Catlin Castan
13 February 2013
Potiki
When asked about
my home, I immediately begin by describing the characteristics of my three
crazy siblings, my mom’s homemade meals, and my dad’s dry sense of humor (Just
to name a few). I rarely ever put emphasis on the structural elements of my
house, but rather describe my home: the internal essence of a house.
In Patricia
Grace’s novel Potiki, Grace
highlights the difference between a house and a home. She does this by relating
the people to the place. Grace writes: “There was in the meeting-house a
warmth. It was the warmth that wood has, but it was also the warmth of the
people gathered”(88). In this quotation Grace asserts the idea that beyond the
sense of warmth within the tangible structure of the house, the people that are
gathered there are what makes the house a home. Grace then takes it a step
further making a spiritual connection to previous generations that have
gathered on the land, she writes: “It was the warmth of the past gatherings,
and of people that had come and gone, and who gathered now in the memory”(88).
In this moment, Grace offers her audience with the chance to honor the people
of the past. Simultaneously, Grace suggests that these people should also be
remembered in the present-- they are eternally current in the mind: in
memories.
Fifteen years ago
my Mom’s “dream” house was put on the market. Lovingly, my Dad purchased the
house and a few short months later my family moved in. Although this house was
only two minutes away from our previous house, my Mom claimed to have “fallen
in love” with the house years before. When we asked her what was so special
about the house, she replied, “the built-in armoire in the kitchen”. My siblings
and I could not help but laugh—what could possibly be so special about a piece
of built-in furniture? Upon seeing the house for the first time, we all rushed
anxiously to the kitchen, curious to see the armoire that motivated our
family’s move.
Then there was
total silence. It was beautiful. There stood the armoire that my mother had
fallen in love with years ago, and in that moment, we all understood why she
felt so strongly for it. Original to our house built in 1890, the armoire stood
ceiling to floor—old and wooden, it was magnificent! More specifically it was
the overwhelming sense of character that stood out to me. For over a hundred
years, this piece of furniture stayed near perfectly intact despite the
alterations to the exterior and frame of the house. Amidst constant change, the
armoire remained unchanged- it remained authentic. For me, the armoire is a
tangible manifestation of history, of the past. Just as Grace explains in Potiki, I am able to feel the warmth of
the past as I share the armoire with the generations that were in possession of
it before me. Through a connection of spirituality, the past is able to exist
in the present through memories.
Similar to the
eternal nature of memories, is the art of storytelling. Within Potiki, Grace makes a fascinating connection
between the nature of the land and the art of oral storytelling. As land gets
passed on from generation to generation, it has the tendency to undergo
alteration. This comes with any change in time or new ownership. This tendency
mirrors that of storytelling; stories are altered in oral tradition when being
passed down between generations. Although an oral story is an intangible
transfer or exchange, the importance lies in the essence of the exchange: one
must gain something to lose something. The previous generation is lost, but the
new generation gains the experience of the past. The essence of a story always
remains as the core of the tale, Roimata states, even though “the
stories had changed” (103), the essence of the people always remains engrained
in the land.
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