I feel as though I know Laura Bohannan aka Elenore Smith Bowen. For the past semester that I've slowly re-read this book, I've felt as though we've become friends, and I didn't want this book's adventures to end because then I wouldn't see my friend anymore.
From the back cover of the 1964 edition by Margaret Mead: "It is remarkable to have a novel included int eh Natural History Library, but RETURN TO LAUGHTER is a remarkable novel. A vivid and dramatic account of the profound change experienced by an American anthropologist in her first year as an intimate of a primitive bush tribe in Africa, it provides deep insights into the indigenous culture of West Africa, the subtle web of tribal life, the power of the institution of witchcraft. Primarily, however, it is a classic story of the outsider caught up and deeply, personally involved in an alien culture - "the first introspective account ever published of what it's like to be a field worker among a primitive people."
This was a question on an epic take-home-exam in my Theater History I class taught by the inimitable John Wilson at Cornish College of the Arts. It is the philosophy that the theater's purpose from ritual is to relieve its people of the humdrum and return them to life. This book does this in droves and I can only hope that the theater I produce and participate in will have the effect on the audiences that need it.
Some of the "deep insights" that Margaret Mead mentions in this book are:
"Udama spoke very soberly. "Now there is hate and trouble in the homestead. Whatever Kako does, hate will remain in someone's heart." For the first time, Udama looked and spoke directly at me. "Once a wrong has been done, it never dies. People speak the words of peace, but their hearts do not forgive. Generations perform ceremonies of reconciliation, but there is no end." (151)
"This, then, was my answer. Witchcraft was their greatest terror, but witches were only people. Everywhere one must fight to survive. There is measure of insecurity in all societies. We may consider it easier to accept defeat at the hands of fate; fate is unconquerable. But where disaster is held to come from the hands of one's fellows, there defeat is not inevitable, there one need not cease to hope. Only my overwrought imagination had shown me the reign of witches as a reign of terror." (171)
"On and on. There is not stronger emotion than terror, but there is one thing greater than terror: fatigue. We walked. There was nothing left in our minds, our hearts or nerves or bodies to show that we lived, but we walked." (281)
"No, I could not forget. I had followed Agundu. My soul's protest was so deep that I nearly cried aloud: I can look on Agundu, on reality, unafraid, but I cannot see my own naked being. I had followed science out here, as one follows a will-o'-the-wisp, seeing only what beckoned from the distance, paying no heed to the earth that I spurned beneath my feet, seeing naught about me. I had served anthropology well. Notebook upon notebook, good stuff, and accurate, and I had the knowledge to work it soundly so that I might stand, with a craftman's pride, before the finished work and say, "This is mine."/ I had followed Agundu. There was no jury, no god, before whom I could stand unashamed to say, "This is me." Me, as I sat there, the product of my pettiness and my cowardice. But not I. I was still unfinished, could still change, could still return. I had learned. I had discovered that there were moral values which I could not willfully abandon, no matter what the dictates and interests of science and no matter how impossible it had been for me to live up to those standards. I had run away from the choice when I had finally seen it - like Lucia. I would always have to live with that knowledge of personal inadequacy. Very well, I could benefit from the smarting salt of humility." (289-90)
"It is an error to assume that to know is to understand and that to understand is to like. The greater the extant to which one has lived and participated in a genuinely foreign culture and understood it, the greater the extent to which one realizes that one could not, without violence to one's personal integrity, be of it. This importance of fidelity to one's own culture and one's own standards is mutual. That is what tolerance means: allowing each man his own integrity. Not an eclectic picking of convenient moral maxims for oneself./ Like the practice of free speech, free though and free reading, the act of immersion is an wholly foreign culture demands the will and ability to think one may not accept what it is as what should be, on the mere grounds that "it is so." More than ever I had to admit that Poorgbilin's senior wife had been right: I had the heart of child and had yet to learn wisdom." (291)