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Aufgabe II

1.
Outline Amy Tan’s experiences with memory.
(30%)
2.
Analyze how the author presents her experiences with memory. Focus on the use of language and its effect on the reader.
(30%)
3.
Choose one of the following tasks:
3.1
“[A]ging memory is impressionistic and selective in details, much like fiction is.” (l. 36)
Taking Amy Tan’s statement as a starting point, comment on the impact of perception and memory on a person’s life. Also refer to the text at hand and materials studied in class, such as the novel Atonement.
or
3.2
You are taking part in an international school project on “Crafting Identity: Our Presentation – Our Truth?”
Write an article for the project website, discussing the benefits and dangers of presenting yourself through photos on social media.
(40%)

Excerpt from Amy Tan, “Introduction” to Where the Past Begins: A Writer’s Memoir (2017)

1
In my office is a time capsule: seven large clear plastic bins safeguarding frozen
2
moments in time, a past that began before my birth. During the writing of this book, I
3
delved into the contents – memorabilia, letters, photos, and the like – and what I found
4
had the force of glaciers calving. They reconfigured memories of my mother and
5
father.
6
[…] I never throw away photos, unless they are blurry. All of them, even the horrific
7
ones, are an existential record of my life. Even the molecules of dust in the boxes are
8
part and parcel of who I am – so goes the extreme rationale of a packrat, that and the
9
certainty that treasure is buried in the debris. In my case, I don’t care for dust, but I did
10
find much to treasure.
11
To be honest, I have discarded photos of people I would never want to be reminded
12
of again, a number that, alas, has grown over the years to eleven or twelve. The longer
13
I live the more blurry photos I’ve accumulated, along with a few sucker punches from
14
people I once trusted and who did the equivalent of knocking me down to be first in
15
line at the ice-cream truck. Age confers this simple wisdom: Don’t expose yourself to
16
malarial mosquitoes. Don’t expose yourself to assholes. As it turns out, throwing away
17
photos of assholes does not remove them from consciousness. Memory, in fact, gives
18
you no choice over which moments you can erase, and it is annoyingly persistent in
19
retaining the most painful ones. It is extraordinarily faithful in recording the most
20
hideous details, and it will recall them for you in the future with moments that are even
21
only vaguely similar.
22
With only those exceptions, I have kept all the photos. The problem is, I no longer
23
recognize the faces of many – not the girl in the pool with me, or three out of the four
24
women at a clothes-swap party. Nor those people having dinner at my house. Then
25
again, I have met hundreds of thousands of people in my sixty-five years. Some of
26
them may have even been important in my life. Yet, without conscious choice on my
27
part, my brain has let a lot of moments slide over the cliff. While writing this memoir,
28
I was conscious that much of what I think I remember is inaccurate, guessed at, or
29
biased by experiences that came later. If l were to write this same book five years from
30
now, I would likely describe some of the events differently, either because of a change
31
of perspective or worsening memory – or even because new evidence has come to
32
light. That is exactly what happened while writing this book. I had to revise often as
33
more discoveries appeared.
34
I used to think photographs were more accurate than bare memory because they
35
capture moments as they were, making them indisputable. They are like hard facts,
36
whereas aging memory is impressionistic and selective in details, much like fiction is.
37
But now, having gone through the archives, I realize that photos also distort what is
38
really being captured. To get the best shot, the messiness is shoved to the side, the
39
weedy yard is out of the shot. The images are also missing context: the reason why
40
some are missing, what happened before and after, who likes or dislikes whom, if
41
anyone is unhappy to be there. When they heard “cheese,” they uniformly stared at the
42
camera’s mechanical eye, and put on the happy mask, leaving a viewer fifty years later
43
to assume everyone had a grand time. I keep in mind the caveat that I should question
44
what I see and what is not seen. I use the photos to trigger a complement of emotional
45
memories. I use a magnifying glass to look closely at details in the black-and-white
46
images in sizes popular in the 1940s and 1950s – squares ranging from one and a half
47
to three and a half inches. They document a progression of Easter Sundays after church
48
and the annual mauling of Christmas presents, which were laid underneath scraggly
49
trees or artificial ones, in old apartments or new tract homes. Some of these photos
50
refuted what I had believed was true, for example, that our family owned no children’s
51
books, except one, Chinese Fairy Tales, illustrated by an artist who made the
52
characters look like George Chakiris and Natalie Wood from West Side Story. A photo
53
of me at age three shows otherwise: I am mesmerized by the words and pictures in a
54
book spread open in my lap. In other photos of that same day, there is evidence of
55
presents of similar size waiting to be ripped open. I had not known this when I wrote
56
the piece “How I Learned to Read.” But it all makes sense that I would have had books
57
given by family friends, if not by my parents. As a writer, I’m glad to know that my
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grubby little paws were all over those pages. […]
59
This past year, while examining the contents of those boxes – the photos, letters,
60
memorabilia, and toys – I was gratified to learn that many of my childhood memories
61
were largely correct. In many cases, they returned more fully understood. But there
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were also shocking discoveries about my mother and father, including a little white lie
63
they told me when I was six, which hugely affected my self-esteem throughout
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childhood and even into adulthood. The discoveries arranged themselves into patterns,
65
magnetically drawn, it seemed, to what was related. They include artifacts of expectations
66
and ambition, flaws and failings, catastrophes and the ruins of hope, perseverance
67
and the raw tenderness of love. This was the emotional pulse that ran through my life
68
and made me the particular writer that I am.
(963 words)
From: Amy Tan. Where the Past Begins: A Writer’s Memoir. London: 4th Estate, 2017. 1– 6.

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