![]() ![]() ![]() While teaching, she befriends Miles, an art student taking her critical theory course, who was a soldier in Iraq and a guard at Abu Ghraib. Seeking to develop their conceptual, moral, and emotional negatives, she travels to the home of Howard and Ruane Scott to meet the man and see the violin. It is the story of a pilgrimage to acknowledge both photographs and appreciate how they came to be. With this juxtaposition, Sentilles sets about to unravel their complicated legacies and reveal their common thread: war.ĭraw Your Weapons is an odyssey. In her Preface, she acknowledges, “I began writing these pages after seeing two photographs.” One was an innocuous photograph of a man, Howard Scott, holding a violin, while the other was of an unidentified detainee from Abu Ghraib. Sentilles’s staccato collection presents as a meditation on the pulsing heritage that underscores life and death. My curiosity in tracing such steps is mirrored in the method of Sarah Sentilles’s exquisite bricolage, Draw Your Weapons. ![]() Or, perhaps, more like footprints, grounding the text with the imprints of others, and the interaction betwixt the author and those encountered. They are the seeds to the book’s germination, sprouting, and eventual blooming. ![]()
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