Book Talk: Learning to Bow by: Bruce Feiler
Posted by Anne Gudger: writer, mother, teacher & all around STH (super terrific human).
I have a confession: I'm a master eavesdropper. Go out with me and I'll be completely, truly involved in our conversation but I can also tell you what's going on at the tables around us. It drives my husband nuts sometimes because occasionally I'll slip and laugh when what he said wasn't funny. "What?" he'll ask, eyebrows raised. "Oh, sorry," I'll tell him. "It's that couple over there. . . " "Are you listening to me?" "Yup." And I'll repeat the last lines of our conversation.
Know this too: I don't always do it. Like most good skills I can practice eavesdropping or not. I mostly drop into the fairly mundane (First dates are a favorite) and if I tune into a serious conversation, I immediately tune out since I don't think I'm a voyeur, more of an observer. I hope I'm as eavesdropper with ethics. I like paying attention to what people say. It's the writer in me.
Recently I heard a conversation where I didn't even need my super hearing. Actually, I would have been fine with missing this one except that it gave me a good idea for a Book Talk.
While I stood in line at Peet's Coffee, waiting to order my caramel latte, I heard two women chat.
Woman 1: "Remember my friend I told you about who's hosting a Japanese student?"
Woman 2: "Yeah, I think so."
1: "Well, I asked her how her student and the other students are, how they're coping with the tragedy."
2: "And?"
1: "My friend said, 'Oh, they seem okay. Kind of disconnected from the whole thing. It happened far from their homes. I think they're fine.'"
2: "Huh, well, that's good—I guess."
I wanted to cross the line from being a "woman-waiting-for-coffee" to a "woman-with-opinions." I wanted to jump in and tell these two ladies that of course the students are not okay. They're in shock. And they're teenagers. They're far from home. And on top of all that, they come from a culture that holds emotions deep inside, one that does not scream and cry, one that would not want to bring dishonor to their families by showing emotion to strangers.
As Americans, we know this about Japanese culture, right? I thought so. And as humans, if we've had a few miles on us, we know that grief is a complicated path. Expressing deep sorrow is exquisitely painful in any language.
Like all of us, my heart goes out to the Japanese, to the humans who are suffering now and who will continue to suffer as they struggle through the catastrophe. We wonder what we can do to help. Prayers? Money? Yes and yes. I also think more understanding of a culture so different from ours is always a good place to go when you want to stretch your heart.
A year ago I helped my mom sort her books—one of many clearing out the house layers we did to get her ready to downsize. She handed me Learning to Bow: Inside the Heart of Japan. "It's a good one," she said. "Insightful, touching, funny." My mom's fed me great books all my life so I pulled it from the "sell" pile and added it the "take home" stack. I read it a month later. Mom was right: it's good.
Learning to Bow is Bruce Feiler's memoir that covers his year teaching English and American culture in a small rural town in Japan. While he arrives as a teacher, he quickly becomes a student. He sees how the cultural differences challenge what he thought he was coming to do: teach English and how he needs to adapt in order to have some success with his students.
Feiler's language is not the lyrical language I'm usually drawn to but he writes with warmth and humor. We get to be puzzled and awed with him as he learns how to navigate the hierarchy at his school, properly address an envelope and date a Japanese girl. The lessons we learn and the peak view into another culture through an American's eyes are completely worth the read.
I wanted to suggest to those women at Peet's to read Learning to Bow, that maybe they could offer it to their host friend too. But since I'm working on curbing my natural tendency to butt in (like I know something, sheesh, when I don't) I resisted the temptation. But, nature being what it is—strong--I do recommend it to all of you. It's one small thing we can do when we feel frozen in not knowing what to do.
I have a confession: I'm a master eavesdropper. Go out with me and I'll be completely, truly involved in our conversation but I can also tell you what's going on at the tables around us. It drives my husband nuts sometimes because occasionally I'll slip and laugh when what he said wasn't funny. "What?" he'll ask, eyebrows raised. "Oh, sorry," I'll tell him. "It's that couple over there. . . " "Are you listening to me?" "Yup." And I'll repeat the last lines of our conversation.Know this too: I don't always do it. Like most good skills I can practice eavesdropping or not. I mostly drop into the fairly mundane (First dates are a favorite) and if I tune into a serious conversation, I immediately tune out since I don't think I'm a voyeur, more of an observer. I hope I'm as eavesdropper with ethics. I like paying attention to what people say. It's the writer in me.
Recently I heard a conversation where I didn't even need my super hearing. Actually, I would have been fine with missing this one except that it gave me a good idea for a Book Talk.
While I stood in line at Peet's Coffee, waiting to order my caramel latte, I heard two women chat.
Woman 1: "Remember my friend I told you about who's hosting a Japanese student?"
Woman 2: "Yeah, I think so."
1: "Well, I asked her how her student and the other students are, how they're coping with the tragedy."
2: "And?"
1: "My friend said, 'Oh, they seem okay. Kind of disconnected from the whole thing. It happened far from their homes. I think they're fine.'"
2: "Huh, well, that's good—I guess."
I wanted to cross the line from being a "woman-waiting-for-coffee" to a "woman-with-opinions." I wanted to jump in and tell these two ladies that of course the students are not okay. They're in shock. And they're teenagers. They're far from home. And on top of all that, they come from a culture that holds emotions deep inside, one that does not scream and cry, one that would not want to bring dishonor to their families by showing emotion to strangers.
As Americans, we know this about Japanese culture, right? I thought so. And as humans, if we've had a few miles on us, we know that grief is a complicated path. Expressing deep sorrow is exquisitely painful in any language.
Like all of us, my heart goes out to the Japanese, to the humans who are suffering now and who will continue to suffer as they struggle through the catastrophe. We wonder what we can do to help. Prayers? Money? Yes and yes. I also think more understanding of a culture so different from ours is always a good place to go when you want to stretch your heart.
A year ago I helped my mom sort her books—one of many clearing out the house layers we did to get her ready to downsize. She handed me Learning to Bow: Inside the Heart of Japan. "It's a good one," she said. "Insightful, touching, funny." My mom's fed me great books all my life so I pulled it from the "sell" pile and added it the "take home" stack. I read it a month later. Mom was right: it's good.
Learning to Bow is Bruce Feiler's memoir that covers his year teaching English and American culture in a small rural town in Japan. While he arrives as a teacher, he quickly becomes a student. He sees how the cultural differences challenge what he thought he was coming to do: teach English and how he needs to adapt in order to have some success with his students.Feiler's language is not the lyrical language I'm usually drawn to but he writes with warmth and humor. We get to be puzzled and awed with him as he learns how to navigate the hierarchy at his school, properly address an envelope and date a Japanese girl. The lessons we learn and the peak view into another culture through an American's eyes are completely worth the read.
I wanted to suggest to those women at Peet's to read Learning to Bow, that maybe they could offer it to their host friend too. But since I'm working on curbing my natural tendency to butt in (like I know something, sheesh, when I don't) I resisted the temptation. But, nature being what it is—strong--I do recommend it to all of you. It's one small thing we can do when we feel frozen in not knowing what to do.
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