I finished reading Cathy Park Hong’s book “Minor Feelings” a few days ago. I wish it was written 20 years ago when I was trying to understand myself and my identity.
I’m still digesting the ideas, but I attended a talk she had with another author and one of the questions that was asked was for her to define what she means by minor feelings.
She started to answer, but said that she should just read the definition rather than try to answer it herself. She decided to rely on the words she wrote, rather than what she would say at the moment.
It makes total sense. The words in that book were labored over and thought through with such care and craft. Unless she memorized what shew rote, reading what she did was the most perfect way she could ever explain it.
That, to me was the power and beauty of writing. Being able to clarify our thoughts better than we can at any moment.