Trillium Book Awards Author Reading 2015

Special Feature: Priscila Uppal on Adaptation

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Promotional Photo - 6 Essential Questions

The process of adaptation is a complex one. When a writer is adapting his or her own work, it can be all that much more complicated. But Toronto author Priscila Uppal is experienced in moving between genres, having made her mark in poetry and non-fiction. With the success of her memoir, Projection (Thomas Allen), she is now moving to the stage, adapting the book into a play for Factory Theatre called 6 Essential Questions. The play, like the book, follows the journey of a woman searching for her runaway mother in Brazil.

The play runs from March 1-30, 2014. More information can be found on the Factory Theatre website.

Priscila has shared with us in her own words about the process of adapting this personal and intense work:

Priscila Uppal on adaptation:

Since I am a poet, I hope you won’t mind if I begin this piece with a poem.

I’m Afraid of Brazilians or Visiting the Ancestral Homeland is Not the Great Ethnic Experience Promised by Other Memoirs

Against all political correctness,
I must say it,
I must admit:
I’m afraid of Brazilians.

I don’t like them.
I don’t like this country.
I don’t like this language.
I don’t even like this currency.

And not in the mystical sense.
Or the abstract.
Or the perfectly hypothetical.

I can’t blame this fear
on movies, or television programming,
or the front covers
of Time magazine.

I’m afraid of Brazilians.
I am visiting Brazil
(my mother’s country)
and I’m afraid, truly afraid
of every Brazilian I meet.

This is not something you can say
in a poem, you tell me.
Please don’t compose this poem
here: in broad daylight
where any self-respecting Brazilian
could feel perfectly justified
peeking over your shoulder
to see what you’ve written.

Please, not so loud, you say.
You haven’t given them a chance.

You’re right, I admit.
(I can certainly admit it.)
I’ve given them no chance
to please me. Don’t you

understand, this is the nature
of being afraid, and this is
the nature of the poem
I am writing, which must
get written, no matter
what the climate

or the reception
(here, in my mother’s country
or abroad
or in my own ears).

There are so many things we are not supposed to talk about. So many things we don’t want to talk about. So many things no one wants to hear.

And then there are essential things that must be said. Essential things that must be acknowledged. Essential things you dream one day you will hear.

I wrote this poem after meeting my mother for the first time in twenty years. She abandoned my brother, me, and our quadriplegic father in Ottawa, leaving us to basically raise ourselves. I didn’t hear from her or know where she was until one day I accidentally stumbled upon her personal website. Even though I was in shock, I contacted her and planned a trip to Brazil, the land of her birth, and the place she ran to after running away from us.

What does it mean to be a mother when you haven’t seen your daughter in twenty years? What does it mean to be a daughter when you know almost nothing about your mother? What does it mean to be Brazilian when you know almost nothing about Brazil? What does it mean to have DNA or memories?

Most people dream of family reunions as blissful affairs of reconnection and reconciliation. For most people this dream remains a fantasy — a lovely one, but a fantasy nonetheless. Real reunions with estranged family members are fraught with mixed emotions, misunderstandings, misgivings, and missed opportunities.

I wrote this poem before I wrote this play. Iris Turcott, the dramaturge at Factory Theatre, read the poem and said, “This is a perfect monologue. Go and write me a play about this trip.” I was already writing a memoir about the trip, published last fall, called Projection: Encounters with My Runway Mother. I write lots of different literary forms: poems, short stories, novels, essays, creative non-fiction. I love seeing how material takes different shape in different artistic forms, and so I was grateful for the opportunity to shape this essential experience into a play.

The memoir tells the tale of what actually happened when my mother and I met for the first time in twenty years. The play showcases dramatically and dreamily what that actually felt like.

Related item from our archives

JF Robitaille: Minor Dedications


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