Writers on Writers: Aris Janigian Interviews Arpi Sarafian

The fear cannot be dismissed. The existential threats are real. Azerbaijan’s systematic destruction of Artsakh’s cultural heritage, its continuing threats to Armenia’s sovereignty and unimpeded access to the new transit corridor through Armenia’s Syunik region are worrisome. It is indeed getting more and more difficult to reconcile our creativity with the new reality of oppressive governments that have a greater power to destroy what has taken decades, sometimes even centuries or millennia to accomplish.

Nonetheless, programs that highlight the role of our heritage in preserving our identity as Armenians abound. Armenians will always take pride in having survived the attempt to exterminate them. To quote director/producer Arman Nshanian once again, “We are so much more than the genocide,” the subtext being, once again, we are too beautiful to die. We deserve to survive.

Janigian: Many of your essays cover artists or associations that use contemporary, academic language and themes — as if they are appealing for the attention of American cultural elites — and yet want to be rooted in the much older artistic ethos of our own culture. Sometimes they straddle these two worlds with success, other times not so much. Can you comment on this?

Sarafian: I have always been an advocate of simplicity and accessibility and was in fact well aware of perhaps an excessive use of contemporary academic language and themes in my “The Common Reader: The Case of William Saroyan” piece. Yet, I felt I needed to go to some length to clarify my meaning to “the common reader” who would have little or no familiarity with the various “critical perspectives” or “theoretical approaches” the more elitist (yes!) academic readership thrives on. My essay may just be an attempt to expose the elitism and also to bring attention to Saroyan’s work.

I took on the case of William Saroyan, a writer who we both feel has been largely excluded from literature departments, partly because of the prevailing mentality in academia in the years around 1930-1960, roughly the period when Saroyan’s work was being published, that privileged authors whose writing is more complex. Saroyan’s writing is “simple,” not requiring the close textual analysis that texts with more complicated structures and imagery do to interpret. Yet, I contend, Saroyan’s work has the “complexity” of human truth, arguably the greatest virtue of any literary work.

At times the work itself may invite some academic language. For example, in A Book, Untitled, Shushan Avagyan alternates between different narrators, a strategy which often confuses the reader used to a more traditional linear narrative style. Placing the novel within a more contemporary theoretical framework and approaching it as “a postmodern experiment of mixing multiple voices” might help illuminate the reader and make the experience of reading the book more pleasurable. Another instance where academic language might be helpful would be Ara Iskandarian’s Godless Hour—A Yerevan Tale where the stone statues in the Rose City of Yerevan come to life and give an account of their part in Armenian history and culture. Familiarizing the reader with “magical realism,” a literary style that blends the world of facts with the world of the imagination to explore the “facts” of our complicated existence would, again, make the novel more accessible. Someone always learns something.

It is true that the focus on theory sometimes detracts from the simple joy of reading. Yet, theory can also enhance the reading experience. Approaching a literary text with a specific critical perspective in mind, for example, such as a feminist or a psychoanalytical perspective, would place the author’s writing within larger concepts that might give insights into a deeper understanding of the work.

The problem is not as much with the theory or the language used as it is with the creation of an opposition which inevitably leads to a hierarchy that excludes an extraordinary writer like Saroyan. I am hopeful that the trend to contextualize in more recent literary theory will steer Saroyan back into the canon.

Mine is not an apology for the use of academic language. It is simply a desire to bridge the gap between the two separate worlds. I should think that evoking the title of Virginia Woolf’s 1932 second collection of essays, The Second Common Reader, in my own The Second Endless Crossings shows where my allegiances are. There is “another kind of criticism, the opinion of people reading for the love of reading, slowly and unprofessionally, and judging with great sympathy and yet with great severity,” writes Woolf in her essay ”How Should One Read A Book?”

Whatever the strategy used, my focus has always been on the value of the work in promoting and preserving our rich literary and cultural legacy.

Janigian: In concrete ways, how can the Armenian American Museum and Cultural Center in Glendale, which is scheduled to open in 2026, contribute to supporting contemporary artists, particularly those outside of the visual arts.

Sarafian: Having lived at the crossroads of geographies throughout our long history, I believe we are uniquely equipped to fulfill the museum’s mission of promoting “understanding and appreciation of America’s cultural and ethnic diversity by sharing the Armenian American experience.”

Stating missions, as in “inclusive and meaningful projects,” or “educational programs exploring their history” is easy and all too abstract. Yet, making specific recommendations may not be very useful either as, ultimately, the artists themselves provide the specifics in producing the material with their vision and their creativity. Which is not to say that a museum committee made up of experts with extensive knowledge of the arts cannot be helpful in providing guidelines.

I would think that the best way to support our artists is to give them visibility. The aesthetic appeal of the more traditional visual arts—paintings and sculptures—has always attracted audiences of all backgrounds and ages.  Focusing on newer voices could further attract younger audiences and have the added advantage of ensuring the continuity of the culture. Regularly scheduled screenings of films—also visual—by ethnic filmmakers, with discussions to follow, could promote dialogue and make the viewing experience meaningful. Luring audiences to come back is key, as attending the exhibits is the best way to support our artists.

Much in line with the museum’s stated mission of “appreciation of America’s cultural and ethnic diversity,” music, a non-visual art form, can be a powerful bridging device. While it promotes awareness of the individual culture, music also transcends borders. Concerts featuring solo artists or bands and larger orchestras have been known to attract audiences across ethnic backgrounds.

The greater challenge for me is the showcasing of the literary output. I have attended poetry readings with just three attendees. Lectures seem to alienate. The ongoing book presentations, with brief introductions and questions to follow, by ABRIL Books would perhaps be a good model to follow. I would like to add that choosing to focus on the Armenian — clearly on the radar of an Armenian American museum—rather than the Korean or the Mexican writer should not be perceived as exclusionary, as the ensuing discussions would inevitably highlight the relevance of our own cultural legacy to the common concerns of the various ethnic groups. The challenge is educating the public by making the museum into a forum where ideas are freely exchanged, not simply “taught.”

Larger community events like festivals that focus on tasting the food, listening to the music and appreciating the artistic heritage and other traditions of the various ethnicities have proven to be very effective ways of engaging with different cultures, always central to the museum’s mission of promoting diversity and inclusiveness. Hands-on workshops also help engage the community.

Fundraising galas are certainly not to be ruled out, especially given their recent unprecedented success. Among other things, they would help provide the much-needed financial support to the artists who often juggle full-time jobs with their artistic careers.

My hope is that understanding the “other” will contribute to the creation of a more harmonious society. Tolerating differences helps unite, rather than separate and divide, and could be the best tool to combat the violence and the wars that have put humanity on the edge of the abyss.

Much will depend on the extent to which the noble mission statements are fulfilled.  To what extent, one wonders, has the mission of the Holocaust Museum LA, “to educate and inspire a more dignified and humane world” been accomplished? Bringing attention to the ongoing atrocities is essential. Our future is at best unpredictable.

Janigian: Would it ever be possible to have a nationwide symposium of the Armenian arts, one that would bring together artists in many mediums, so that we can learn from one and better support one another? Relatedly, how can we start another publication like the old ARARAT magazine, a place where we can publish and appreciate each other’s work.

Sarafian: “The Armenian arts” covers too broad a spectrum to allow an in-depth exploration of the topics addressed. Even with focus on a single creative medium, such as literature or music, the theme would still need to be narrowed down to make meaningful in-depth discussions possible — which is what a symposium typically aims to accomplish. For example, rather than the broader Contemporary Fiction or Poetry topic, a literary symposium could focus on the impact of forced displacement in the work of Contemporary Armenian Writers, etc.

It is always exciting for a group of experts, artists or scholars to come together and exchange views, share their research and their work and learn from each other, perhaps even learn to support one another. That, however, may be a luxury we cannot afford at this historical moment when matters of greater urgency are at our door.

Even if one should adhere to the notion that beauty is what defines art, the social relevance of the symposium would still be key. The inherently critical stance of artists invites reflection on social issues and could play a key transformative role, without being preachy. Addressing our current concerns would in fact enhance the impact of the symposium. The recent USC Institute of Armenian Studies daylong Artsakh Uprooted: Aftermaths of Displacement, although not a symposium of the arts per se, did an excellent job of highlighting the trauma of the Artsakh tragedy with a lineup of panels of scholars, film screenings, a photo exhibit, cooking demonstrations and a rap performance.

Armenians are known for their creativity and, as mentioned earlier, our creativity has kept us going in the darkest chapters of our history. The emotional appeal of the music of Komitas or of the song of Gohar Gasparyan has always been a powerful connecting device. Most recently, Artsakh’s own Vahram Papazyan Drama Theater and the Artsakh State Dance Ensemble toured internationally (US, Europe, Russia) in the unimaginably difficult days following the mass exodus of the Armenian population of Artsakh. That we are our culture must be true.

It could be argued that if we could bring artists and scholars together for a symposium of the arts, we could also bring together our community leaders to discuss our current problems, such as the Church/State divide which has acquired a worrisome course at a time when staying unified is key to overcoming the greater existential threat to our homeland. The challenge is bringing different voices into the same space so ideas can be shared and discussed.

Whatever the scope, outlining the goals of the symposium clearly is paramount.

A choice of venue that maximizes attendance would also assert our presence and, once again, reaffirm our art/culture as our most effective political tool.