Tag: Death

  • Personal Review: Arcadia by Lauren Groff

    (Spoilers, I think. I’m writing this now, but it might change.)

    I got Arcadia as a Christmas gift back in 2015, and then never read it. I want to believe that I am normal in that regard; that I receive books as gifts, and then never get around to reading them… for like a decade. In my effort to catch up on my reading, I made the time for Laruen Groff’s book. As I am a fan of her short stories, I was looking forward to reading one of her novels.

    Arcadia is about a guy named Bit, and the novel follows him through his life; childhood, adolescents, and adulthood. Bit’s real name is Ridley, but when he is born to his hippie parents, he is a very small baby, and is nicknamed “Bit” because he is “Little Bit of a Hippie.” His parents are part of a hippie commune on a sprawling, but neglected, upstate New York estate, Arcadia, which the commune is in the process of repairing and repurposing. This is the first section of the book, and it establishes the dynamic between the community, leadership, and family life for Bit, and the community as a whole. The next section of the book deals with the Arcadia, and the second wave of people who want to join the commune. Here we find Bit in his adolescence, experiencing love and sex, and the pressures from his parents to behave and act in support of their desires and goals. Inevitable, all of this leads to the breakup of the commune, and Bit’s family escapes to New York City. And though there are several sections, the book moves into the third part, which is Bit’s adulthood, and the creation of his own family.

    I will say this, the first section does go on. It is laying the groundwork for this novel, and it does pay off in the end, but getting through it did feel taxing at times. What we are getting in this section is seeing this world through Bit’s eyes, and his not fully understanding what is happening. We see the dynamic between his parents, Abe and Hannah. We see Hannah’s bouts of depression, and her inability for a time to get out of bed. We also learn about Bit’s empathetic nature, his desire to care for others as he is taken in by the women who handle the childbirth in the commune. Arcadia is a magical world to Bit, yet Bit also thinks the whole world is like Arcadia. It’s an innocence that we know is doomed to conflict with reality eventually. This point is made with the end of the section as Abe falls off the roof of Arcadia house, breaking his back, and leaving him in a wheelchair. I respect the point that Groff was trying to make, but I didn’t like the way it was executed. Abe’s accident is treated like a button to end the section, like a dramatic trick to get the reader hooked to move on to the next section. It felt odd against the flow of the prose and the telling of the story.

    With this ground work completed, and Bit entering adolescence, he begins to view Arcadia differently. He starts to notice the divisions between adults, the hypocrisy of the commune, and even his parents lack of commitment to the commune’s ideals. This is when the novel starts to pick up. A plot is laid out, actions are taken, and Bit starts to develop into a rounded character. We are also given Helle, the daughter of the commune’s leader, and the girl that Bit is in love with. She is a troubled girl, and more than just a free spirit, she wants to run as close to the razor’s edge as possible. She is destructive, and Bit’s attraction to her is understandable; he thinks he can save her. The commune is now being inundated with new arrivals, runaways and burnouts, who aren’t interested in the communal living so much as being away from society. As I said before, this all culminates with the commune breaking apart, but what I found very interesting was how the nearby Amish community stops by. In a sense, the Amish are an older version of Arcadia, but on the opposite end of the spectrum – ridged, disciplined, and closed off. The Amish hang on the edges, as if saying there is a way to make this work, but it is work, and not sex/drugs fun. The world does come crashing in, and when that happens, this book tells us the only people you can count on is your family, ideals be damned.

    And we jump to 2018, which was the “future” when this book was published. Bit is now an adult, having been living in New York City since the fall of Arcadia. He is a photography professor at a NYC college, and father to a daughter, Grete, whose mother is Helle. It is explained that Bit and Helle reconnected later in life, and though she tried, Helle cannot change who she is, and continues her destructive ways; she up and leaves Bit and Grete, and is never seen again. I want to give credit to Lauren Groff here. I think every other writer on the planet would have had Helle come back at the end of this book, to have some sort of reconnection or closure. I loved that this book has shit happen to people, it doesn’t make sense, and they have to deal with it. Bit and Grete have to be hurt, and learn from it, and move on, but that doesn’t mean the hurt goes away, or doesn’t stop affecting them years later. It was an honesty that I wasn’t expecting in this story, but was so grateful that it was there.

    I say this because the climax of the novel is Hannah’s slow death. It is handled with a brutal honesty and also with a poetic melancholy, which mixed together in an authenticity that was wonderful and difficult to read. Watching the person you loved first in life, slowly waste away, and become the shadow of themselves is one of the cruelest acts in life. The pain is immeasurable, deep, and crushing, and all of that is shown here. It made me have flashbacks to my mother in her final days in hospice; it was so painful, but I wanted to be there for her, so she wouldn’t be alone in her final moments. I sympathized with Bit, and I saw how all the events and experiences he had been through had prepared him for that moment with Hannah. It wasn’t surprising that Bit crawled into bed and didn’t get out after Hannah passed away. And it also wasn’t surprising that Bit pulled himself out of that bed after a week. After everything he had been through, I knew he could handle this. He was hurt and wounded, but his family did prepare him for this world.

    But, the real reason why I loved this book, was Groff’s prose. I have been trying to find a way to describe it, but the world I keep falling back on is poetic. Every word feels deliberate, contemplated, and purposeful. Maybe the plot/narrative had a few minor issues, but the prose, the language, was impeccable. It captured a feeling of the commune, but also of an idealism and connection to nature, and between the characters, which was so vital to the emotional development of Bit. Yet, the language also evolved with Bit as he grew, never staying stagnant. It is an impressive accomplishment in writing.

    I’m embarrassed that I waited so long to read this book. I’m also embarrassed at how impatient I am with novels. I want stories to get going NOW! I have forgotten that a good novel needs time, which might be one of the most obviously naïve things that I have said in a while. Clearly I needed to be reminded. This story took it’s time to create the journey it’s characters needed to take; one that allowed them to grow, become better versions of themselves. And the ideal society we need is the one we create with our family, and the friends we keep. Who we let in, and who we choose to love.

  • Short Story Review: “Alisa” by Lyudmila Ulitskaya (Translated from the Russian, by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.)

    (The short story “Alisa” by Lyudmila Ulitskaya appeared in the April 3rd, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Yes, I will SPOIL this story.)

    Illustration by Golden Cosmos

    The story “Alisa” by Lyudmila Ulitskaya is translated from the Russian, by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. But I’m pretty sure you knew that from the title of this post. When it comes to translated works, I often wonder how different the piece sounds in its original language. In college, I read three different translations of “The Cherry Orchard” and though the plot stayed the same, the tone of each version was radically different. This was a thought that crossed my mind as I read “Alisa.”

    “Alisa” is a tight little story that I found myself drawn into quickly. The piece focuses on Alisa, a woman who is in nearly perfect health at sixty-four. She lives alone, has no family, and after a brief fainting spell, begins to think that she would rather commit suicide than get to the point where she will need someone to take care of her. She finds a doctor whom she asks for sleeping pills, and she is honest with her intentions. The doctor, Alexander, doesn’t agree right away, but soon they start on a relationship that leads to them getting married. I want to leave it there, though I will spoil the story a little later, I want to leave a few surprises for you.

    What impressed me with this story was that it went in two different directions, and tied up wonderfully together. This was a well-structured, and built story. At first I thought I was getting the tried and true “reason to live” story, such as Alisa wants to die, but then she finds love and wants to live. And she does find love, with those moments of between her and Alexander being very poignant and tender. As their love grows, Alisa never forgets that even with a commitment of marriage, nothing lasts forever. So, when Alexander is killed in a car crash on his way to the hospital to see his daughter and new granddaughter, the surprise is in how he died, but not that he died. Ulitskaya did a very good sleight of hand/misdirection of foreshadowing, laying out the clue, but not in the way you expected. And when Alisa decides to raise Alexander’s granddaughter, as the mother slips into mental illness and cannot take care of the child, there are clear moments that preceded this decision, where it was shone to us why Alisa would come to this conclusion. All of this leading to a satisfying conclusion where Alisa has grown and changed from where we first met her, while also allowing Alisa to retain a quality of her character that still hasn’t changed. Again, I don’t want to ruin the last line of the story, but it’s fits very well with the narrative and tone.

    Which gets me back to my first question about the translation and the original tone of the story. In this case, I didn’t find myself wonder if something was lost. The intention and tone were clear, and worked together in a very effective story. Maybe it was just a “reason to live” story, but I left feeling satisfied that Alisa got to have that time with Alexander, and that she was happy where her life had taken her.  

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  • My Insurance Wants Me Dead

    A couple of posts back, I had mentioned that I went to the cardiologist, as I was thinking I was close to death because my jaw hurt and I was short of breath going up the stairs. Sure, being out of shape and having a cavity might have been the easy and logical conclusion for my ailments, but I went to the doctor anyway. Now, I wouldn’t characterize his response to me as flippant, but he did not believe my demise was imminent. He ran some tests, nothing bad came back, but to be safe, he thought I should come back and get a stress test.

    And then my insurance stepped in. Word came from The Castle, via a voice mail from a number that was identified as a “Spam Call” that the procedure that was requested by my doctor was denied. No justification or explanation was given by the AI voice that delivered this information. But, the voice went on, if I felt that this decision was incorrect, I could appeal by calling their automated phone line, or visit their website to use their automated IM chat service. Either way, I was promised that I would not have to talk to a human, and in the reverse, they created a system where the people of the insurance company didn’t have to talk me. Thusly, human interaction is eliminated.

    I find it odd, that the for-profit health insurance industry, specifically the company we have, likes to remind us that they are in the “people business” and that “our health is their business” as well. And the more I thought about it, I don’t think I have ever spoken to a human at the insurance company in the three years we have been with them.

    Then I started to think that maybe this insurance company is headquartered in one of those empty Midtown Manhattan office buildings. That it’s just a building full of computer mainframes, and rows and rows of empty cubicles and offices. That these computers make decisions based on bottom lines and liability probabilities, which in the end, the algorithm decided that seeing if my life was at risk wasn’t worth it. I was just a datapoint. Datapoints for as far as the eye can see…

    Now I have to call my cardiologist and see if he can get this denial changed. I guess he has the phone number that connects you to a person, or a better automated AI system.

  • Short Story Review: “Returns” by Annie Ernaux (Translated from the French, by Deborah Treisman.)

    (The short story “Returns” by Annie Ernaux appeared in the November 14th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Yes, I will SPOIL this story.)

    Illustration by Sébastien Plassard

    The New Yorker publishing a shorty story by Annie Ernaux for this issues, is the equivalent of a company softball team bringing in a ringer to bat cleanup; Like this story was going to be bad. Such is the world of publishing a Nobel Prize winner writer.

    But why was it good?

    The story is simple, or, more like, is direct and to the point. Plot wise; Daughter comes to visit her elderly mother who lives alone. But the first sentence sets the tone for the piece succinctly:

    The last time I saw my mother at her home, it was July, a Sunday.

    Immediately, there is a feeling of sadness, mourning, even regret, coupled with Summer and a feeling of relaxation as it is a Sunday. We are loaded with emotional information that only us and the writer know. We have been made a confidant as well as a witness as to what will follow.

    The story is told in three sections, three acts. The first, the introduction of the setting and characters, as well as showing that there is some awkwardness between the mother and visiting daughter. The second section goes deeper into the awkwardness between mother and daughter, showing that the teenaged years were difficult and filled with fights and screaming. These are two people trying to make amends; the mother wanting to daughter to stay longer – offering gooseberries -, but the daughter is willing to leave early if the conversation lags. And the third section, the narrator acknowledges that the mother has no power over her anymore. The memories of the narrator’s former life come back to her, again showing that she was unhappy there, and wanted to leave. Then a stray cat arrives, which the mother feeds and allows to stay, and for a short time the mother and daughter find a subject of conversation. And then the climax, the daughter goes to leave, but the mother gives her a form she needs help filling out, but the daughter refuses to do it at that time. The daughter promises to fill it out and send it back to her mother at a later date, which upsets the mother. Then the narrator describes leaving the town, and how the places fade behind her in the distance. Finally, we learn the mother soon suffers sunstroke and is admitted to the local hospital. When the daughter returns to the home, she finds the gooseberries in the refrigerator that she forgot to take, but now the berries are spoiled and brown, liquid lump.

    This story flows easily like water in a stream; it gently takes you where it wants to go. It moves so well, that all the little tricks to elicit an emotional response are but ripples on the narrative. We know that death is coming from the first line, and short stories love dealing with death, but Ernaux talks about death by not saying death. It is hinted and lingers in the background of what is to follow. As the story continues, there is the tension between the mother and daughter, shown by the slight bickering about locking the front door. Moving deeper in, we learn the reasons for this tension, knowing that this is not something that is easily overcome. But these two don’t hate each other, as when the cat arrives, we see that they can connect and share. But as we know, all visits must end, and we see how the mother tries to prolong their time. By this point, we understand each characters motivations, what they want, and how they cannot give the other what they need. The melancholy comes through these passages. These are the last moments, and this last interaction isn’t acrimonious, but also not affectionate either. This is the parting one has when you believe there will be another Sunday, and another chance to make up for lost time. It is all implied, and never directly spoken. And as the daughter rides the train home, and she does love her mother, from her description of leaving, we know that she doesn’t want to be there. And when the end of the story arrives, as we knew it would, the gooseberries in the fridge serve as the button for the story; the lost opportunity that withered and died.

    In talented hands, storytelling seems so simple and effortless. Breaking this story down, examining it, it’s like I can hear the important notes that Ernaux is hitting in the middle of this melody of a story. It is impressive, this level of skill.

    Annie Ernaux doesn’t need my endorsement, but she is a ringer.

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  • Short Story Review: “Come Softly to Me” by David Gilbert

    (The short story “Come Softly to Me” by David Gilbert appeared in the October 17th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Millie von Platen

    Sometimes a story comes along, and calls me out on principle. Such as, a story will ask me, “If you were okay with this trick being used in that story, then you have to be okay with this same trick being used in this story, right?” That is what I feel “Come Softly to Me” by David Gilbert did. I mean, if I was okay with “Wood Sorrel House” not making much sense, then I should be okay with this story not adding up.

    Now, I’m not saying all of this to be derogatory to David Gilbert. I did like his story. I enjoyed the different elements of the family interacting with each other. The quick glimpses of issues family members had, and how they were either dealing with them or hiding them. I picked up easily on the blanket of death and mourning that was all tucked into this story, and not that this diminished the piece, as I felt it added a depth.

    Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this story was an excerpt from a novel, or had once been a part of a novel. There were a great number of characters mentioned, and it felt like even more ran in and out of this story. Everybody had a backstory, and in a few cases, I wanted to know more about them, and not so much about feeding tubes. As the story came closer to the ending, I was expecting a payoff of all these tangents being pulled or tied in together. But that didn’t happen. What occurred was a ceremony, which did connect to the theme of the piece, but wasn’t really explained.

    Hence the feeling I was being called out on principle. I have pointed out and defended many short stories that have contained inconclusive endings with the reasoning being that a short story need only have a rise in action, and not a conclusive climax, like a novel, if theme or character or mood is the driving force of the piece. As such, I find “Come Softly to Me” is that type of short story.

    Yet, I still found myself wanting more from the story. That’s a compliment to the writer and the story, and perhaps that is the reason why I felt like there was a novel connection to the creation of the story. But wanting more can also create a feeling of frustration, though I was enjoying this ride.

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