above all must not be trivial    2 40 ,  2 80   2 ?0   +2 D0 though one may write     ;2 &` 0 about trivial, or common, things   2 &)0   2 &,0 (212  2 &I0 - 2 &N0 13). 2 &g0   2 &n 0 She has said  2 &0 this  %2 &0 about the writing   2 &@0   +2 &C0 that she will invest    2 &0 a   "2 A`0 portion of her  2 A0 own   2 A0   2 A0 life  2 A0 reading  2 A$0  2 A4 0 writing by  2 Aw 0 the likes of  J2 A*0 Doris Lessing, Virginia Woolf, Bobbie Ann       2 \`0 Mason,   2 \0 George Eliot,   2 \ 0 Dickens,  2 \-0 Tw  %2 \B0 ain, or Steinbeck  2 \0 , among others  >2 \ "0 : I love it for what it tells me     k2 w`@0 about life. I love fiction, strangely enough, for how true it i  2 w 0 s (210).  2 w0     2 `0  0 2 0 Good w   2 0 riting  2 0   2 0 then  2 0   ,2 0 is no trivial endeavor  2 0  F2 '0 it can change our opinions, our minds,   2 0 or  2 0 our   72 `0 hearts; it can champion those   2 0   2  0 whose voices  2 p0 are  2  0 seldom heard;   2 0   C2 %0 it can unhinge governments that need      &2 `0 serious adjustment  (2 0 . It can challenge  %2 O0 the status quo or  2 0   22 0 embolden us to live life   &2 j0 deliberately, as    2 `0 Thoreau was wo    2  0 nt to say.  2  0 The power   2 J0 that  2 f 0 words wield    2 0   2 0 cannot  2 0   %2 0 be underestimated  2 W0 .  2 ^ 0 Kingsolver   2 0   2 0 recalls   \2 `60 seeing her father, a man who revered books, grow misty      2 0 - 72 0 eyed after reading a poem by   2 w0 Robert  2 0 Burns   2 0 .  2 0    )2 $`0 I was seven, maybe,   2 $ 0  she writes,   2 $00    2 $30  m2 $:A0 and my heart stood still, and I understood that words could have       U2 ?`10 more power over people than any sort of physical   R2 ?/0 object. So that, combined with being a social     d2 Z`;0 misfit, I think, probably made me a writer (qtd. in Wagner      2 Z0 - 2 Z 0 Martin 11).  12 Z70 To live deliberately was    b2 u`:0 exactly what she determined to do, coming from parents who       2 u0   +2 u0 modeled the idea that   2 uh0   "2 uk0 there was much      #2 `0 more to life tha   2 0 n accumulation   2 &0   "2 +0 of the material   2 0  F2 '0 rather, service and making a difference   2 0   2  0 were what    )2 `0 made life meaningful   G2 (0 . 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