Linda Rader Overman, MA

Linda Rader Overman, M.A. (California State University, Northridge), M.F.A. (California State University, Chico) Thesis for the degree of Ph.D. September 2013 ‘Pictures on the Wall of My Life’: Photographs to Life Writing to Fiction, An Ekphrastic Journey A thesis submitted for the degree: Doctor of Philosophy in Creative Writing University of Lancaster The novel Pictures on the Wall of My Life and the accompanying critical commentary are submitted in fulfilment of the requirement for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. I declare that this is my own work and not submitted elsewhere for the award of a higher degree. Linda Rader Overman 'Pictures on the Wall of My Life’: Photographs to Life Writing to Fiction, An Ekphrastic Journey Abstract This study investigates the practice of writing a novel with its starting point in family photographs. It consists of the novel itself in latest draft form as well as a theoretical commentary on the writing of it. The particular focus for discussion is how the visual informs the written text and how the visual and verbal together become ‘imagetext’.1 The novel is narrated in the first person by Lily Adams who learns from the many ancestral portraits in black and white that line the halls of her childhood home that what they embody is not visually representative of a past she has been encouraged to believe in, but rather of one she is now forced to question as the pictures speak to her, in their own voices, of a world re-focused through their own lens. A critical commentary follows in three chapters: a chapter on ‘punctum’ discusses motivation and photography as a technical and creative driver for this work, and the following one on ‘ekphrasis’ makes literary connections between two main drafts, one in third person (see Appendix) and the other (latest) in first person, looking in detail at the way ‘ekphrasis’ or visual to verbal translation has developed in these two versions. The growth of the idea from earlier beginnings is traced and related to the notion of ekphrasis as it has shaped the later drafts. The concluding chapter on ‘ekphrastic realism’ draws these strands together by making an attempt to situate my novel within the canonical intersection of ekphrasis and magical realism. These make a contribution to an understanding of the concept of ekphrasis by way of ekphrastic writing, known merely as an obscure literary genre. 1 W.J.T Mitchell, ‘The Photographic Essay: Four Case Studies’, In Picture Theory: Essays on Verbal and Visual Representation (Chicago: U Chicago Press, 1994), p.89 ii Acknowledgements My sincerest appreciation and thanks to my dedicated advisor, Dr. Eliza Mood, whose esteemed guidance, fortitude, and rhetorical insight can never be adequately repaid in the way she deserves. Her time and energy never wavered across the Atlantic, even when mine did. My utmost gratitude goes to Dr. John Darwell and his perceptive feedback in the field of photography always pointing me in the right direction to see the many focal points of a photograph. Much indebtedness to Carolyn Richardson and her dynamic pep talks in heightening my awareness about this thesis road and what I must expect and deliver along the way. Forever beholden, I am, to Mollie Baxter whose comments on my early novel attempts opened my eyes wide to what I had yet to accomplish. To my beloved husband, Jim, for his love, devotion, and for paying for my education without hesitation. Thank you also to my wonderful son, Michael, and his amazing wife Carolyn, and to my beautiful daughter, Deva who all good-naturedly put up with my being less than available these last five years. Thank you also to my monthly PhD lunch group: without Nicole Warwick and Jacqui Meisel reading draft after draft and offering suggestions, I would still be floundering over not meeting my writing deadlines. Thank you, lastly, to all the support from my colleagues and friends in Lancaster that made each visit a joy and goodbyes exceedingly difficult: Sonia Mason, Julie Pywell, Sue Pemberton, Sianne Gordon, Sue Harness and so many others I have had the privilege to meet and who made me feel less isolated as an international student working alone. A special thanks to Pat Prolze who travelled with me on summer school weekends and helped me discover the splendours of the U.K. and her valued friendship. Finally, profound thanks to my external and internal examiners for reading this work. I am honoured and obliged to you both. iii Contents Abstract ........................................................................................................................................ ii Acknowledgements ..................................................................................................................... iii List of Images ................................................................................................................................ 5 Pictures on the Wall of My Life: a novel ....................................................................................... 6 Photographic Interventions in Narrative: a critical commentary ............................................. 206 Introduction .......................................................................................................................... 207 Chapter One: Punctum is that which pricks, wounds, cuts, bruises Me .............................. 212 Chapter Two: Ekphrasis—as in painting, so in poetry, so why not photography? ............... 240 Chapter Three: Ekphrastic realism ....................................................................................... 292 Conclusion ............................................................................................................................ 323 Bibliography .............................................................................................................................. 327 Appendix ................................................................................................................................... 341 iv List of Images 1947 Rader 255 Double exposure 261 A black and white portrait of Dolores 264 Rule of Thirds to Angelita’s/Mother’s photograph 275 Photographs of my intersection with self and history 325 When Mother died a few years ago 326 5 Pictures on the Wall of My Life: a novel By Linda Rader Overman ©2013 6 The Family Portraits Granny Flynn Mother of Leonard, mother-in- law of Dolores, grandmother to Lily Amadita Daughter of Lola, Mother of Angelita, Grandmother of Dolores, Great-Grandmother of Lily 7 Table of Contents Prologue 9 Part One: Death and Deception 11 Part Two: Discovery of Other Voices 53 Part Three: Otherness and Speaking 83 Part Four: Revelation of Past Narratives 119 Part Five: Forgiveness Never Forgets 145 Part Six: They Still Talk To Her 169 8 Prologue 2013 Lily Adams had grown up in a house full of women she always said. Some of her earliest memories were listening to conversations of the regular “to don’t-do list” as she played underneath the blue Formica kitchen table laying her dolls upon beds of wrinkled paper napkins spread on the faded white linoleum floor in between the high- heeled feet of the ladies chatting in between sips of coffee and cigarettes. “Don’t ever trust a man, honey, I mean it.” “A man has one thing on his mind, lady, and we all know what that is.” “Their little brains are always in charge of the big brains.” “Women are the gas, men are the brakes.” “He’s a man, that’s why.” Yes, that was all Lily knew: women laughing, crying, screaming and swearing to never trust another man again. Her father, Leonard, had been around, in the early days. He’d even taken some of the first photographs of Lily as a baby since that was his job— shooting photographs of stars and starlets while chasing after them at movie premieres, or hired as an on-set photographer to document those moments before and after a director yelled “Action” and “Cut.” But after one particular argument with Lily’s mother, too soon after, Leonard left, never to return. Lily heard them, late one night, and thought it was the radio at first, but when she heard Daddy say: “Dolores, I will not 9 and you cannot expect me to. I can’t do this anymore.” “What! I trusted you . So you just plan to—” Lily heard Dolores say, but since Lily had already pulled the pillow over her head, she never quite caught the end of that sentence and fell asleep forgetting about what Daddy couldn’t do anymore. Then Lily noticed a week later that Leonard didn’t come home from his photographic studio like he usually did. As the night grew darker, and Lily sat eating her dinner alone with Dolores at the dining table, she suddenly insisted Lily go to bed early. Daddy never came in to say goodnight like he had every night. Even when Lily was sleeping, she knew Daddy had been there because she smelled him—cherry tobacco— and knew he had kissed her on the cheek, because sometimes the smouldering tobacco landed underneath her pillow. Luckily it didn’t catch on fire. That next morning, Lily did not smell his pipe tobacco and never did again. Dolores told Lily after picking her up at the Little Red School House in Hollywood the following day that Daddy had to go on location far away in Mexico, or maybe it was Texas, and she wasn’t sure when he would be back. Lily didn’t really understand why Daddy would be gone so long for some movie. Leonard had always claimed that he normally preferred accepting jobs closer to home because he didn’t like being away from Dolores, but Lily was sure he really missed her the most as she did him. “Gotta be home to tuck my favourite daughter in,” he always assured her drawing on his pipe from the corner of his mouth. Then he’d chuck five year-old Lily under the chin. They had joked this way often because Lily was his only child. But somehow reassuring her that indeed if she wasn’t, she would be, made her feel special. A.A.M. 10 Part One: Death and Deception The call came late, or perhaps it was just too soon. At four o’clock in the morning the ring felt sharp like a blade skimming my cheek or an ice chip shoved in my mouth when I didn’t want it. Why so dark? Damn, forgot to leave the bathroom night light on, shit. I hate waking up in a pitch black apartment.

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