Finding support and solace in ‘books of life’

Over the high holy days, we do our utmost to ensure that we are inscribed in “The Book of Life.” While it may feel like an overwhelming time, we can look to memoirs, autobiographies, and biographies – all “books of life” – to inspire and comfort us, especially between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

“Receiving someone’s story makes us a witness and often gives us permission to tell our own stories. Other peoples’ courage gives us courage,” says South African expat Joanne Fedler, who has written 15 books. Some, about motherhood and immigration, are autobiographical.

“The writing experience allows us to name and own our experience, and in so doing, we are often able to let it go,” she says. “There’s a huge amount of research on the therapeutic benefits of writing our stories. The Native Americans ask four questions when someone is ill, including, ‘When last did you tell your story?’ It’s one of the most powerfully cathartic exercises we can undertake to make sense of our experience.”

“Stories save us,” says memoirist Ronit Plank, who wrote her memoir When She Comes Back about her mother’s choice to follow the guru Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, essentially abandoning Plank and her sister during their childhood. Host of the podcast Let’s Talk Memoir, Plank says, “Stories help us hold on during painful experiences and go on afterward. Though we might not be able to change what has occurred, processing, exploring, shaping, and framing it into a story is a proactive and constructive act.

“We may not have had control over what happened, but we can go back, trace, and even rebuild the narrative and understand why it had an impact on us,” she says. “In doing so, we can free ourselves of old stories and create new narratives, like allowing fresh, healthy blood to get to an injury and help heal what is wounded. Writing my memoir showed me that we can evolve and so can our relationships. Excavating events in my family and in my parents’ families of origin helped me to see the ways in which my parents loved me, and how they were broken.

“Writing When She Comes Back grew my empathy for them and for myself, and helped me appreciate what I have built in my own life despite not having a blueprint,” she says. “Writing my memoir showed me that we can change and evolve and so can our relationships. My family and I are stronger for it.”

Memoir can also be a gift to others, which is how Fedler feels about the memoir she is writing about the death of her mother. “I hope it serves as a little handrail to others who are navigating this pain,” she says.

Nando Parrado, who survived a plane crash and months in the icy Andes mountains before walking for 10 days to find rescue, says he wrote his memoir to show that “everyone has their own Andes”. Essentially, he recognised that his miraculous story of survival could inspire anyone to overcome their own mountain of despair.

After a freak skydiving accident left her paralysed, Emma Carey recalls in her memoir that as she lay unmoving in hospital, she came upon the idea that “if you can, you must”. Dreaming of a run she had planned to take the day before but skipped – and now could never do – she wanted others to know that if they have the ability to do something, they must grab it with both hands, for who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Johannesburg autism expert, Ilana Gerschlowitz, says that writing her memoir Saving My Sons: A Journey with Autism was empowering. “My story is one of staggering heartbreak, searing honesty, and monumental victories. I was able to make sense of the grief and find meaning through sharing my journey. It was empowering to unmask the true make-up of autism and highlight the desperate need for access to appropriate treatments. My tears soaked the pages, and I gained much healing.

“Readers draw inspiration from the hurdles we overcame, even though the odds were stacked against us,” she says. “The book sends a powerful message to choose healing and hope instead of defeat and despair.”

Memoir can also be a way to bring secrets and mysteries out into the light. In his memoir The Foundling: The True Story of a Kidnapping, a Family Secret, and My Search for the Real Me, Paul Fronczak uncovers heartbreaking questions in the stories of two families, inviting readers to join him in finding a kidnapped child and a missing sister, and to uncover what really happened in the home of a troubled Jewish couple.

When South African author and now expat Joanne Jowell told Capetonian Lynette Langman’s incredible life story in her biography On the Other Side of Shame: An Extraordinary Account of Adoption and Reunion, she showed that the choices of the past can be overcome, leading to healing and even tremendous joy.

Jowell, who has also written biographies of Holocaust survivor Ella Blumenthal and renowned rugby referee Jonathan Kaplan, says, “On the Other Side of Shame showed me that sharing a long-held secret gives permission to others to do the same. When Lynette Langman told the world about the baby she had given up for adoption as a timid 17-year-old in a conservative time, she opened the floodgates for others – and there were many – who shared her experience.

“The same happens in stories about mental or physical illness, joy and pain, love and betrayal, and the outcome of human endeavour,” she says. “Biography is a gateway to reconciliation – of the self and with others – and forces us to tap into our empathy. Readers are drawn to these stories because of our shared humanity.

“A full-bodied biography affords us that most precious things – real insight,” says Jowell. “That’s why I prefer a ‘warts and all’ approach, which doesn’t shy away from the tough questions. My favourite aspect of writing biography is the interview process, primarily with the main character, with whom I build the closest relationship. Then there are the secondary characters who round out the story and share different perspectives. Secondary characters can be quite the gift. I never know what surprises I might discover when they unwrap their sides of the story.”

However, “There comes a point in almost every biography at which the protagonist gets cold feet. My challenge is to keep us focused on the objective – why did they want to share their story in the first place? Who are they trying to reach? What’s the broader purpose and greater good? Lynette Langman described the process as ‘walking naked down Adderley Street’. My challenge is to help my characters push through, because the reward of sharing a story is immense.”