Articles

THE SOCIAL EDGE INTERVIEW: AUTHOR AND JOURNALIST KRISTIN OHLSON

by Gerry McCarthy

Kristin Ohlson is a freelance journalist, essayist, and fiction writer. Her work has appeared in numerous publications, including: The New York Times, Salon.com, Ms., O., New Scientist, and Poets & Writers. She is also a teacher, who occasionally works with creative writing students at Cleveland State University and women prisoners at Cuyahoga County jail.

      Ohlson is the recipient of the Ohio Arts Council's Individual Artists Fellowship in Fiction for 2003-2004. Her book Stalking The Divine was recently published by Hyperion. I reached her at home in Cleveland to speak about the book.

Gerry McCarthy: At one point in Stalking The Divine you reflect on some of the perspectives people offered you about the Poor Clares. You wrote that many women looked horrified --while others thought the Poor Clare's monastery seemed an "otherworldly delight." But you explain that neither perspective was right. "There was hardship in the monastery, but it seemed to me that it wasn't just the denial of HBO and cross-country skiing and new leather jackets that made the nuns' lives tough. Rather the hardship came from their constant struggle for faith in a place where there was little to distract them from its absence. There was joy, but not primarily from the time they spent in community or even in their escape from the strains of ordinary life. Their joy seemed to come from the times when their lifestyle held them closest to God." Are there things about the Poor Clare's lifestyle that our fast-paced, frantic, consumer-driven North American culture might benefit from reflecting upon?

Kristin Ohlson: Most of us aren't going to make a choice like the Poor Clares made --nor should we-- to spend an entire life in contemplation. On the other hand, people yearn for some contemplative space in their life.

      I remember being at a party once. All the people there were mothers with young children. When they talked, there seemed to be a competition about who was the busiest --or who had the most pressing tasks from their jobs, volunteer work, children and their household. I remember thinking how ghastly it was that people would feel so eager to compare their towering burdens. We do lead a life of just hideous busyness. Meeting and talking with the Poor Clares, I developed a new appreciation for stillness, silence and separateness that I try to impose on my life a little more than I use to.

      We can benefit from looking at the Poor Clares by clearing out some contemplative space for ourselves. When I try to do this, it often helps to imagine myself walking down the empty corridors going into the cloister. Those corridors are dark and quiet. It's that visual image which is useful for me.

GM: There is a wonderful passage where you write about Sr. Thomas explaining how she devoured the city newspaper and especially the arts section. "She knew more about Cleveland's orchestra and ballet and community theatres and performing art complexes, I thought, than 99 percent of the people who are actually able to attend shows at these venues." What are some of the other things you learned about the Poor Clares that surprised you?

KO: The newspaper is the one communication medium the Poor Clares have from the outside world. They don't have television or radio. They have this one newspaper, because they feel it's their mission to pray for the world. They just don't pray in a general way. They pray very specifically for things that happen. When I look at a newspaper, for example, I usually rustle through it in a cursory 15 minutes. But the Poor Clares really pore over it. They're not only up-to-date with things in the arts. But they know an awful of what's going on with the war, for example, and other issues.

      But the main thing that surprised me about the Poor Clares was how full and rich their life had been before they entered the cloister. Sr. Thomas is probably the best example --because she appealed to me. But it was true for all of them. Sr. Thomas had been an artist who led an exciting life for a young woman of that time (1950s). She was studying art in Mexico, and going through Italy to look at art in churches. Also: she was an accomplished artist, and starting to rise in her field. She also had an active social life.

      There's an attitude about nuns or religious women that they choose that path in life, because of some failure they had in the world --or because the world failed them. But that just wasn't the case when I spoke with these women. All of them had full, rich, and satisfying lives. It was hard for them to leave those lives. They left with great sacrifice.

      The other surprising thing I noticed is that the Poor Clares maintained such distinct personalities. Even though they'd been living in the cloister for sometimes 30 years together. The way they live somehow serves to keep their personalities intact. I had assumed they'd be the same.

GM: I thought Stalking the Divine read a little bit like a novel. There were characters that were described in detail and kept reappearing at different intervals in the book. What are your thoughts?

KO: I was trying to make it read like a novel. Some of this material could be really dry. So I tried to make it engaging as I could. Probably the first draft I wrote wouldn't have been like a novel with a plot. Then I looked at my draft and thought: where is the drama, suspense, or plot in the book? I realized there were two plot lines: whether I could figure out how to have faith, and whether the Poor Clares would grow or continue to dwindle.

      On the second re-write I tried to structure those things a little more so those issues carried through the book. But I did try to make it more like a novel than strictly memoir or reportage. Frankly, I like to read novels myself. I don't read a lot of non-fiction books. I read novels and some political reporting. So I tried to make it like a novel. I tried to make the people in the book as interesting and engaging as characters in novels. That was tough. Especially when you're describing a lot of women who dress exactly the same. It's tough coming up with words that differentiate them, without saying things that would make them uncomfortable.

GM: There's a point in your last chapter when you describe Sr. Mary Joseph's family saying goodbye to her after her final vows celebration. I had a lump in my throat --it was one of the saddest moments in the book. Can you talk to me a little about this? I gather there is a reluctant acceptance by the family on the restrictions being imposed. Is that right?

KO: I don't think they felt reluctant. But no matter how they felt, it was powerful. From now on there would never be a Diane (as St. Mary Joseph was known before she was a nun) who would be there at family dinners, gatherings, backyard picnics and Christmas. Even though Sr. Joseph had been living the cloistered life for many years, I think the finality of that was enormously sad for the family. Even though some of the family was proud and happy that she'd found a life that was deeply meaningful. No matter how you feel about her decision, though, you would have to feel sad about her being removed from the family like that. It's almost like she was sent halfway around the world --and you realized that you would only see her on rare occasions.

GM: In what way did the Poor Clares affect you the most?<

KO: By hanging around them I became more open to faith myself. They were so generous with their time. They answered all the questions I had. They opened up their lives to me, and told me things a stranger had no right to ask.

      I'd been drifting around for a long time hoping to find some place in faith where I felt comfortable. The Poor Clares were so welcoming and fresh. It just enabled me to settle into some sort of practiced faith.

GM: At one point in the book you describe yourself as a "derelict Catholic." But in the final chapter you write about how others' faith was doing you good. You add that, "at times it seems like I feel other people's pains more keenly than ever before --that I'm on compassion overload." You also describe different things you do: try to be a faithful friend, a helpful neighbor, a kind stranger, a respectful critic, and an activist in one-way or another. Finally, you try to remember to pray. That hardly sounds like a derelict Catholic to me. Since writing the book has your idea of what it means to be a "good Catholic" changed?

KO: It's true that my idea of what it means to be a Catholic has changed --although I'm clueless about the Church, because I've been away for so long.

      I met a woman the other day I really admire. She was asking me about my book and mentioned that she'd recently converted to Catholicism. I can't compare myself to someone like that, because she studied different faiths and visited different gatherings. She then made a well-thought out choice about where she thought she belonged. I'm only back in the Catholic Church, because that's where I started. Also: there was something that tugged me toward the Church. It was Fr. Senan, the Poor Clares, and that one Christmas Mass. I'm not a good Catholic in terms of knowing all the Church stands for today. Although I'm glad about some of the things it stands for --and not happy about some of the other things. I know that what the Church is depends on what door you walk through. It's very different at St. Paul's Shrine in Cleveland, for example, than it is at many other churches. But I'm still a derelict Catholic. I don't know much about the Church. That might make me feel more kindly toward it than people who've had their share of frustration with Church bureaucracy and dogma.

      I wrote the book for people who were like myself 5 years ago. People who were not believers --or they were skeptics or scoffers as I was. The book was for people who were curious and open. It was for people who longed for some kind of connection to faith, but didn't know how to make that connection. Those are the people I wrote the book for --and I was afraid of people who've been churchgoers for the past 30 years reading it. I thought those people were going to think: who's this person to be writing about becoming Catholic --she knows nothing. Or: who's this person with all her doubt? But it's interesting, because I've been receiving a positive response from individuals who are people of deep long-term faith.

      A pastoral minister at a Catholic Church here in Cleveland was telling me how much she loved my book. She said: I felt like we were much the same --we have so many of the same questions. I was surprised and I said so. But this woman told me that she always felt a greater kinship to people who have doubts --than to people who have no doubts. So my view of what it is to be a good Catholic has changed. There are people who do have doubts, but continue to search. There's not a solid line. For example: on this side you're one thing and on that side you're another. It's a line that shifts and moves with the times.

Gerry McCarthy is Editor of The Social Edge.