If you had a deaf child, but treatment existed to return their hearing, would you go ahead with the surgery?
Seems simple, right. Not.
Long Island, circa 2000.
Peter Artinian and his wife Nita are deaf, as are their three children. Proud members of a wider deaf community, the couple view the deficiency as a blessing - one they are happy to share with their offspring. However, when their five-year old daughter Heather - a clearly bright young girl - relates her desire to have a cochlear implant, they are forced to reluctantly investigate the then-revolutionary treatment.
Chris Artinian, Peter's brother, is not deaf, nor is his wife. However with deafness in both their families, it comes as only a minor shock when one of their new-born twins is diagnosed as deaf. Four years younger than cousin Heather, cochlear surgery for the baby would be slightly safer and offer a greater prospect of success (defined as keeping up academically with mainstream 'hearers').
The heart and beauty of 'Sound and Fury' is the apparent simplicity of the initial dilemma, and the manner in which it is slowly and systematically undermined by Aronson. We are taken inside a proud, but insular, deaf community that has largely usurped the difficulties we may wantonly have considered insurmountable; a memorable exchange at a deaf school barbecue ends with Artinian family friends describing their own professions and responsibilities, all achieved with their supposed 'disability' (not 'despite' it).
Peter Artinian is the real bulldog to this end however. With his heart worn passionately on his sleeve, the translation of his sign language is almost unnecessary - we know how much he cares for his daughter; we get how concerned he is that the surgery may prove unsuccessful and leave Heather stranded between communities; we understand how much he wants his family to not see their deafness as a disability. Yet the nagging suspicion that he would be denying her certain opportunities persists.
For Chris and his wife Mari, as a family of hearers, the decision appears simpler - despite the opposition of his brother and his wife's deaf parents. Supported by his own parents, their journey is less whether they desire the implant than whether the surgery is worth the risk - does it offer everything they have been told?
The results are never clear; as one might naturally expect, Chris and Mari focus on those who have been successes, Peter manages to find those who have struggled. Ironically, as each brother affirms his decision, we only grow more conflicted.
Heart-wrenching.
Concluding Thought: I hope sign language never dies out. It is so very raw and human.
Seems simple, right. Not.
Long Island, circa 2000.
Peter Artinian and his wife Nita are deaf, as are their three children. Proud members of a wider deaf community, the couple view the deficiency as a blessing - one they are happy to share with their offspring. However, when their five-year old daughter Heather - a clearly bright young girl - relates her desire to have a cochlear implant, they are forced to reluctantly investigate the then-revolutionary treatment.
Chris Artinian, Peter's brother, is not deaf, nor is his wife. However with deafness in both their families, it comes as only a minor shock when one of their new-born twins is diagnosed as deaf. Four years younger than cousin Heather, cochlear surgery for the baby would be slightly safer and offer a greater prospect of success (defined as keeping up academically with mainstream 'hearers').
The heart and beauty of 'Sound and Fury' is the apparent simplicity of the initial dilemma, and the manner in which it is slowly and systematically undermined by Aronson. We are taken inside a proud, but insular, deaf community that has largely usurped the difficulties we may wantonly have considered insurmountable; a memorable exchange at a deaf school barbecue ends with Artinian family friends describing their own professions and responsibilities, all achieved with their supposed 'disability' (not 'despite' it).
Peter Artinian is the real bulldog to this end however. With his heart worn passionately on his sleeve, the translation of his sign language is almost unnecessary - we know how much he cares for his daughter; we get how concerned he is that the surgery may prove unsuccessful and leave Heather stranded between communities; we understand how much he wants his family to not see their deafness as a disability. Yet the nagging suspicion that he would be denying her certain opportunities persists.
For Chris and his wife Mari, as a family of hearers, the decision appears simpler - despite the opposition of his brother and his wife's deaf parents. Supported by his own parents, their journey is less whether they desire the implant than whether the surgery is worth the risk - does it offer everything they have been told?
The results are never clear; as one might naturally expect, Chris and Mari focus on those who have been successes, Peter manages to find those who have struggled. Ironically, as each brother affirms his decision, we only grow more conflicted.
Heart-wrenching.
Concluding Thought: I hope sign language never dies out. It is so very raw and human.