
{"id":20576,"date":"2011-09-01T11:04:28","date_gmt":"2011-09-01T15:04:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.carrborocitizen.com\/main\/?p=20576"},"modified":"2016-01-18T10:06:11","modified_gmt":"2016-01-18T15:06:11","slug":"daphne-athas-asks-is-this-a-myth","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/2011\/09\/01\/daphne-athas-asks-is-this-a-myth\/","title":{"rendered":"Daphne Athas asks, &#8216;Is this a myth?&#8217;"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong>By Taylor Sisk<br \/>\n<em>Staff Writer<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m bucking journalistic convention here. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m insinuating myself into the narrative. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m using the first-person singular. Daphne Athas inspired me.<br \/>\n<figure id=\"attachment_20577\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-20577\" style=\"width: 500px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.carrborocitizen.com\/main\/2011\/09\/01\/daphne-athas-asks-is-this-a-myth\/daphne-2\/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-20577\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http:\/\/www.carrborocitizen.com\/main\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/09\/Daphne.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"Daphne\" width=\"500\" height=\"333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-20577\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/09\/Daphne.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/09\/Daphne-113x75.jpg 113w, https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/09\/Daphne-150x99.jpg 150w, https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/09\/Daphne-100x66.jpg 100w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><figcaption id=\"caption-attachment-20577\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Daphne Athas  PHOTO BY ALICIA STEMPER<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/p>\n<p>Words never fail Daphne Athas, not for long. If the right one isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t immediately at hand, off she goes, on to another, seemingly unrelated but altogether integral topic, only to return, just when you thought you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d lost your way, to the word in question. <\/p>\n<p>Perhaps it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s one from her own collection \u00e2\u20ac\u201c among which \u00e2\u20ac\u0153hokery-pokery,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d \u00e2\u20ac\u0153pickery-uppery\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and \u00e2\u20ac\u0153lookity-down\u00e2\u20ac\u009d are to be found. <\/p>\n<p>Athas doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t break the rules; she rewrites them in an idiom her own and inclusive. In the legendary creative writing classes she taught at UNC for four decades, she accosted grammar and lifted its wallet. Her stylistics class was originally called \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Glossolalia,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d roughly translated from its Greek origin as \u00e2\u20ac\u0153speaking in tongues.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d In it, she encouraged her students to explore the flexibilities of language, to experiment with grammatical style and rhythm, using a variety of innovative exercises, including performance art. <\/p>\n<p>She published a book called <em>Gram-o-Rama: Breaking the Rules<\/em> (well, OK, so maybe she does break a rule here and there), in which she carried forth her lessons to the masses. <\/p>\n<p>Former student Dave Krinsky, now a writer for <em>King of the Hill<\/em>, wrote of the book, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Beware, <em>Gram-o-Rama<\/em> is a dangerous book. It takes the cautions and rules of grammar and drops them into a fun house. \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6 You could make a movie of this book. Or at least a theme park ride!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>How about a theme park ride modeled on Daphne Athas? Many who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve had the pleasure of conversing with Athas in her nearly 88 years have tried to describe the experience \u00e2\u20ac\u201c but none, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll wager, have entirely succeeded.<\/p>\n<p>I arrive at her home in Carrboro with half-a-dozen or so roughly sketched questions and three full hours to expend. Four hours later, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve neglected to glance at my list.<\/p>\n<p>We meander from Aesop\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Fables, through LSD, to Michelle Bachmann and Xenophon. We chat briefly about the movie <em>Pumping Iron<\/em>, the arc of Arnold Schwarzenegger\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s career, PACs and their influence, wampum, heritage, the Duke of Wellington and money supplanting standing. <\/p>\n<p>Now we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve begun.<\/p>\n<p>Words bridge the divide (a slender one, Athas will tell you) between reality and myth. Words are the portal to a world of possibility.<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153From the very beginning,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she says, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I believed in literature, and that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s what I was about.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s made beautiful music of language, and that songbook is always before her.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Carrboro Magic<br \/>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>The subject was mythology.<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153My father talked at the dinner table about Aesop\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Fables,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Athas says, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153about the myths. He talked as if they were real, so they <em>were<\/em> real.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>From the beginning, she says, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I wanted to be a writer.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n<p>By her mid-20s, Athas had published her first novel, <em>The Weather of the Heart<\/em>. In 1971 came the somewhat autobiographical <em>Entering Ephesus<\/em>, which was selected by <em>Time Magazine<\/em> for its Ten Best Fiction List for the year.<\/p>\n<p>Last year brought Athas\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s long-awaited \u00e2\u20ac\u0153social memoir,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <em>Chapel Hill in Plain Sight: Notes from the Other Side of the Tracks<\/em>.<br \/>\nFor the cover of the book, the late Reynolds Price wrote: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The richness of vision in Daphne Athas\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s fiction has led many of her readers to hope that we could someday read a collection of her essays \u00e2\u20ac\u201c Daphne speaking directly to us in Daphne\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s own voice. Now, in <em>Chapel Hill in Plain Sight<\/em>, we have exactly that; and a joy it is to read.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d\u00c2\u00a0<\/p>\n<p>The book begins with Athas\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s 1938 transplantation from a storybook New England childhood to a shack, dubbed by Athas and her family \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The Shack,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d at the top of Merritt Mill Road in Chapel Hill.<\/p>\n<p>(\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I was glad that our Shack was technically inside the Chapel Hill limits,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she writes, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153which spared me from the onus of being from Carrboro\u00e2\u20ac\u009d \u00e2\u20ac\u201c though Carrboro would soon have magic to share.)<\/p>\n<p>There she grew up with her two sisters and brother, with pleasures that surpassed the hardships. Athas\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s father, a stockbroker, had lost his money in The Great Depression. He wanted an education for his children, knew it could be had inexpensively in North Carolina, and, moreover, had been told by a man up North that Chapel Hill was the Athens of the South. <\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I think Daddy liked that,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Athas says.<\/p>\n<p>Pan Constantine Athas was a Greek immigrant, a graduate of Harvard Law School, an eccentric and an explorer. <\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He nosed around,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Athas says. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153My father explored everything. \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6 He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d just walk anywhere and talk with anybody. Be equal with anybody. He didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t consider himself lower or higher than anybody.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Everything about my upbringing just completely didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t fit into a category,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she says. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I never fit into a category.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Nothing was practical about the Athases. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It was fantastic fun.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>The Athas household was \u00e2\u20ac\u0153the bohemian thing\u00e2\u20ac\u009d to all comers, from university professors and students to ambitious young sons of Carrboro millworkers, like Wayne Williams, Athas\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s first boyfriend.<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t belong to cliques,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she says of her place in local society. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t fit into any of them. I was acceptable to the top cliques, but I wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t that Sweet Briar type.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>She and Williams \u00e2\u20ac\u0153grooved on feeling like criminals,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and occasionally appropriated inconsequential items, but only for good cause: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It was so unjust to be poor.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We made an intellectual fetish out of being outcasts,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Athas says of those days and nights \u00e2\u20ac\u201c 4 a.m., walking the powder-dust streets of Carrboro, defining myths and articulating the ineffable \u00e2\u20ac\u201c the two of them, reading everything, inspired by the outlaw artist\/intellectuals, by Paul Green and Richard Wright, right here in Ephesus \u00e2\u20ac\u201c shouting in the night. <\/p>\n<p>They were drunk with learning \u00e2\u20ac\u201c book learning and real-life \u00e2\u20ac\u201c and felt its power.<\/p>\n<p>In a story written this year for the Carrboro Centennial Commemorative (see \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The romance of poverty\u00e2\u20ac\u009d in last week\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s <em>Citizen<\/em>, 8\/25\/11), Athas writes:<\/p>\n<p><em>One hot night past 2 a.m. in the summer of 1941 when Wayne and I were returning to Wayne\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s house from the library, we crossed over the railroad tracks and turned from the paved Carrboro Main Street onto the dirt road that was Weaver Street. In the fork, the wooden post office was dark. The town was fast asleep, not a whine even from flea-ridden dogs dreaming beneath the millhouses. We were conscious of our power. We could do anything.<br \/>\n<\/em><\/p>\n<p>They played with the shadows of branches, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153a scrim of shadows magnified and distorted by the streetlights to three times their real size,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d shapes suggesting arms, motioning to them, pointing the way, but to where they couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know.<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It was magical,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she says.<\/p>\n<p><strong>\u00e2\u20ac\u02dcThe frontier is the now\u00e2\u20ac\u2122<br \/>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>And it still is. Athas cavorts in those nights.<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I stay everywhere and nowhere,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she says. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I think, \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcIs this a myth?\u00e2\u20ac\u2122\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n<p>The answer isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t forthcoming: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I feel as if I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve lived my life in a search for reality.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where do I live?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she asks, then answers, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m very now-time oriented. But I can make now-time in writing that was 40 years ago.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n<p>Words can do that, access the past and the future, allowing us to better understand who we are \u00e2\u20ac\u201c and who you are. Words are the combination that unlocks empathy.<\/p>\n<p>Empathy: It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s so much what Athas\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s life and work is about. Her concern, though, is that empathy is old-school now, having lost its place in an increasingly virtual world. But she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s afraid that in saying so, she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll be dismissed as a casualty of frumpery, of jaded fuddy-dudditry (my word; her inspiration).<\/p>\n<p>But it would be a serious mistake to discount Athas\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s engagement in the world around her. A fall last winter slowed her down somewhat, but her recovery is coming along. <\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153To me, the frontier is the now. I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know this world; it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a total mystery to me, and it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s totally fascinating. I love it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n<p>She worries with where we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve arrived: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think you can have a proper country with so few people at the top having so much money. How can it be possible to have a democracy that works like that?<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Only rich people get thin. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s crazy \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6. I could be a satirist, but I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want to be. I take people seriously. I take the American ideals seriously. I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want to disillusion myself.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d  <\/p>\n<p>In the everyday, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I look at people; I talk with people. They\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re nice. <\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And everything is an adventure. Everything. Just going to the Harris Teeter. Someone saying, \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcDo you need help?\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t need help; I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m just out of synch, speed-wise.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n<p>But not otherwise. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about conversation with Daphne Athas is the curiosity with which she infuses it. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What do <em>you<\/em> think?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you agree?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d She really wants to know. Is it a curiosity born of empathy, or the other way around? Regardless, curiosity is encoded in her words and shapes her world, a world that remains a mystery.<\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I had so many stories told to me in my youth that I had millions of possibilities, millions of options. And then there was a whole library to get more myths, to find out what was true or what wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t true. <\/p>\n<p>\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What is true? I think it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s awfully relative.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a little of that hokery-pokery.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p><strong>By Taylor Sisk<\/strong><br \/>\nI\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m bucking journalistic convention here. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m insinuating myself into the narrative. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m using the first-person singular. Daphne Athas inspired me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":9,"featured_media":20577,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9,425],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20576","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-features","category-front-page-special"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20576","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/9"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20576"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20576\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20746,"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20576\/revisions\/20746"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20577"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20576"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20576"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ibiblio.org\/carrborocitizen\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20576"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}