prose before hoes

His wife, Yukiko, was also a part of this; she is often credited with suggesting the plan. The Sugihara family was held in a Soviet POW camp for 18 months until the end of the war; within a year of returning home, Sugihara was asked to resign - officially due to downsizing, but most likely because the government disagreed with his actions.

He didn’t simply grant visas - he granted visas against direct orders, after attempting three times to receive permission from the Japanese Foreign Ministry and being turned down each time. He did not “misread” orders; he was in direct violation of them, with the encouragement and support of his wife.

He was honoured as Righteous Among the Nations in 1985, a year before he died in Kamakura; he and his descendants have also been granted permanent Israeli citizenship. He was also posthumously awarded the Life Saving Cross of Lithuania (1993); Commander’s Cross Order of Merit of the Republic of Poland (1996); and the Commander’s Cross with Star of the Order of Polonia Restituta (2007). Though not canonized, some Eastern Orthodox Christians recognize him as a saint.

Sugihara was born in Gifu on the first day of 1900, January 1. He achieved top marks in his schooling; his father wanted him to become a physician, but Sugihara wished to pursue learning English. He deliberately failed the exam by writing only his name and then entered Waseda, where he majored in English. He joined the Foreign Ministry after graduation and worked in the Manchurian Foreign Office in Harbin (where he learned Russian and German; he also converted to the Eastern Orthodox Church during this time). He resigned his post in protest over how the Japanese government treated the local Chinese citizens. He eventually married Yukiko Kikuchi, who would suggest and encourage his acts in Lithuania; they had four sons together. Chiune Sugihara passed away July 31, 1986, at the age of 86. Until her own passing in 2008, Yukiko continued as an ambassador of his legacy.

You want to know about my motivation, don’t you? Well. It is the kind of sentiments anyone would have when he actually sees refugees face to face, begging with tears in their eyes. He just cannot help but sympathize with them. Among the refugees were the elderly and women. They were so desperate that they went so far as to kiss my shoes, Yes, I actually witnessed such scenes with my own eyes. Also, I felt at that time, that the Japanese government did not have any uniform opinion in Tokyo. Some Japanese military leaders were just scared because of the pressure from the Nazis; while other officials in the Home Ministry were simply ambivalent.

People in Tokyo were not united. I felt it silly to deal with them. So, I made up my mind not to wait for their reply. I knew that somebody would surely complain about me in the future. But, I myself thought this would be the right thing to do. There is nothing wrong in saving many people’s lives….The spirit of humanity, philanthropy…neighborly friendship…with this spirit, I ventured to do what I did, confronting this most difficult situation—and because of this reason, I went ahead with redoubled courage.

The stone next to him bears a quote from the Talmud; “He who saves one life, saves the entire world.”  

unfortunately, while prose is an excellent mechanism with which to describe the internal experience of being, it is a deeply ineffective one with which to describe our external reality, despite what the show-don’t-tell purists would have you believe. the more i think about the idea of fiction as existing in part to render reality, the more i wonder why historically so many english novelists have chosen to shoot themselves in the foot by committing to that ideology, considering how fucking hard it is. 

i plan to touch on this in a different sort of context in february’s newsletter which will be about the depiction of compulsory reality in fiction, but for now let’s focus specifically on facial expressions.

part of the magic of fiction is being able to “see” something in your imagination, condense that image into language, write it, and then have it be read by an audience who can then see that very same image, or at least their approximation of it, in order to derive meaning within a narrative. and isn’t that all raised eyebrows really do? what does it mean to witness someone raising their eyebrows? in fiction, writing a non-pov character raising their eyebrows means:

you, the writer, have defined the non-pov character’s cognition > you, the writer, have then developed that cognition into a facial expression for your pov character to witness > you, the writer, lend language to the depiction of that non-accessible cognition cum facial expression through the pov of accessible cognition > they, the reader, witness the image of the non-pov character’s raised eyebrows > they, the reader deduce (through the pov character’s narration, through the non-pov character’s action, through the non-pov character’s non-accessible cognition, through you, the writer’s, intention) that the non-pov character is surprised

so with all that said, how the FUCK can you be expected to do that transaction elegantly.

first i’m going to tell you what i think most writers and writing teachers would tell you, and then i’m going to tell you how i see it, and neither of them are going to be fun answers.

many writers, particularly of the show-don’t-tell variety, would tell you (and of course they’d never show you, because they’re hypocrites) that it is simply your job as a writer to understand the english language well enough -- and take enough time on the page to -- describe, as you say, the subtleties of the expressions that you see in your head. but of course, those same writers may also tell you never to use adjectives or adverbs, to elevate your verbs, and complicate your diction. they would tell you that if something is worth rendering (and to them, everything is worth rendering), then it’s worth rendering meaningfully. it’s worth taking an entire paragraph to artfully convey the exact way one’s eyebrows rise up one’s forehead, without resorting to “telling” the reader that one is shocked. 

oof city. i mean, i get it. fiction exists to lend us the witness of alternate realities we can’t otherwise experience. but also it can also only ever be a facsimile of that experience through what is basically groupings of squiggles on a page. with writing, to paraphrase an ancient text, you’ve gotta pick your battles. and then, pick fewer battles. put some of those battles back.

so here’s my answer, which is easier but also in some ways harder: you can never truly convey the subtleties of the expressions you see in your head. the work of the writer is not, as much as we may like it to be, the same as a cinematographer or an actor. at some point, you have to let go of the idea of descriptive control. once it’s out of your head and into someone else’s, it’s no longer in your grasp. eventually, a story belongs to its readers.

i know, this is a deeply unpopular opinion and one which does not make me any friends in the literary community. it goes wholly against the entire history of “show don’t tell” and the lovely work of early novelists to lift the form to its present regard. 

what i’m saying is, sometimes you just have to fucking say “he looked surprised” and move on.

so, that’s all the theory surrounding raised eyebrows to hopefully offer you some deeper insight, or at least an alternate perspective. here’s some practical application you can play around with to see what works for you:

when editing, remove ALL of your descriptions of facial expressions

i’m sorry if you feel like you’ve just been socked in the stomach. bear with me here. do a revision where you get rid of all of your descriptions of facial expressions to see how the piece stands up. you will very quickly see the narrative gaps, the places where you lose or flatten meaning. then, add only those expressions back in. you’ll be surprised how little you need.

play with telling over showing, or vice versa

replace a few “he raised his eyebrows” with “he looked surprised.” replace a few “he looked upset” with “he lowered his head and glanced down at his clasped hands.” see how they differ? “showing” is factual and requires the reader to interpret the action. “telling” is an interpretation/conclusion drawn by the narrator and conveyed to the reader. one is not inherently superior to the other. they both do different kinds of work, and have different narrative effects.

use facial expressions to complicate or conflict with dialogue, not confirm it

“he raised his eyebrows. ‘i’m surprised,’ he said.” <-- that’s a very silly example, but i just want to show you how sometimes you can let the dialogue do the dirty work. if a character says something, and their facial expression matches the thing they’re saying, it is maybe not worth mentioning the expression. or vice versa, maybe they make an expression instead of saying something. or maybe there’s a reason you do need both. it’s going to depend on the scene and your narrator.

however, if what their face is doing is in conflict with what they’re saying such that it would alter the meaning of the dialogue, then perhaps it’s worth noting. 

“he glanced down at his clasped hands. ‘i’m fine,’ he said.” <-- in this case, the factual description of his action gives us, the reader, the sense that he is l y i n g.

bonus: “’i’m fine,’ he said, but he looked upset.” <-- what’s wrong with that? nothing. it’s simple, it’s concise, it tells us about the perception and capacity of the narrator. no, it doesn’t allow the reader to “see” anything, but as i’ve mentioned, i don’t think the work of fiction is to “see” things. it’s to experience them, and sometimes that has more to do with the capabilities and limitations of your narrator than it does by clinging to the belief that you have to render the shiny surfaces of reality.

i hope this helps! more on the depiction of reality in february’s newsletter.