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58 pages 1 hour read

Black Dog of Fate: A Memoir

Nonfiction | Autobiography / Memoir | Adult | Published in 1997

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Themes

The Questionable Value of Mid-Century American Suburbia

In the early part of the book, Peter (by relaying conversations among his parents and aunts) outlines critiques and defenses of American suburbia. To Arax, suburbia was supremely comfortable and represented the utmost safety and prosperity available in the United States. She says, “there’s more community and goodwill” in their suburbs “than anywhere in America […] or anywhere in the world, for that matter” (41). Some aunts see it as a cultural wasteland with no character, and favor New York City for its high culture and international intellectual community instead.

The lack of a storied past or enduring traditions in suburbia come to light throughout Peter’s childhood and adolescence. The specter of the unspoken truth about Armenia and his family’s journey from there to the US routinely haunted his adolescent homes in the suburbs. Armenian traditions define the author’s life and family routines, which occasionally isolate him from his friends. In his first suburban neighborhood in Teaneck, New Jersey, Jewish culture defines daily life for all of his friends and neighbors. The meeting ground for all the children, however, is street baseball. There is no room for engagement with diverse cultures, as neighborhoods are so homogenous, but American pastimes imbibe the author’s and his friends’ lives with great meaning and interest. He feels close to suburban culture despite its relative simplicity. He yearns for total cultural inclusion with his friends.

A lack of culture is more pronounced when the family moves to the Crabtree Lane house in Tenafly. The author recalls the habits of their neighbors, particularly their “five-minute dinners” of “minute steaks, hot dogs, Swanson TV dinners, or tuna whipped up in a blender” (52). The wealthier neighborhood translated to this more sterilized, ultra-modern approach to food (and food is always a revealing facet of culture).

Through his teenage years, the author clings to his wild, suburban friends even as his father forces him to attend a preppy private school. It is a slow and steady transition from the conforming youth that resents his family’s otherness to the intellectual young man, lover of poetry, and student of the Armenian past that Peter becomes. It is only as a young adult that he comes to appreciate the Balakian emphasis on intellect and intelligence centered on knowledge of the larger world of literature, culture, and politics far beyond the confines of mid-century suburbia.

Peter never outright celebrates or denounces the suburbs once he embraces his Armenian identity. He understands his parents’ love for the suburbs within a framework of the Armenian diaspora, a perspective he did not have in his youth. He explains that, “In affirming the American present, my parents had done their best to put an end to exile” born of the genocide (300). Safety, shelter, privacy, and material possessions were luxuries that Peter took for granted in his youth, but for survivors of the Armenian Genocide, they were basic tenants of life that had the capacity to disappear, stolen by a ruling state and thus leaving a family in ruin. Suburbia did not have longstanding cultural traditions with elaborate rituals or an advanced intellectual life—some saw this as a shortcoming, while others appreciated the basic lifestyle that it secured. 

Silence Through Trauma and Diaspora

Part of the reason Peter struggles for so long to understand Armenian history and embrace Armenian heritage is because the circumstances of his young life shroud the concept of Armenia in mystery and silence. The important sites of Armenian history are so far away from his immediate world that they seem entirely abstract with only hints of their relevance to the author himself. He identifies Armenian traits in his parents’ behaviors and lifestyles, but knows that the family is also the product of the United States, and in his father’s case, several sites across continental Europe. Their cultural amalgamation and lack of open conversations about family history leave Peter confused about his semi-foreign family and resentful of what he views as their unusual habits.

When the family does start sharing stories, Peter develops a newfound appreciation for the silence surrounding family stories. He relates to his ancestors and hears their voices calling to him over thousands of miles and decades of time through new information and historical sources. He wishes he had been privy to more information sooner but comes to understand that silence helped his family function amid post-traumatic stress. He especially sympathizes with his grandmother as he wonders:

What did it mean to be a survivor in an era before the Holocaust and the civil rights movement gave rights to a human rights movement in the United States? What was it like to be a survivor before there was a popular culture of psychology and therapy, whose goal was to help victims achieve a voice and the courage to affirm the moral significance of their wound and trauma? (299).

Nafina’s survival was so unlikely that Peter can finally understand why she could not revisit episodes in her life that would never make sense to her, and instead focus on the present and future.

His parents’ generation, though slightly further removed from the Genocide than their parents were (many of the author’s aunts and uncles, and his father, fled the Ottoman Empire as young children. They, too, wanted to build their lives in suburbia rather than ruminate on their poignant knowledge of how close they came to missing out on hopes for prosperity, family, and happiness.

Peter is of a generation that can revisit the trauma of the past with enough historical distance to function in daily life. He inherits the burden of creating a widely-accepted account of the history that can lead to forms of acknowledgment and reconciliation that family members before him never received. 

The Danger of Oppressive Governments

Though the book is a memoir that tells the story of Peter Balakian’s life, there are important political lessons throughout the narrative. As a child, Peter had little knowledge of or concern for politics. He awakens in this regard in college, which is also when he starts talking to his father about the Vietnam War (which they both oppose). His interest in political theory and history fuel his ongoing intellectual career.

Extracurricular self-education on Armenian history exposes Peter to the politics of empire and nationalism that set the stage for the Armenian Genocide. A sultan with absolute rule over the crumbling Ottoman Empire easily enlisted secret police to kill thousands of Armenians. The ensuing political establishment headed by the Young Turks promised Armenians and other Christians freedom but actually ordered death marches and torture that killed over a million people. Modern Turkey by the end of the 20th century policed narratives of their earlier history to forgive or deny genocide. Peter concludes that every era of Turkish rule since the late 19th century victimized Armenians.

Peter’s parents and grandparents appreciated the United States so much because they felt safe from governmental oppression there. Nafina would not even travel abroad in her adulthood because she regarded her American home as the only place where she was truly safe (188). Peter grew up in that safety and had an enjoyable upbringing as an American, but he criticized not only the Vietnam War but also the Iraq War. His 2005 trip to Lebanon and Syria put the Iraq War in sharper relief because he was so near the violence and saw the war as a product of political incompetence and overreach. He regrets his country’s souring relationships in the Middle East. He recognizes racialized poverty and suffering within the US itself—a place that was such an emblem of freedom and opportunity for his relatives. He does not openly condemn the US, but his trip to the Middle East to glean more insight into the Armenian Genocide was a sobering reminder that international politics continue to breed violence and suffering in the 21st century.

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