How to Notice and Use the Passive Voice in Memoir and 5 Good Reasons to Do So
With examples from Tara Westover’s Educated
by Brooke Warner
Read on Substack if you’d like to leave comments.
The topic of the passive voice came up in a Show Up & Write accountability group recently, and I’m grateful because doing a deep dive into the passive voice is a good reminder that range of voice and sentence construction always creates a better reading experience.
A simple formula for identifying the passive voice is this:
form of “to be” + past participle = passive voice
Examples:
• The letter was finished.
• The window was broken.
Example from Educated by Tara Westover, page 82:
The song finished and I returned to our pew. A prayer was offered to close the service, then the crowd rushed me.
One Memoir Nation member recently shared in the accountability group how surprised she was to discover how many times she used the word “was” in her work-in-progress. This was not so surprising to me, since a commonly cited revision tool for memoirists is to go through your manuscript and see how often you use the word “was.”
Why? Because it’s the past tense of the infinitive “to be,” and what are we exploring in memoir but the very nature of our experience: I am, I was.
Before we move on, an important note: not every sentence containing the word “was” is passive. Passive voice does require was (or another form of“to be”), followed by a past participle, but a sentence is only passive when something is done to the subject. A sentence is active when the subject does something.
In memoir, the subject is usually you. And in memoir, you are mostly doing things, but things are also being done to you. Which is why and how the passive voice can be a powerful way of framing your personal experience.
I’m a person who learns best by seeing examples in action, so what follows are passages from Educated, which I chose because I remembered Tara Westover’s use of the passive voice when I first read this memoir, and many readers of Educated over the years have commented on the ways in which Tara is acted upon in this book—by her brother, by her family, by society.
p. 99
”We tried not to name them, these beasts we hoped to tame, but we had to refer to them somehow. The names we chose were descriptive, not sentimental: Big Red, Black Mare, White Giant. I was thrown from dozens of these horses as they bucked, reared, rolled or leapt. I hit the dirt in a hundred sprawling postures, each time righting myself in an instant and skittering to the safety of a tree, tractor or fence, in case the horse was feeling vengeful.”
She was thrown—passive—by the horses. But all the surrounding sentences are active. Being thrown is the one moment when she surrenders agency to the horses, showing her helplessness.
p. 157
”I opened the picture book I’d purchased for the class so I could take a closer look. Something was written under the image in italics but I couldn’t understand it. It had one of those black-hole words, right in the middle, devouring the rest. I’d seen other students ask questions, so I raised my hand.”
This is passive voice at its most elemental. Something was written, and even if you don’t see it, what’s implied is that it was written by someone. The agent is just absent.
p. 188
”My wrist was folded,my arm twisted behind my back. My head was shoved into the toilet so that my nose hovered above the water. Shawn was yelling something, but I didn’t hear what. I was listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall, and when I heard them I became deranged.”
Three passive constructions in a row showing the violence being done to her (subject) by her brother.
To close, here are 5 good reasons to practice the passive voice, and to allow it to make its way into your writing:
1. To tell the truth about powerlessness.
Sometimes things simply happened to you and you had no agency over those experiences. I was thrown from the horse is more honest than any active construction would be, because Tara didn’t do anything; she was thrown. The grammar matches the experience.
2. To protect someone you still love.
Naming an agent means assigning blame. Words were said is much different than my best friend said fill-in-the-blank. Passive voice can be an act of loyalty, a way to tell the truth without fully indicting anyone.
3. To show where your consciousness was at the time.
As we saw with Tara Westover’s passages, when things are being done to your body and your mind has gone elsewhere, passive voice records that dissociation honestly. The body is being acted on; the self has left the building.
4. To let the reader feel the weight of an absent agent.
I was not believed can feel more raw than my family didn't believe me because the absence of a named subject makes the disbelief feel total and sourceless. Sometimes the missing agent is the whole point.
5. To observe rather than accuse.
Memoir walks a constant line between testimony and indictment. Passive voice allows you to put something on the record without turning the sentence into a verdict.
Weekly Inspiration!
Weekly Prompt
See Monday’s prompt from Memoir Showers (our final prompt before the end of this challenge):
What was your first job? Did you like it? How long did it last?
We’re providing a daily photo prompt as well, so check it out.
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Weekly Quote
“We are all of us more complicated than the roles we are assigned in the stories other people tell”
― Tara Westover, Educated
Weekly Question
Answer this in the Community.
What are your thoughts on the nature of the passive voice in your memoir? In your own memoir, do you feel that more of your experience are things being done by you (active experiences) or things happening to you (passive experiences)? Tell us whatever you’re comfortable sharing.
This week is a treat because at the heart of many memoirs are stories of people throwing themselves into meaningful distractions in order to not have to face the challenges and unravellings so common to adult life. In her new book, Why Fly, Caroline Paul becomes obsessed with learning to fly a gyrocopter as her long-term marriage is dissolving. In the show we speak about risk, about love and loss, and about the things that keep us grounded—and not. It’s the stuff from which good story emerges, and this week’s book trend is not about AI. Just kidding, it actually is, and we’re sorry.
Caroline Paul is a bestselling author, adventurous adventurer, and one of the first women to join the San Francisco Fire Department. She is known for non-fiction and memoirs highlighting risk-taking and outdoor adventure, such as Fighting Fire, The Gutsy Girl, Tough Broad, and most recently Why Fly. Paul has been a member of the Writers Grotto in San Francisco since 1999. Discover more about Caroline and her work at: www.carolinepaul.com.
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