grief

Widow: Stories

mandy — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

The collection of stories in Michelle Latiolais’ Widow pull at a common thread – shading, sketching, and putting together a picture of what it is like to walk the Earth as a woman who has lost her husband. While none of these women carry any outward signs of trauma, the lens through which each of them sees the world has shifted, leaving each of them off-kilter. In many cases, the characters are left watching as life unfolds in slow motion before them, experiencing every excruciating detail with a painful clarity and the knowledge that this may not change.

Latiolais’ mastery of storytelling colors each story with a singular kind of grief, even as it offers playfulness, pain, humor, and history. The actions and thoughts of each character are imbued with meaning and weight beyond that of any casual activity. The reader is left with a sense that every choice the widows make has been somehow tagged by the death of her husband and is made in some effort to come to terms with this new view of the world.

The author walks the fine line between becoming morbid and being flippant amazingly well. Each story is told with a measure of respect and reverence, so as to engage the reader in the tale and draw out emotion without weighing so heavily that it is painful to read.

Widow is a book for anyone who has ever been in a loving relationship and felt the sting of separation. Above all, these are poignant stories of humanity, love, and life experience that ring true and leave the reader with a deeper understanding of love and loss.

Written by: Kari O'Driscoll, March 21st 2011

Remedies

beth — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Kate Ledger

Amy Einhorn Books/Putnam

“When you [lack] words to make others understand your truths, you [stand] apart from the jabbering masses. You alone [possess] proof of your unique and involuted humanness, and through that, contact with something divine.”

Our ability to experience pain is what makes us human, but it is our inability to describe pain that brings us close to god. In moments of great crisis, religious rituals provide us with the right words to say. But when we turn toward what is beyond our understanding, do we do so because we feel ourselves rendered mute by trauma or because we are looking for a quick fix to our pain?

Kate Ledger’s premiere novel, Remedies, centers around Simon and Emily Bear, an affluent couple who seem incapable of saving their marriage. Simon is consumed with his work as a physician, treating patients suffering from chronic pain, and this blinds him to the growing resentment of his wife and their daughter, Jamie. A confident performer in her fast-paced career, Emily doubts her ability to be a good mother. She finds that her need to be closer to Jamie gains urgency even as Jamie resists her, and especially as she feels herself disconnecting from Simon. As their marriage and family life disintegrates, Simon and Emily reflect on their roles in the world: their careers, their marriage, their relationships with their daughter, and their unspoken pain over their son who died as a newborn.

Remedies is layered with symbolic landscapes. After the death of their infant son, Simon placed their son’s things in a box labeled “Baby.” The box sits on a shelf in the basement of the Bears’ home. Emily has never opened the box and, in fact, avoids going into the basement at all, just as she has never visited the baby’s grave, just as she and Simon avoid having any conversations about him. The basement is also the physical threshold between Simon’s home and office, an indication that Simon has compartmentalized his life, but the fact that the last physical traces of the baby are stored in that transitional space indicate that Simon’s worlds cross over in complicated ways.

Ledger creates dense domestic surfaces—the distant tone of the narration and the tendency toward sketches make this book feel chilly; Simon and Emily are so disconnected from one another, it is difficult for the reader to connect to them. Reading Remedies is something akin to visiting a national park and observing the landscape from behind a velvet rope while listening to the park ranger on your earphones. There is no opportunity to get close to anything, to touch anything. What you experience from your limited vantage point is tempered by the voice in your ears and is, unfortunately, too much like what you’ve expected to see.

Remedies ends dubiously, deus ex machina, with Simon crying in a synagogue. Frustratingly, although Ledger’s finest writing surrounds Emily in the penultimate part of the novel, what the reader learns of Emily in the final part is through Simon, in effect, shortchanging her. Ledger creates a tenuous parallelism between Simon and Emily: predictably, while Simon grieves in a synagogue, Emily, alone in her apartment, angrily stabs a painting of her lover who has returned to his ex-wife.

Though the ending gestures at resolution, nothing is actually resolved. Simon decides that he will ask Emily for her forgiveness because he feels reassured by the space of the synagogue, by common prayer: “Open Thou my lips… age-old proof the words [don’t] come easily.” As anyone who has experienced pain knows, words do not come easily, but while we muddle through our lives as we can, knowing that there is no such thing as a quick fix, Ledger’s Simon Bear unconvincingly takes a quick fix for a permanent one.

Written by: Elizabeth Brasher, October 28th 2010

Thousand-Cricket Song

annette — Fri, 24 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

By Catherine Strisik

Plain View Press

Thousand-Cricket Song is a compelling collection of poetry. My copy is smudged with fingerprints, creases, and other signs of wear from the use I've given it in only one month. I often read one poem at a time, and found myself needing time to consider new ideas or read up on history. The subject matter is heavy; poet Catherine Strisik spent time in Cambodia. She wrote her poetry based on her observations there.

Usually, her writing style is simple, straight-forward, and speaks for itself. These are the poems I love the most. At other times, she gets a bit too enthusiastic for details, offering long, sometimes muddled, prose. I say this with some restriction, though. It's difficult to blame someone for needing to paint a perfect picture from memory.

There's so much good in this book, that I need to restrict myself from naming too many titles. "The Woman At Pol Pot's Grave" is possibly the best of the best. "The New Holy Medicine" is so perfect that I want to hear it spoken over a musical background. Her poems concerning genocide, suicide, miscarriage, prostitution, and rape make me want to heal the entire human race. I was often surprised by and unprepared for these details. Words hit us hardest when they are based on truth.

Though Catherine covers the trauma and tragedy of Cambodia's history, she also embraces its beauty and relationships. Women, children, residents, and friends are sometimes weaved into parties and temples. Her poem "Seeing Hands," written about her intimate experience with a blind masseuse, is now counted with some of my most favorite poems of all time. Most importantly, she openly admits to being a complete outsider and awkward observer in "In The Nail Salon, Siem Reap." The author is obviously humbled in the company of genocide survivors.

Pick up a copy of this collection if you want to learn, grieve, and be blown away.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, September 24th 2010

Against the Current

admin — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Directed by Peter Callahan

Fortissimo Films

As Paul Thompson in the surprising and moving Against the Current, Joseph Fiennes has the deep, burned out eyes of a man who no longer cares for life and yearns for his misery to end. Yet he still has a dream: to swim the length (150 miles) of the Lower Hudson River. He also has another goal when he completes the first one: to make a decision whether or not to kill himself.

It’s not easy to pull off a film about a thirty-something, handsome man like Paul who is still wallowing in excruciating despair five years after the tragic death of his wife and child. Director Peter Callahan wisely lightened up the film’s mood by choosing to send a couple of fun, cool friends along with the bummed-out widower for the big swim: Jeff (Justin Kirk) and Liz (Elizabeth Reaser). Their job, along with providing emotional support, is to drive a boat alongside Paul as he swims. Paul climbs aboard for rest periods after pushing himself to meet daily mileage goals.

Philosophically, the film asks the questions: do some people get more pain than they can bear? Is there a point at which a person knows the struggle to overcome is fruitless? Played powerfully and nobly by Fiennes, Paul needs to swim the river to prove he tried to swim through the tears of his grief. After that, he will know in his heart what he must do.

But it is Justin Kirk who makes the movie come alive: every gesture, remark and expression add up to a totally riveting performance. As Jeff, Kirk plays a sarcastic realist who also has a heart of gold that he keeps under wraps by cranking out lots of wisecracks and indulging in childish silliness. A solid loyal friend, he offers Paul a generosity of spirit and empathy while simultaneously brooking no pact-breaking nonsense. (After the death of Paul's pregnant wife, Jeff made Paul pledge not to kill himself for at least five years.) Jeff hopes Paul will work through his pain and get to the other side of it. It is now five years later and the pact will expire as soon as Paul finally emerges from his watery trial onto land in Manhattan.

Also along for the ride is Liz, a woman Paul met at a bar. She is searching for direction in life and, without knowing fully the extent of Paul’s inner turmoil, agrees to accompany the guys to help on the boat. She wants to have a fun adventure and just plain have a get-away from the limbo-like life she is leading. Little does she know what lies beneath the surface of this trip.

As the boat moves further along the Hudson, the friends decide to make a pit stop at Liz’s mother’s house, as she lives close by. The mother, played by the vivacious, triumphant Mary Tyler Moore, is all manic energy, nosiness, advice and fist-pumping optimism. Moore enters the tragic tale with a bang and speed-delivers a refreshing dose of comedy.

The metaphor of river as life could have been yawn-inducing, but in this director’s hands, it is beautifully and richly alive. The murky darkness of the river matches Paul’s mood while the summer sky overhead seems like a call to the brightness of hope and better times.

Written by: Cheryl Reeves, January 4th 2010

The Sand Castle

admin — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

By Rita Mae Brown

Grove Press

Sometimes, you can judge a book by it’s cover. In this case, the front cover of the book in question depicts two women in bathing caps and red lipstick and resembles a scene from an Esther Williams movie. The opening paragraphs of Rita Mae Brown’s The Sand Castle establish a short story encompassing a memorable day at the beach, as recalled through the eyes of seven-year-old Nickel Smith, a child with a sharp eye and ear attuned to the events and conversations taking place in the adult world surrounding her.

Nickel, her cousin Leroy, her Aunt Louise and her mother have made a day trip to the beach to lift their spirits after the recent loss of Leroy’s mother (and Louise’s daughter), Ginny. Nickel is attentively listening to her mother and Aunt’s conversation as they navigate their way to the beach in the “new black Nash with the dull gray interior.”

In the tale, Brown relies heavily on period specific dialogue and detail to establish the setting and characters in her story. The Hunsenmeirs are glamorous, independent, bickering but loving Chesterfield-smoking sisters. Julia, Nickel’s mother, is the sassy younger sister, provocatively cursing, mocking and otherwise provoking Louise. Louise, the dour older sibling, has sought solace in religion since her daughter’s death, taking all opportunities to quote scripture to her family.

Throughout the story, the author relies on telling over showing, employing long passages of overdrawn script-like dialogue between the sisters to fill out the narrative. Observations about the main characters and the larger family dynamics are relayed to the reader from Nickel’s point of view, which is far too astute and complete for a young child, even a precocious one. Passages such as “Mother, sidestepping the bait for a fight dangled by her older sister-just how much older also a ripe subject for contention,” render the tale more trite than heartwarming.

Allow me to conclude by employing another well worn phrase or cliché: Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Brown’s account of a family affected by grief made me ask “So what?” at the story’s end. I do not believe angst is more worthy of literary attention than happiness or humour. While the light tone itself makes this work distinctive, due to the pedestrian pace of the story, lack of revelation, or change in any of the characters, the work is only the sum of its parts. This brief read merits borrowing from the library for reading on your own beach holiday.

Written by: Ruth Cameron, December 19th 2009

Fatherless Daughters: Turning the Pain of Loss into the Power of Forgiveness

admin — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 01:00:00 +0000

By Pamela Thomas

Simon & Schuster

I recently saw an Oprah show on hoarding. At a certain point during the program, the two women featured on the show said they could trace this psychological condition back to losing their father. Both women were married when they lost their fathers (one is now divorced and the other is separated from her husband) and both have children. I mention this because in our society we treat grief as a luxury we can’t afford to dwell on rather than a necessary part of life we can’t avoid, and this lack of compassion and understanding for grief and loss seems to resurface in myriad ways in people’s lives.

When I lost my father three years ago to complications related to Alzheimer’s disease, even though his death was not entirely unexpected, I found myself thrown into a maelstrom of emotions. As a freelance writer and editor, I couldn’t have imagined returning to work after the typical one or two weeks of mourning that most companies typically allot to their employees. I also found that our culture exerts a certain amount of pressure on one to get back to life as quickly as possible and not dwell in your grief for too long. While I tried to get back on track both personally and professionally, my unfinished grief seemed to haunt me, and I found myself feeling unmoored and ungrounded in the world. In my grief journey, I have continued to seek out books and resources to help me understand how to navigate through this uncharted territory.

Reading Fatherless Daughters is another step in this process. In this book, Pamela Thomas explores the impact that the loss of a father has on women of all ages. Whether through death, abandonment or divorce, the loss of a father has a profound influence on a woman’s life. For this book, Thomas interviewed women ranging in age from nineteen to ninety-four. Most of the participants lived in the U.S., but she also spoke to women living in Canada, Mexico, and Japan.

Thomas explores our commonly held attitudes about fatherhood and provides a historical and cultural perspective. She references various works on the subject, including Luigi Zoja’s book, The Father: Historical, Psychological and Cultural Perspectives. As Zoja points out, the concept of fatherhood came late in our evolutionary process, and our notions of masculinity and fatherhood have traditionally been at odds with one another. The idealized version of fatherhood from 1950s television shows, like Ozzie and Harriet, has often contrasted sharply with the reality of fathers who viewed their primary role of that as breadwinners.

While one might assume that losing one’s father to death is easier than losing a father to divorce or abandonment, this isn’t always the case. Every woman’s journey of grief and loss is unique, but there are some common themes such as the primary roles that a father represents in a woman’s life: protector, guide to the world at large, breadwinner, alternative parent, second opinion, and male role model. The loss of this important figure in one’s life can have a devastating impact on one life. Allen also devotes a section of the book to the stages of child development and how losing a father at a young age can have a lasting impact on one’s life. When a woman loses her father at an early age, she tends to experience more insecurity and doubt in her life often manifesting in relationship related issues such as fear of abandonment, anger, low self-esteem, problems with assertiveness, and issues with commitment.

While I found this book to be a well researched and informative read, I found I could only read a few chapters at a time. However you choose to read this book, the fact remains that we will all experience loss and grief in our lives. The compassion we extend to ourselves and others during this time seems to be key to finding our way to the other side of grief. This book can be a helpful guide for that regard.

Written by: Gita Tewari, November 25th 2009