Creative Nonfiction Works- Dillard & Walls

My exposure to works of nonfiction–especially creative nonfiction–has been, for the most part, limited to required course readings in both high school and college. While I don’t necessarily have a favorite, there are two that I enjoyed that stand out to me (aside from texts shown in ENGL 501). 

One of these is from a collection of essays from author Annie Dillard. In 501, we were shown “Total Eclipse”, however, it was prior to this when I read “The Death of a Moth” that I recognized Dillard's talents. As a whole, I enjoyed her writing style, sensory details, and the two separate stories woven into one. Dillard begins the essay by introducing the audience to her lifestyle as well as the pile of bugs and moths in her bathroom that had fallen victim to the spider that resided there. Dillard then transitions the audience into a past memory of herself camping where she witnesses the death of a moth. The death itself wasn’t extraordinary, but the way she describes it and the symbolism between the flame and her writing was unique. One excerpt that exemplifies this was, 

“A golden female moth, a biggish, one with a two-inch wingspread, flapped into the fire, dropped abdomen into the wet wax, stuck, flamed, and frazzled in a second. Her moving wings ignited like tissue paper, like angels' wings, enlarging the circle of light in the clearing and creating out of the darkness the sudden blue sleeves of my sweater, the green leaves of jewelweed by my side, the ragged red trunk of a pine; at once the light contracted again and the moth's wings vanished in a fine, foul smoke. At the same time, her six legs clawed, curled, blackened, and ceased, disappearing utterly. And her head jerked in spasms, making a spattering noise; her antennae crisped and burnt away and her heaving mouthparts cracked like pistol fire. When it was all over, her head was, so far as I could determine, gone, gone the long way of her wings and legs. Her head was a hole lost to time. All that was left was the glowing horn shell of her abdomen and thorax–a fraying, partially collapsed gold tube jammed upright in the candle’s round pool.” (Dillard, 1976). 

Find the rest of the essay here

Another creative nonfiction text I remember enjoying– despite reading the text many years ago–was the memoir, The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls. Walls recounts her childhood memories to readers. Despite the trauma and neglect she faced, she showed resiliency and passion. In reflecting on the past, she writes through the lens of a child. The text starkly contrasted my notion and experience with family. Walls’s storytelling strategies effectively drew me in, and I became invested in her and her family’s success. One passage from the book that early on establishes Jeannette’s upbringing and adverse childhood experiences was when Walls talks about her stay in the hospital. She writes, 

“The hospital was clean and shiny. Everything was white–the walls and sheets and nurses’ uniforms–or silver–the beds and trays and medical instruments. Everyone spoke in polite, calm voices. It was so hushed you could hear the nurses’ rubber-soled shoes squeaking all the way down the hall. I wasn’t used to quiet and order, and I liked it.

    I also liked it that I had my own room, since in the trailer I shared one with my brother and my sister. My hospital room even had its very own television set up on the wall. We didn’t have a TV at home, so I watched it a lot. Red Buttons and Lucille Ball were my favorites. 

    The nurses and doctors always asked how I was feeling and if I was hungry or needed anything. The nurses brought me delicious meals three times a day, with fruit cocktail or Jell-O for dessert, and changed the sheets even if they still looked clean. Sometimes I read to them. And they told me I was very smart and could read as well as a six-year-old. 

    One day a nurse with wavy yellow hair and blue eye makeup was chewing on something. I asked her what it was, and she told me it was chewing gum. I had never heard of chewing gum, so she went out and got me a whole pack…That was the thing about the hospital. You never had to worry about running out of stuff like food or ice or even chewing gum. I would have been happy staying in that hospital forever.” (Walls, 2006, pp.11-12).