Easy enough to use our own experience in an essay, or as background for a character. Easy, that is, if we are writing about material gain or loss, social advancement or decline, incidental heroism, comedy high or low.
What, though, are we to do with tragedies which haunt us but which we are reluctant to explore or expose? If we are honest or brave or foolish – the three are similar, often indistinguishable – we dig into them as well.
That haunting tragedy is most often death of a loved one, the most severe emotional trauma most people ever endure. How can we write about that which we can hardly bear to think about?
I am an old man, and have lost many loved ones. Most, I can by now look at, talk about, write about; some few – my mother, for instance, who belonged in a Henry Fielding novel – I describe to my grandchildren with joy and humor. One or two others I cannot even name without tears.
All that as introduction to an essay by Joyce Carol Oates, in the current issue of The Atlantic. <http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/04/i-am-sorry-to-inform-you/8042/> It is an examination of what she thought, how she felt, how she dealt with the loss of another human being who had been at the center of her life for nearly fifty years. One of her thoughts was to doubt the value of writing.
The essay is rather long – nearly 5,000 words --but it deserves to be read as an examination of loss, as a study of the writer at work, and surely as a lesson in writing a personal essay.
Thanks for the link - very interesting read. On the same subject, you’re probably familiar with Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking - if by some chance you’re not, read it. You also bring to mind a small speech from a somewhat obscure play by James Saunders - a passage which a young Tom Stoppard greatly admired as an attempt to write the unwritable. Here it is in full; I suspect anyone who has felt grief will “get” this.
The one I’m most familiar with – the first one which profoundly influenced me – was “Redemption,” by John Gardner, a short story in which, Gardner said in a Paris Review interview, he finally was able to exorcise his demon.
Only a couple years later, Garnder was killed in a motorcycle accident.
Not that I am druid, but I don’t see how one can replace a souse in 5 months. Granted I have never been in that situation, but it my wife was lost I doubt I could even think for five months.
I agree but we are relatively young. If you are in your 80’s, your time expectations are much shorter. Also, if your spouse was failing for a very long time (say dementia) then you’ve actually been in mourning for years. I used to volunteer in an old folk’s home and I’ve seen a perfectly healthy spouse die within days after losing their mate. I have seen others fall out of love with their spouse as they become senile and fall in love with another patient because they no longer have any memories of their spouse. And, I have seen newly widowed people marry quickly out of loneliness. I have had to quit volunteering at the home because it was depressing me too much. I now volunteer at the local library so I still volunteer. The repeated losses simply got to me after several years.
Also, it’s quite possible that by the time you’re her age you’re more willing to make perfectly acceptable compromises with yourself and to see the few remaining years of your life as a gift not to be spent just mourning. I suspect she has wisely and luckily found a way to live out her years with someone she cares for without feeling she has betrayed the memory of her first husband. So who are we to judge?
In my own defense, I was not passing judgement as much as explaining my own feelings of “wow, only five months?”
On the other hand…
My son has a friend whose mother succumbed to complications of early onset diabetes. She held out for 5 years. About 2 years ago she encouraged her husband to start looking for a new spouse. So her son would have a mother. According to the sister (friends biological aunt) she met the person who was to replace her on her death. She passed away a year ago. They married February 14, 2010.
Do I understand it? Intellectually, yes. Emotionally, no. Then again, I have not had to watch my wife fade away. We have discussed what we want the other to do in the event of our demise, but talk is cheap. I don’t know what will happen if I am ever in this position.
the second half of this I agree with. The first, not so much. Should we “be true to ourselves”? If so then how can we compromise with ourselves? I can’t answer either of these. Actually, I {i]don’t want to[/i] answer them. Then I will be responsible to act on my answers.
Jowibou, Once I might have agreed with you, but then I got lucky. It can happen, and when it does, life is very good.
PJS, I apologize for my quizzical remark. I happen to know the parties well, and I much admired Ray Smith, the departed spouse. The quick remarriage startled all of JCO’s friends. Ray carried all her water (and baggage) for many years. So it’s a bit hard to swallow all of the crocodile tears in that recent memoir.
It does not begin to equal Didion’s account of losing John Dunne, the love of her life and longtime partner in writing fiction, nonfiction, and films. I knew them as well and greatly admire their wit, spunk, and bravery in the face of dire circumstances.
Glad to hear it. Whatever floats your boat. I’ve made peace with my selves, with the irreducible complexity of life, making up provisional rules as I go along. And here too life is very good - and never boring.
Cheers,
J
Thank you for the reply. It didn’t occur to me at the time how rude my comment must have seemed. I was tempted to bring Louise Erdrich – who I think may in decades to come be judged a better writer than Oates or Didion – into the mix, but want first to finish her latest book, Shadow Tag, about which Ron Charles in WaPo wrote:
