Skip to main content

On RBG and Despair

 A friend of mine was being treated in a local hospital that specializes in treating her particular type of cancer. I had come to visit this friend, this very dear old friend whom I had not seen in several years, and whom, given the gravity of her illness, I might not see again....


The new Sigrid Nunez novel concerns a writer facing two kinds of despair. In one corner, the writer's cancer-plagued friend (who seems to be Susan Sontag, or Sontag-adjacent) wants help with the process of committing suicide. In another corner, another friend (who seems to be Jonathan Franzen, or Franzen-adjacent) can't stop shouting about the coming apocalypse.


One situation "comments on" the other. The Sontag character feels she is in a burning building and must jump; but maybe the burning is manageable, and maybe the pain of another day isn't something she fully wants to reject. Maybe suicide won't happen. And the Franzen character feels that life, now, is hollow and inexcusable; having children now is inexcusable; but of course the Franzen character continues to take pleasure in his grandchildren and to consume the Earth's resources for his own activities.


This is the entire story. The Nunez characters--unforgettable characters--seem just on the brink of surrendering to despair. And yet they persist. They have a hunger for finding out what happens next.


There is nothing sentimental in this book, and very little in the book is joyous. Nunez certainly doesn't present an "answer" to the problem of climate change, and she doesn't tell you what to do if you are dying. But--and Nunez basically acknowledges this in the book--there is something weirdly uplifting about having your own predicament spelled out for you in precise, rigorous, unsparing sentences. Nunez knows what it is like to be alive in America right now--and so, at the least, when you're reading this book, you feel you are not alone.


Nunez won the National Book Award in 2018; it was a case of a truly great and thrilling novel winning this particular award. (That rarely happens.) Nunez deserves to win once again, in 2021.


This is a good book to read in the midst of the RBG discussions, and it's a good book to read really at any point, I think. It won't grow old.


P.S. Just another thought on Nunez's willingness to be provocative. I'm going to quote from the book again. I don't think Nunez actually agrees with the Franzen character here. But it's still an arresting, startling passage. I keep remembering it. The contrarian takes on mindfulness:


How sad, he said, to see so many among the most creative, those from whom we might have hoped for inventive solutions, instead embracing personal therapies that promoted detachment, a focus on the moment, equanimity in the face of worldly cares. Self-care, relieving anxiety, avoiding stress: these had become some of our society's highest goals, he said--higher, apparently, than the salvation of society itself. The mindfulness rage was just another distraction....We should be utterly CONSUMED with dread. Mindful meditation would do absolutely nothing to right the Titanic....It wasn't a compassionate attitude toward others that might have led to timely preventative action......


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...