I had heard of Helen Keller, of course, although I must confess to
having thought her British rather than American. For those who don't
know the name, Keller lived from 1880-1968 and at 19 months' old had an
illness which left her completely blind and deaf. She spent seven years
with barely any proper communication with others; she describes it as a
period during which she was not alive - then, when Keller was seven,
20-year old Anne Sullivan became her teacher. With Sullivan's patient
assistance, Keller used hand-spelling to communicate, and became rather
more eloquent than most other young women.
She wrote
The Story of My Life in 1903, which I have not read; the essays collected within
The World I Live In
were written during Keller's twenties, and make for fascinating reading
- and certainly not for some sort of novelty value, but because Keller
is, in her own right, incredibly intelligent, something of a
philosopher, and entirely an optimist. Indeed, the NYRB Classics
edition I have includes
Optimism: an essay written in 1903, which includes this excerpt:
I, too, can work, and because I love to
labour with my head and my hands, I am an optimist in spite of all. I
used to think I should be thwarted in my desire to do something useful.
But I have found out that though the ways in which I can make myself
useful are few, yet the work open to me is endless. The gladdest
labourer in the vineyard may be a cripple. Even should the others
outstrip him, yet the vineyard ripens in the sun each year, and the full
clusters weigh into his hand. Darwin could work only half an hour at a
time; yet in many diligent half-hours he laid anew the foundations of
philosophy. I long to accomplish a great and noble task; but it is my
chief duty and joy to accomplish humble tasks as though they were great
and noble. It is my service to think how I can best fulfil the demands
that each day makes upon me, and to rejoice that others can do what I
cannot.
When I say that Keller's worth as an author is not merely as a novelty,
I mean that she should not be patronised, nor her writing viewed as
some sort of scientific experiment. She is too good and perceptive a
writer for that. But, of course, Keller offers a different
understanding and interaction with the world than most writers would.
The sections I found most fascinating were towards the beginning, where
Keller writes about hands. She divides this into three sections: 'The
Seeing Hand' (how she uses touch as her primary sense); 'The Hands of
Others' (how hands reveal character), and 'The Hands of the Race' (where
the explores hands in history and culture.) Her perspective is not
entirely unique, I daresay, but I certainly haven't encountered
documented elsewhere, nor can I imagine it done more sensitively, or
with such a good-humoured demeanour:
It is interesting to observe the differences in the hands of people.
They show all kinds of vitality, energy, stillness, and cordiality. I
never realised how living the hand is until I saw those chill plaster
images in Mr. Hutton's collection of casts. The hand I know in life has
the fullness of blood in its veins, and is elastic with spirit.
[...]
I read that a face is strong, gentle; that it is full of patience, of
intellect; that it is fine, sweet, noble, beautiful. Have I not the
same right to use these words in describing what I feel as you have in
describing what you see? They express truly what I feel in the hand. I
am seldom conscious of physical qualities, and I do not remember
whether the fingers of a hand are short or long, or the skin is moist or
dry. [...] Any description I might give would fail to make you
acquainted with a friendly hand which my fingers have often folded
about, and which my affection translates to my memory.
As I say, it is these early sections which I found most captivating;
similarly, the essay on smell gave a wonderful insight. I hope it is
obvious that I intend no offence when I say it reminded me of
Flush
by Virginia Woolf, where the dog's primary sense is smell, and the
world is focalised through this perspective. Keller does not feel that
her experience of life is any less full than anybody else's - the senses
of touch, smell, and taste give her a vivid comprehension of the world
and, what is more, a deep appreciation of it:
Between my experiences and the experiences of others there is no gulf of
mute space which I may not bridge. For I have endlessly varied,
instructive contacts with all the world, with life, with the atmosphere
whose radiant activity enfolds us all. The thrilling energy of the
all-encasing air is warm and rapturous. Heat-waves and sound-waves play
upon my face in infinite variety and combination, until I am able to
surmise what must be the myriad sounds that my senseless ears have not
heard.
I have to confess that the second broader section of The World I Live In left me cold. In it, she describes - at length - her dreams, since it is often 'assumed that my dreams should have peculiar interest for the man of science.'
Well, perhaps they do. But I am allergic to people describing their
dreams, it is utter anaethema to me (as my housemates now know!) and I
skipped past this section. If you have a greater tolerance for
dream-descriptions than I do, perhaps it is just as interesting as the
first section.
The final parts of the book were added from
elsewhere, for the NYRB edition: the optimism essay, mentioned above,
and 'My Story', written when she was 12, and quite astonishingly mature
for that age - let alone for a girl who had only learnt language from
the age of seven.
That is what astounds me most about Helen
Keller's book: that someone who came late to language should progress in
it so quickly and maturely. Regardless of the reasons why she could
not speak, read, or listen, the fact that she had seven years without
language, overcame this, and wrote so beautifully and intelligently -
well, it's astonishing. Keller is wise, sensitive, generous, and
philosophically fascinating. I'm grateful to NYRB for bringing The World I Live In
back into print in 2003, and would recommend this to anybody interested
in intelligent, lovely writing. Here's a wonderfully insightful
paragraph from Keller to finish:
It is more difficult to teach ignorance to
think than to teach an intelligent blind man to see the grandeur of
Niagara. I have walked with people whose eyes are full of light, but
who see nothing in wood, sea, or sky, nothing in city streets, nothing
in books. What a witless masquerade is this seeing! It were better far
to sail forever in the night of blindness, with sense and feeling and
mind, than to be thus content with the mere act of seeing. They have
the sunset, the morning skies, the purple of distant hills, yet their
souls voyage through this enchanted world with a barren state.
Another book to get Stuck into:
Halfway to Venus by Sarah Anderton
