Monthly Archives: March 2013

Imagining Immobility through The Diving Bell and The Butterfly

Hearing Jean-Dominique Bauby’s thoughts as expressed through his book The Diving Bell and the Butterfly and seeing the world from his perspective in its film adaptation simulated his experience as best it could. These are the only functions that remain under his jurisdiction: the cognitive mind for thought, the left eye for sight. Unable to move or speak, Bauby has locked-in syndrome: a mysterious cerebrovascular disease.

It was this condition that intrigued me to explore these works. Entire body paralysis, affecting all voluntary muscles of the body except for the eyes, is incomprehensible to me. Despite this bodily entrapment, Bauby’s alert mind finds a voice through the only part of his body that has retained movement: his left eye. At first, his decisions are made with this movement. Blink once for yes, twice for no. These absolute decisions become a choice between letters, and Bauby blinks to indicate the letter of his choosing. What began as a simple means of communication grows and establishes itself as a platform to create awareness of what it really means to be “locked-in.”

Bauby suffers a debilitating stroke that alters life as he knows it, establishing a new home for him in a hospital room in Berck. Bauby was a successful man, the editor of Elle magazine and a father of three. Locked-in syndrome forces him to retreat to a state of infantilism; he entirely depends on the care of others in order to exercise his muscles, to communicate his thoughts, to exist. He finds escape through his memory and his imagination, reflecting on moments such as shaving his father while fantasizing about extravagant meals. He also connects more than ever with his favorite work of literature, The Count of Monte Cristo, insisting that the main character had locked-in syndrome. Bauby’s outlook transforms through the course of the novel, as his mindset evolves from questions of “Is it worth it?” to an acceptance of his “new life in bed” (4; 129). Although Bauby passed away 10 days after the book’s publication, his life experience has continued to resonate through this memoir.

Although I thought that the film overall immersed the viewer into Bauby’s body, there were a few discrepancies that left me confused. It took me a while to realize what seemed off, but I was not fond of Bauby’s audibility. I think the film would have been more powerful if it had mirrored Bauby’s thoughts, allowing them to exist solely as words in a subtitle rather than as a voice to be heard. Amplifying his stream of consciousness through audible narration deviated from the accuracy of his experience, which I felt detracted from the film. I was also confused to see that although the film was in French with English subtitles, all the words that he spelled letter by letter were spelled out in English.

While these discrepancies hindered the film’s potency, I found studying these works in conjunction to one another to provide great insight into Bauby’s life. His book creates as space for him to tell his tale as best he can, but I do think that the film created a simulation of the “locked-in” experience. That being said, I think it’s important to note that the movie was made in 2007, 10 years after Bauby’s death. The experience simulated was adapted from his textual creation, but Bauby never had the chance to see the film, confirm its accuracy, or approve of its representation.  I wonder, how would he have reacted to this window into his life?

Discussion Questions:

  1. What are the strengths and weaknesses of narrating illness through film?
  2. What elements of Frank’s illness narrative categories can be identified in Bauby’s text?
  3. How does Bauby’s unique method of communication shape his narrative?
  4. Why the diving bell? Why the butterfly?

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Filed under Film, Independent Study, Literary Narratives, Voice

Appreciating the Honesty of Audre Lorde’s The Cancer Journals

After encountering numerous sneak previews of Audre Lorde’s The Cancer Journals in my preliminary readings about illness narratives, I had high expectations. And Lorde certainly did not disappoint. I was incredibly impressed by the true poetic beauty of her writing, the honesty of her exposure, the infallible strength of her will. Her character was moving: her possession of breast cancer and her strong, dedicated commentary about prosthetic breasts, about being a “Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, woman,” about being herself (92).

Through post-mastectomy journal excerpts, Lorde takes the reader along her journey with cancer. She acknowledges the need for language to escape the comfortable but inadequate confinements of silence, claiming that “what is important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood” (17).

She explores her arrival at the decision to have the mastectomy and the love and support of women who enabled her to endure the procedure and the pain. Lorde resists the prosthetic breast, instead allowing herself to acknowledge the loss of her right breast, to examine its absence, and to accept. She powerfully critiques the prosthetic breast and plastic surgery breast reconstruction, calling attention to greater social flaws in the perceptions and expectations of women as objects of attraction. Lorde boldly makes claims that invite a pause, a reconsideration of the present rather than a blind acceptance of the way things are.

Lorde has been a source of inspiration to many: Blacks, women, lesbians, aspiring writers/poets, cancer warriors, and more. The powerful prose in The Cancer Journals leaves no question as to why this book resonated with so many and still does today. As the first of its kind, the first to take a step back from conventional depictions of illness through the triumph narrative, this book does not shy away from the truth of Lorde’s pain, even if it is alarming and painful to experience as a reader.

Within the eloquence of Lorde’s writing, two repeated phrases stood out to me. Lorde referred to “america” many times (ex. 77). Not “America.” “america.” Each time I did a double take, left with an unsettled feeling as though something wasn’t quite right. There was something extremely jarring about her conscious choice to resist this conventional norm, to be aware of it and to decide against abiding by it. In deflating the capital A, Lorde powerfully disregards the power attributed to America as a nation such that it becomes just another word on the page. The persistence of her power, in many ways shaped by her encounter with cancer, is repeated throughout her journal and her reflections: “once I face death as a life process, what is there possibly left for me to fear? Who can ever really have power over me again? (63). Through The Cancer Jounals, Lorde finds a way “to be of use” (50).

Discussion Questions:

1.      Excerpts from Lorde’s journal of the past are interspersed with her reflections from the future. What are the effects of this on the narrative? Does it distort the narrative?

2.     Why might Lorde consistently disregard the capitalization of America?

3.     How has the breast cancer movement and experience been revolutionized and transformed by Lorde’s book?

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Filed under Independent Study, Literary Narratives