The Significance of Setting with Cisneros in Mind

Sandra Cisneros, author of "Eleven"

One of my favorite short stories of all time is "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros.  You know the one with Rachel, an insecure middle schooler who minds her own business, trying to be invisible like most 11 year-old kids.  But on this one day in class, which happens to be her eleventh birthday, her teacher, Mrs. Price, stops the entire class to find out who's the owner of a ratty red sweater that's been sitting in the coatroom for a month.

When the classroom bully, Sylvia Saldivar, chimes in and says that it belongs to Rachel,  Mrs. Price forces Rachel to take the sweater and put it on even though it isn't hers.  Reluctantly, Rachel complies and bursts into tears only to be saved minutes later by "that stupid Phyllis Lopez" who finally remembers that the sweater is hers.

I love this story on so many levels.  What resonates for me as a researcher though is how Cisneros explains what it's like to be eleven.  She writes, "what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one....  Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one."

What Cisneros says here about growing old for people is the same for setting.  Every event in a place's history has led up to the present moment, and as a researcher who is trying to understand a different place and time period, I need to peel back the different layers hidden beneath the present day surface to reveal the past.  In some ways, setting is like a character that develops over time, and as it does, so does its  sights, sounds, smells, etc. Obviously there's no way I can experience what Thompson did when he did, and certain aspects of the setting may no longer exist.  By taking the time to retrace Thompson's steps and soak in the setting though, I can begin to imagine what it must have been like for him. 

Bangkok circa 1950

Here are some aspects of the setting with shots from when Jim Thompson lived there and now.  Whether it's street traffic or the dying and drying of silk, researching the setting back then and experiencing it now will help inform my narrative voice when it comes time to write.

A Silk Dyer 2012

Jim Thompson in Bangkrua circa 1960

  
During my research, I saw clips of how the dyers used to wring out the silk with large tourniquets and then hang them on the banks of the klong to dry in the sun.  Today, it's a bit different...

 

Images from:  http://www.lowvilleacademy.org/webpages/MBlow/charles.cfm, http://images.google.com/hosted/life/965600346cbfc127.html, http://www.thaisilkhome.com/about.html

Crossing the Klong--Round 2

Filled with conviction and commitment, I headed across the klong once again to track down the weavers.  This time I didn't come up empty handed.


Crossing the Klong:

The narrow, winding pathways through Bangkrua are a maze to any newcomer.  Dodging motorbikes and passing by makeshift shops with wares spilling out onto the path, I meandered through the village listening for the click-clacking that I read about in William Warren's book, Jim Thompson: The Unsolved Mystery.  Then, as I turned down one final unexplored alley, I heard it...

Manuthas' mother with Jim Thompson

Removing my shoes and ducking a bit to enter the workshop, I couldn't help notice the vibrant colors of spools sitting in baskets, waiting to be chosen.  At the far end of the shop, two weavers sat at their looms, pushing, pulling and pedaling their way through a new masterpiece.  In front of me, a woman waved her hand in front of a buzzing machine.  At first glance, it seemed as though she was doing nothing.  Like a spider working her magic, she was spinning gold thread onto a spool.  The owner of the workshop, Niphon Manuthas, is the son of one of Thompson's weavers.  Manuthas was the conductor walking back and forth, checking baskets and inspecting new wares.  He was more than happy to sit down with me to talk about his workshop, his mother, Jim Thompson, and more.

Of course when I asked him about any old artifacts he has lying around, I was amazed when he pulled out his mother's order book that Jim used to place his orders.  And then he pulled out the signed thank you letter from Robert Kennedy who had been to his workshop with his wife.  I was floored.  I wonder who else had crossed the klong to visit Niphon in his workshop.

It Didn't Even Hurt, Did It?

I used to dread my birthday as a kid.  Of course it wasn't the getting presents part, or the licking of icing off of freshly-blown out candles, or even the off-key renditions of "Happy Birthday" at school (Although it would be nowadays with current versions of "Cha Cha Cha, Hi-ya, Konichiwa" at the end.  Where did they pick that up anyway?).  You see, in my family, birthdays coincided with an awful event:  the yearly physical at Dr. Appleby's office.

In theory, I liked my doctor and always said so when asked.  Why wouldn't I?  He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with long grayish sideburns and horned-rimmed glasses who would always come into the room with an extended hand waiting to be shaken.  He was one of the only adults apart from my parents who asked, "How are you?" and really meant it.  But I'd sit there speechless on the cushioned table adorned by a rolled out piece of butcher paper that would crinkle with my every move.  The only thing on my mind was the finger prick that was about to happen.

I had remembered it from years before, that quick jabbing needle he'd poke into my finger resulting in a ruby red pearl of blood.  And I knew it was about to happen again.  As Dr. Appleby would rub alcohol on my finger, distracting me by asking about school, I'd closed my eyes waiting for the worst.  

"You can open your eyes now," he'd say.  Wait a minute.  That was it?  It's over?  All that worry for that?  "It didn't even hurt, did it?" he'd say while putting a Band-Aid on my finger.  "Nope," I'd reply smiling, realizing that a great weight had just been lifted off my shoulders.  Until the following year at least.

What I failed to realize for many years is that the pain only existed before Dr. Appleby pricked my finger.  I had made it such a big deal about it, not only was it far greater than the actual event, but it got in the way of me enjoying what was really important. 

It's the same with research.  For years, I've been thinking about researching and writing nonfiction, but I've been letting my apprehension of going out, asking questions, and finding answers lead me to nothing but inaction.  Well, I'm not going to let it get in the way any more, and I can now safely say after my second day in Bangkrua, the weavers' village, that it didn't even hurt. 




Image from:  http://school.discoveryeducation.com/clipart/clip/bandages.html

Curiosity Takes Courage

I've got a confession to make.  I hope you're sitting down.  The truth of the matter is it's not easy to be a researcher.  There.  I said it.  It's out there.  Now let me explain.

You see, I'm the type of person who doesn't want to intrude.  I don't want to make others feel uncomfortable.  When I meet someone, I want them to feel at ease, and often that's just carrying on small talk that I know is safe and predictable.  You know, the "Hi.  How are you?" kind of conversation.

As a researcher, this would get me nowhere.  In fact, that's exactly where I got on my first day into the weavers' village.  Here's my "confession":

So that's it.  It's time for me to become a more courageous researcher by taking risks, jumping outside of my comfort zone, and asking questions.  Instead of thinking that I'm being nosy, I need to realize that it's just a different way to connect with people by finding out their stories. 


Image from:  www.sodahead.com

Jim Thompson House Visit

The main entrance to Thompson's house

Beneath the overgrown palms along one of Bangkok's working klongs (canal), both nesting birds and weary tourists seek respite from the teaming city.  They find it in the garden at Jim Thompson's House, truly an oasis in the midst of the hustle and bustle.

Built in 1959 from a number of classic teak Thai-style houses, this compound became the focal point of Jim Thompson's life outside his office at the Thai Silk Company.  With its typical stilted style, most of the living space is upstairs, and Thompson filled each nook and cranny with exquisite religious art from the region.  

He entertained guests almost nightly at the house.  Whether they were casual invites, tourists from his shop, or planned visits from dignitaries, Thompson welcomed them all and walked them through the halls of his home, expounding on the treasures within.  If weather permitted, they then dined out on the terrace.  As many of his guests noted, the soft lighting, the classic Bencherong dinnerware, and Thompson's hospitality all added up to evenings that would be savored for years to come.

His house became so well-known that he decided to open it to the public two days a week with the proceeds of the nominal fee going to a local school for the blind.


Today, the house is a full-fledged museum with nearly 200,000 visitors passing through its doors each year.  There are guided tours in a number of languages given every day.  It's no wonder that this has become a "must see" for all of those visiting Bangkok. Click here for more information on the Jim Thompson House.


Here are my impressions of Jim Thompson's house: