Chapter 27,
‘Hi, Gladys, Gladys, Gladys, Gladys, Gladys’ holds subtle differences from
other chapters that create a didactic environment for the reader. Since
Walker’s initial shift to a second person point of view directed at her
chickens in chapter 9, chapter 27 is one of the first, if not the first, points in the text where
Walker leaves out any address to a ‘you’. By removing the frame of dialogue
between Walker and her chickens, the reader becomes the projected audience. Additionally,
since Walker maintains her references to herself as ‘Mommy’, the relationship
between herself and the audience subtly changes so that she is, in a way,
adopting the reader. By speaking more directly to the reader, Walker allows for
more intimate accessibility of her contemplations, as if she were inviting the
reader to think on them as well. Thus, this chapter comes off as more didactic
to me than others because of the removal of the framework she created between
herself and the chickens.
Walker’s
point that she appears to be teaching is that “[h]umans like to think all
humans of another race look alike, but that is because the glance of the
uncaring stranger tends to be superficial” (134). Walker goes on to say that
despite being unable to differentiate the members of the Gang of Five, “seeing
them in all their russet glory always made her feel glad” (134). This concept
is a bit complex: Though Walker claims that the inability to tell the
difference between members of a separate race is due to apathy and being
“superficial”, she also asserts that she, while blending one chicken’s identity
with the other, transcends being “uncaring” and “superficial” because of the
happiness that they provide her. Perhaps Walker is suggesting that, through
allowing the positive associations of people to outweigh the unfamiliarity of
them, compassion for other humans and species does not require a full
understanding of them but rather an openness to being grateful for their
differences and what they provide.
The form of
the chapter reflects the notion of individuality versus communality. Many of
the sentences are broken up into short clauses: “Unlike the Barred Rocks with
their crisp black-and-white swirls of feathers, or the Ameraucanas with their
vivid colors and distinctive designs, the Rhode Island Reds, which is what the
gang consisted of, all looked pretty much alike” (133). This sentence, as well
as many others in the chapter, are mimetic of Walker’s discussion of groups and
individuals. More importantly, it reflects the idea of songs that was mentioned
in chapter 20: “we are our songs embodied; it is the song of all of us that
keeps our planet balanced” (100), and is again mentioned in chapter 27: “They…respond[ed]
with a chorus or two – not quite in the same key – of their own” (134). The
short, broken up sentences lend to the rhythm of the piece, acting out the
songs of beauty within individuality and communality and the blending of the
two.
Lately my yoga teacher has been big on mentioning "forgiving yourself." Even though Walker seems to be contradicting herself by saying that it's wrong for people to lump everyone of one race together and then lumping all of the Rhode Island Reds together, I think she's actually practicing self-forgiveness. She recognizes that there's something wrong when people do it to each other, but when she does it to chickens, she acknowledges it and lets it go.
ReplyDeleteWow! Laura C's response plus Laura J's original post, really shed light on the voice's shift through the second half. (you also worked didactic in :)) Walker takes us to the interior in this half and you see how it has realization for her and then turns toward the reader. Well done.
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