Of Memoirs and Memories

Almost finished with Ondaatje's The English Patient. It's a hypnotic book in at least two senses. One, it's attempts (very successfully) to talk about history by talking about history, if you get my drift. It is set in the eventide of WWII in Italy, and is clearly a work of historical metafiction. Two, Ondaatje's style is just so restrainedly mesmerising, like the charisma of a voluptuous nun. His simple use of tense and paragraphing effectively ferries the reader between past and present, and brings flashback to a new level.

Specifically, it was not a cunning plot that compelled me to read on. It was a simple matter of falling in love with Hana, Caravaggio, Kip and the English patient, and wanting to know the scars and joys that marked their lives prior to the villa. Because the book's momentum is driven by an uncovering of each character's memories, there is an intriguing sense in which we are invited to relish in the suspense of the past, and not worry so much about their interactions in the postbellum ruins. But both are mutually significant and masterfully connected. For example, the English patient's persistent fascination with histogeography eventually helps the rest of the characters discover who he is - an eminent Hungarian explorer who sold his nationality to the deserts, and thence saw no betrayal in aiding German intelligence.

Well, all this reminds me of something I once said to a couple of friends - memories are like jewellery. I think that the most valuable memories we possess are those of depth, whether it be intense joy, anger or sadness. Some of them may not be the most pleasant, but all of them are equally priceless. And when that past emotion is evoked somehow, even those who hardly know us will notice that we look different. Otherwise, they are safely tucked away in drawers on most days.

Perhaps that is why I'm still reluctant to throw away my primary school textbooks, or give away clothes that I don't fit into anymore. Perhaps that is why I'm here recording the thoughts that count.