The Book of Mev contains an interesting combination of Mark’s narration, excerpts from Mev’s letters, journals, and interviews of social justice figures, and news reports about events from all over the world. Although Mev is the central figure, not everything in the book is directly related to her. Mark Chmiel wants his readers to know about Mev, but he also wants us to know about other people—how they suffer unjustly, how they touched his and Mev’s lives, how they react with love in the face of evil. Some of the stories inspire admiration for their central figures, while others inspire empathy for the suffering of the people they depict. I don’t think I’m the only one who cried at Mev’s death, for example. Because Mark both shows examples of extremely compassionate people and makes his readers practice feeling compassion for people, one of the main things I learned was the importance of being touched by others’ suffering.
One of my favorite parts of Mev’s story was her religious journey. Near the beginning of the book, Mev is shocked that Mark has any sympathy for atheism (62). However, Mev’s faith is more complicated than a happy and secure belief that Jesus is her savior. In her journal entry from June 8, 1991, Mev sees a group of young Christians playing music in the Square and recognizes herself in one of them, a beaming young woman (149). However, the self Mev recognizes is her past self, a self who no longer exists. Although it doesn’t seem that Mev has lost her faith, she has lost the carefree, certain attitude that she used to have. She wonders what could have caused this—the Catholic Worker, hearing about the murders of Romero and the four American churchwomen, Stu Gilman, Liberdade—and considers asking the band what they think of the Gulf War (150). The implication of this, I think, is that she now understands that her Christianity has to be connected to recognizing others’ suffering and having a responsibility to do something about it. In a way, her faith has given her a burden—to pay attention to what is going on, to figure out what to do about complicated problems, to remember others’ suffering—and that makes it hard to be happy, at least in the “simple” way she was before.
In another part of the book, Mev explains that she no longer understands her relationship with God as having God in a “secret chamber” inside her. Instead, she sees God in relationship with others, her “alternate lifestyle” and commitment to the poor energized rather than compromised by her relationship with God (100). In fact, one of the things that upsets her about the institutional church is that the hierarchy is often so separate from the rest of the church. Only a few people, all of them men, have “access” to the pope, although Mev speaks to him a few times trying to get him to understand the plight of the people of Haiti. She does this because she believes he is “protected and removed from the reality of the poor and from the reality of women.” She wants him to “spend time at the margins” because “conversion comes through the grace of relationship” (208-10).
While a book cannot substitute for actually spending time at the margins, it can begin the process of conversion and even inspire action if it tells people’s stories vividly enough. Mark Chmiel certainly seems to be trying to do that as he includes the stories of persecuted people—in Haiti, in Latin America, in Palestine, in Sicily, in East Timor. These stories are sometimes frightening and disturbing, and could be overwhelming for people unsure how to combat these injustices. Luckily, Mark also shows that it is possible to face these realities and work to improve them by including examples of people who have dedicated their lives to solidarity. For example, Ann Manganaro, in an interview with Mev, talked about the level of tragedy that she exposes herself to and her struggle to deal with it long term without losing her vulnerability (185).
Of course, Mark is also wonderful at inspiring compassion for Mev and for himself, mostly by honestly telling their story. Sad books don’t usually make me cry, unless I’m reading out loud, but I spent a good part of the last two sections of The Book of Mev struggling to see the pages as tears blurred my vision. Mark makes you feel how awful Mev’s death is, without forgetting that she is not the only who suffers, or succumbing to despair. Reading about Mev’s suffering through the eyes of someone who loves her so much can help us recognize the importance of each stranger’s life and what a tragedy each case of innocent suffering is. This, in turn, can lead us to do something about it.
It is easy, especially on a college campus, to get caught up in ideas about social justice and plans for remedying social structures and policies. While theories and political engagement are important, it is also essential to remember and be moved by individual humans who are oppressed. This can help ensure that you are working for what people really want and need and not what you imagine or assume they do. However, it can also make sure that you remember why it is so important to continue the struggle at all. It is hard to devote your life to an idea, but there are billions of people in the world worth fighting for.
--Maria is graduating from Creighton University this spring and plans to move in at the Oakland Catholic Worker later in the summer.
One of my favorite parts of Mev’s story was her religious journey. Near the beginning of the book, Mev is shocked that Mark has any sympathy for atheism (62). However, Mev’s faith is more complicated than a happy and secure belief that Jesus is her savior. In her journal entry from June 8, 1991, Mev sees a group of young Christians playing music in the Square and recognizes herself in one of them, a beaming young woman (149). However, the self Mev recognizes is her past self, a self who no longer exists. Although it doesn’t seem that Mev has lost her faith, she has lost the carefree, certain attitude that she used to have. She wonders what could have caused this—the Catholic Worker, hearing about the murders of Romero and the four American churchwomen, Stu Gilman, Liberdade—and considers asking the band what they think of the Gulf War (150). The implication of this, I think, is that she now understands that her Christianity has to be connected to recognizing others’ suffering and having a responsibility to do something about it. In a way, her faith has given her a burden—to pay attention to what is going on, to figure out what to do about complicated problems, to remember others’ suffering—and that makes it hard to be happy, at least in the “simple” way she was before.
In another part of the book, Mev explains that she no longer understands her relationship with God as having God in a “secret chamber” inside her. Instead, she sees God in relationship with others, her “alternate lifestyle” and commitment to the poor energized rather than compromised by her relationship with God (100). In fact, one of the things that upsets her about the institutional church is that the hierarchy is often so separate from the rest of the church. Only a few people, all of them men, have “access” to the pope, although Mev speaks to him a few times trying to get him to understand the plight of the people of Haiti. She does this because she believes he is “protected and removed from the reality of the poor and from the reality of women.” She wants him to “spend time at the margins” because “conversion comes through the grace of relationship” (208-10).
While a book cannot substitute for actually spending time at the margins, it can begin the process of conversion and even inspire action if it tells people’s stories vividly enough. Mark Chmiel certainly seems to be trying to do that as he includes the stories of persecuted people—in Haiti, in Latin America, in Palestine, in Sicily, in East Timor. These stories are sometimes frightening and disturbing, and could be overwhelming for people unsure how to combat these injustices. Luckily, Mark also shows that it is possible to face these realities and work to improve them by including examples of people who have dedicated their lives to solidarity. For example, Ann Manganaro, in an interview with Mev, talked about the level of tragedy that she exposes herself to and her struggle to deal with it long term without losing her vulnerability (185).
Of course, Mark is also wonderful at inspiring compassion for Mev and for himself, mostly by honestly telling their story. Sad books don’t usually make me cry, unless I’m reading out loud, but I spent a good part of the last two sections of The Book of Mev struggling to see the pages as tears blurred my vision. Mark makes you feel how awful Mev’s death is, without forgetting that she is not the only who suffers, or succumbing to despair. Reading about Mev’s suffering through the eyes of someone who loves her so much can help us recognize the importance of each stranger’s life and what a tragedy each case of innocent suffering is. This, in turn, can lead us to do something about it.
It is easy, especially on a college campus, to get caught up in ideas about social justice and plans for remedying social structures and policies. While theories and political engagement are important, it is also essential to remember and be moved by individual humans who are oppressed. This can help ensure that you are working for what people really want and need and not what you imagine or assume they do. However, it can also make sure that you remember why it is so important to continue the struggle at all. It is hard to devote your life to an idea, but there are billions of people in the world worth fighting for.
--Maria is graduating from Creighton University this spring and plans to move in at the Oakland Catholic Worker later in the summer.
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