Silence In Fessler's The Girls Who Went Away

Thursday night I went to my best friend’s final performance for his art class. I was waiting for the train home, and as the doors opened, three men noticed me, jokingly cleared the way for me to walk, but then one rushed me and wrapped both of his arms around me and tried to kiss me. I was able to push away and duck through his arms, and I waited for another train. I didn’t tell my best friend what happened until the next morning. Compared to events like in Lucky, my experience is minimal, but it still has an influence on me whether I’m conscious of it now or not. What compelled me to wait to say anything? Was it because I merely thought it was a minor assault, so it wasn’t worth any time? What does that say about any other assaults, even more

In addition to Lucky, Fessler’s The Girls Who Went Away shows the effect of suppressing emotions, grief, and truth. Both Lucky and The Girls Who Went Away represent what it means to speak up, to break free of the shackles that bind them to their silence even after the passing of time, and what it means to have a voice for the voiceless.
Why stay silent? What holds us back from admitting any truth? From one perspective, we as humans understand that others don’t share our experiences – each of our experiences is unique, like a snowflake. The very nature of the human condition is to be protective and on guard of others because, well, people can be ignorant.

At the beginning of chapter two, Suzanne says she agreed to the interview because it spoke to her, but she wondered why people would care now if nobody did then; she admits that her “personal struggle is to get beyond thinking I’m not worth caring about. I am here. I do exist. Maybe by adding my two cents I can help other moms who feel the same way I do. Maybe they will find someone who cares” (7). This perfectly exemplifies the importance of breaking silence and why it sometimes takes a long time to break the silence. Although just one person in Fessler’s interviews, Suzanne clearly recognizes the denial that goes into staying silent, why some people are afraid to share what happened to them, why some people refrain from wanting to admit what happened – because they don’t think anybody really cares. The fact that we have separate experiences, that not one experience is the same from person to person, furthers the alienation felt among rape survivors, adoption survivors (in the sense that they had to survive the surrender/loss of their child), etc. This isolation perpetuates the dilemma of staying silent or speaking up. But those who speak up first, the ones who are a catalyst for others to speak up, are the first step in getting comfortable in breaking down silence and breaking down the criticism that follows any public admission. When Anita