“Normal is a setting on a washing machine.” – Christopher Barzak
The stories we tell ourselves
The evolutionary biologist Stephen Jay Gould supposedly characterised humans as “the primates who tell stories”. Indeed, a large part of our cognitive machinery is geared towards responding and attending to others through social interactions. These social interactions coalesce into narratives and stories, gradually forming the bedrock of what we assume is the ‘culture’ of a society. These narratives are influential in shaping expectations, behaviour and collective goals. From creation myths to passionate speeches by political leaders, we are bound and inspired by shared ideas. However, as history has made amply clear, not all shared ideas are beneficial. Ideas of nation, race, gender, caste, meritocracy and class have sanctioned many forms of systemic violence. Industrialised, techno-centric visions of society have allowed for systematic exploitation of natural resources and living creatures. Insidiously, these narratives gain normative value and become aspirational goals at an individual and collective level. From status indicators to national ‘Growth’ indicators, the pursuit of what ought to constitute a good life is relentless. Social media ensures that it remains unachievable yet constantly available for comparison as well.
The unruly cog
So, what happens to those who find themselves unable to fit into the classic story? This question has become an increasingly personal one, owing to choices and circumstances that are not amenable to accepted explanations. So, chancing upon Sayaka Murata’s ‘The convenience store woman’, a novella laced with deadpan humour and incisive critique, had a mini cathartic effect. The novel revolves around an unmarried woman in her mid-thirties working part-time at a convenience store in Japan. Sounds unremarkable, perhaps downright dull, right? Yet, that is part of her commentary on society. People aren’t satisfied with the fact that someone might simply want to live that way. What about the milestones of normal progression (marriage, children, property, prosperity)? Where is the ‘empowered woman reaching for her true potential’ idea? Her plain existence goes against the unspoken expectations of society, even as she is perfectly content with herself. While it isn’t discussed if she is psychologically ‘normal’, her views hold a mirror against the hypocrisy and contradictions underlying societal codes of conduct. After a social gathering filled with unsolicited marriage advice, Keiko, the protagonist makes a mental note,
“So the manual for life already existed. It was just that it was already ingrained in everyone’s heads, and there wasn’t any need to put it in writing. The specific form of what is considered an ‘ordinary person’ had been there all along, unchanged since prehistoric times I finally realised.”
At another point in the story, her sister is visibly upset at Keiko’s idea of living with a man to escape prying questions rather than any mutual attraction. After an exchange, Keiko realises that her sister needs to make sense of her within frames of normalcy.
“She’s far happier thinking her sister is normal, even if she has a lot of problems, than she is having an abnormal sister for whom everything is fine.”
Murata’s book reminded me of Gail Honeyman’s ‘Eleanor Oliphant is completely fine’, another poignant story involving a young woman who doesn’t fit the accepted bill of normality. At one point she writes,
“These days, loneliness is the new cancer—a shameful, embarrassing thing, brought upon yourself in some obscure way. A fearful, incurable thing, so horrifying that you dare not mention it; other people don’t want to hear the word spoken aloud for fear that they might too be afflicted, or that it might tempt fate into visiting a similar horror upon them.”
Murata and Honeyman’s commentary raises many questions about modern society that are now surfacing from various quarters. With technology making inroads into every facet of one’s professional and personal life, many ideas of what constitutes a relationship, a sense of community and one’s identity are changing at an unprecedented rate. With ecological and economic systems crumbling around us, pretending to go about ‘business as usual’ is an act of painful denial. While some may have the privilege of defining their position and engagement, most people find themselves increasingly ill-equipped to face the pressure, alienation, and constant exposure to a faceless system’s demands. Something has broken somewhere. Reading the writings on the wall, we know that the purpose of education and work merits serious rethinking because they form the edifice of our shared cultural narrative. We need new stories to continue from here.
Where do we go from here?
The pandemic, for all its havoc, is also a chance at redemption. A reflective pause for new beginnings. Maybe we can stop thinking of milestones and progress for starters. Perhaps, sharing grief can be made more acceptable and public. Work satisfaction and involvement can take priority over productivity. Tending the land can be as valuable as building a machine, perhaps even more. Maybe we don’t need grand narratives at all; instead we can make space for personal stories, small laughs, cosy dinners and humble ‘pay-it-forwards’. A life has to be lived, after all.
Related Reading:
‘ A life more ordinary’ https://www.elle.com/uk/life-and-culture/elle-voices/a35854177/ambition-anxiety/?utm_source=pocket-newtab-intl-en
‘How Millennials Became The Burnout Generation’ https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/annehelenpetersen/millennials-burnout-generation-debt-work
‘The Right to Rest: Women at Leisure’: https://www.theindiaforum.in/article/right-rest-through-women-leisure?fbclid=IwAR2wVoc1RRkE48d6JJZ5njSTTQ1Ie6Yjp0qDlukP9N-L73pCrwabbk0y5cU
‘Our Collective Fixation on Productivity Is Older Than You Think’: https://www.gq.com/story/james-suzman-work-interview
‘Tell Me A Story: What Narratives Reveal About The Mind’: https://www.npr.org/2020/01/09/794683840/tell-me-a-story-what-narratives-reveal-about-the-mind
At the end of a rainbow 