April 9, 1995 The Oregon Coast
This poignant excerpt immediately immerses the reader into a world of reflection and introspection. The opening lines, “In love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are,” establish a profound thematic foundation, contrasting the transformative power of love and the stark revelations of war on self-identity. This sets the stage for a narrative deeply concerned with self-discovery through life’s defining experiences, a common thread in Learn To Talk Books Excerpts that explore human nature.
The narrator, an older woman, reflects on the generational differences in approaching problems: “Today’s young people want to know everything about everyone. They think talking about a problem will solve it. I come from a quieter generation. We understand the value of forgetting, the lure of reinvention.” This generational divide highlights a key aspect of communication – the varying approaches to confronting and resolving personal and collective issues. This contrast can be a valuable point of discussion in learn to talk books excerpts, particularly when analyzing character motivations and conflict resolution.
Her contemplation then shifts to the past, triggered by age and loss: “Lately, though, I find myself thinking about the war and my past, about the people I lost.” The repetition of “Lost” underscores the ambiguity and pain associated with grief. She elaborates on this feeling, rejecting the euphemisms surrounding death: “They are not lost. Nor are they in a better place. They are gone.” This stark honesty about grief and loss is a powerful element, resonating with readers who have experienced similar emotions. Excerpts like this, found in learn to talk books, can be instrumental in fostering emotional literacy and understanding complex human experiences.
The narrator’s physical decline is interwoven with her mental journey into the past: “I have aged in the months since my husband’s death and my diagnosis. My skin has the crinkled appearance of wax paper… My eyes fail me often… Perhaps that’s why I find myself looking backward. The past has a clarity I can no longer see in the present.” This physical vulnerability makes her yearning for the past more understandable and relatable. The phrase “looking backward” becomes a significant motif, indicating her search for understanding and peace as she approaches the end of her life.
The mention of selling her house, “The Peaks,” due to her son’s concern further grounds the narrative in the present while emphasizing her detachment from material possessions and the life she has built: “What do I care where I die? That is the point, really. It no longer matters where I live.” This sense of resignation is juxtaposed with the powerful pull of a specific object in the attic – the steamer trunk.
The attic scene is richly described, creating a vivid sensory experience: “The flimsy stairs wobble beneath my feet… which smells of must and mold. A single, hanging lightbulb swings overhead… like being in the hold of an old steamship.” The attic becomes a repository of memories, filled with objects representing different phases of her life: “rocking chair… old crib… ratty-looking rocking horse… chair my daughter was refinishing… Boxes are tucked along the wall, marked “Xmas,” “Thanksgiving,” “Easter,” “Halloween,” “Serveware,” “Sports.”” These mundane yet evocative objects paint a picture of a life lived, loved, and now being sorted through in the face of mortality.
The steamer trunk itself is a symbol of hidden histories and untold stories: “an ancient steamer trunk covered in travel stickers.” Its weight and the effort required to move it emphasize the emotional weight of the past it contains. Inside, she finds “baby memorabilia” and then deeper within, “mementos in the bottom of the trunk… several faded leather-bound journals; a packet of aged postcards… a cardboard box… a set of slim books of poetry… and a shoebox that holds hundreds of black-and-white photographs.” This is a treasure trove of a life, hinting at layers of experiences beyond the ordinary.
The discovery of the carte d’identité is the pivotal moment: “On top is a yellowed, faded piece of paper… carte d’identité, an identity card, from the war. I see the small, passport-sized photo of a young woman. Juliette Gervaise.” This introduces an element of mystery and a hidden past, immediately piquing the reader’s curiosity. The name Juliette Gervaise becomes a focal point, a key to unlocking a forgotten part of the narrator’s identity.
The son’s entrance breaks the solitude of her reflection: ““Mom?” I hear my son on the creaking wooden steps, footsteps that match my heartbeats.” His concern for her physical safety contrasts sharply with her internal exploration of her past. The dialogue between mother and son reveals their dynamic: his protectiveness and her quiet resistance. His re-emergence of smoking, “a habit he gave up decades ago and took up again at my recent diagnosis,” subtly reveals the stress and emotional weight he is carrying.
The narrator’s internal conflict is evident in her reaction to the carte d’identité: “My instinct is to toss the card into the trunk and slam the lid down, hiding it again. It’s what I have done all my life.” This reveals a lifelong pattern of suppressing her past, a theme often explored in learn to talk books excerpts when discussing coping mechanisms and emotional avoidance. However, her impending mortality compels her to confront these buried memories: “Now I am dying… and I feel compelled to look back on my life.”
The exchange about crying and the trunk further illuminates the communication gap between mother and son. She deflects his concern about her emotions, saying, ““Am I?”” and avoids revealing the significance of the carte d’identité. Her desire to take the trunk is presented as a “last request,” emphasizing the importance of this hidden past to her sense of self in her final days.
Her internal monologue, “If I had told him the truth long ago, or had danced and drunk and sung more, maybe he would have seen me instead of a dependable, ordinary mother,” is a powerful statement of regret and a yearning for authentic connection. She realizes that she has presented a curated version of herself to her son, and now, facing death, she desires to be truly known.
The son’s statement, ““Who is Juliette Gervaise?”” is the culmination of the excerpt’s tension. It signifies the beginning of the unveiling of the past, the potential for truth to emerge, and the possibility of a deeper understanding between mother and son. The final lines, “I close my eyes and in the darkness that smells of mildew and bygone lives, my mind casts back… Against my will-or maybe in tandem with it, who knows anymore?-I remember,” leave the reader on the cusp of discovery, eager to learn the story behind Juliette Gervaise and the narrator’s hidden past.
This excerpt is rich in thematic depth and narrative potential, making it an excellent example for analyzing character development, exploring themes of memory, identity, and family dynamics, and understanding the power of unspoken words. As a piece from a “learn to talk books excerpts” collection, it offers valuable insights into human communication, both verbal and non-verbal, and the complexities of personal history and family relationships.
Copyright © 2015 by Kristin Hannah
