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Well, well, well.
It has been five weeks since I have written a single thing on this site. In that time, Under the Dome, The Twilight Saga: New Moon, Going Rogue, have come and gone unread, unseen, unheard, unthought of by me.
I have been extremely busy during these five weeks doing three things:
- Falling Apart
- Falling Apart
- Falling Apart
When I get tired of those three and need a diversion, as it were, I spend some leisure time Falling Apart.
In books, Falling Apart has a sort of romanticized, Ophelia-like, flower-petal strewn appeal that is utterly lacking in the actual act of Falling Apart. People in books experiencing personal crisis seem almost heroic in their unhappiness, as if they are the Ones Truly Experiencing Life in all its many-splendored glory while anyone who isn’t suffering is missing out with their bland and monotonous happiness.
What a joke. What is Falling Apart really like? It’s more like stepping into the Total Perspective Vortex on Frogstar World B (see Douglas Adams' The Restaurant at the End of the Universe) and seeing the rest of your life stretching all around you into an infinity as bleak and unforgiving as an Antarctic tundra. A David Attenborough voiceover would be nice, but there isn’t one. Falling Apart is torturous and hopeless and completely unheroic. Particularly when it was your own actions that precipitated the whole thing to begin with.
There are a number of you that will now paw the ground in anticipation to know all of the dirty laundry details. You will be disappointed. Suffice it to say that I did not murder anyone. I did not fool about. I did not use unputdownable or tour de force in a review. I did, however, behave in ways that betrayed the trust of my husband, brazenly abused the generosity of my family, and endangered the future and happiness of my children. These are the things I see when I am in my own hellish little Total Perspective Vortex. Perhaps now you understand why writing about the latest installment in the Twilight movie travesty seemed scarcely important.
Now, I know a subset of you will sneer at this. “What one thing,” you will scoff, “can you possibly have done to result in such a melodramatic declaration?” You and I both know that is a reckless simplification – this sort of self-destruction doesn’t occur as a result of one stupid act. It’s always caused by a progressive series of bad decisions and reprehensible actions. It’s only the final bit that seems to trigger everything else that occurs.
Once upon another lifetime ago, when I worked at the veterinary hospital I’ve written about before at length (the place I got in the only shouting match I’ve ever indulged in at work when a gentleman co-worker accused me of listening ahead on an audiobook production of The Return of Sherlock Holmes in order to seem smart for guessing the answer to the stories; the place I read through the collected works of Agatha Christie, in chronological order, while answering phones 8 hours every day), I went through a phase of reading stacks of back issues of the New Yorker. It didn’t bother me that some of the issues were two or three or more years old. I didn’t read them for the news. I read them because I thought the writing was a thing of beauty and a joy forever.
I distinctly remember a New Yorker article in one of those magazines about Chernobyl. The popular perception of the Chernobyl disaster is that something went terribly wrong and, the next thing you know, you’ve got babies being born with three heads. But that isn’t how things happened. It was a series of awful coincidences and neglect all happening at the same horrible time. The alarm light of one part of the system was burnt out. The guy that was supposed to be watching for the signal light of a meltdown on another part of the system couldn’t see it from where he was standing. Another one of the guard guys wasn’t really paying attention that night and didn’t notice what he should’ve seen. All of that added up into one great big oops.
I am not calling my behavior a series of oops. What I am saying is don’t misinterpret what I’ve said into “Michelle did one inadvisable thing and she is now in meltdown.” No. I did a number of things that contributed to this jolly little outcome and I take full responsibility for all of them. Which is why I am so burdened now by guilt and remorse.
Guilt and remorse are two other things that are shockingly badly represented in literature. Have you ever noticed that practically everyone that feels guilt in a book is somehow vindicated for things they have done in some way? There is always someone else at fault for what they’ve done, which sort of cancels out any guilt they may feel. Or, at least any blame the reader may attribute to them.
I tried very hard to put the two neural networks I have that aren’t, like the other 99%, completely taken up with things like Unhappiness and Wishing I Were Dead, to the task of finding a sympathetic literary character that is, a) suffering from guilt and, b) not successfully blaming it on someone or something else.
Let’s take the most obvious examples. The first that leaps to mind is Briony Tallis. Guilt is what Atonement is all about. But does anyone really ever blame Briony? I didn’t. She was a dumb kid when she made the accusation she made, for crying out loud. Get thee behind me, kiddo. I’ve got it all over you when it comes to conscious wrongdoing.
Sethe from Beloved is another one. Her guilt is so extreme it takes on a physical form. But, again, how can anyone possibly blame Sethe for what she did to her daughter? She was driven to it. The guilt she suffers is of someone else’s making. Not a result of her own perverse choices.
Of course you’ve got your tell-tale hearts and Raskolnikovs, but, again, they’re a serious let down when it comes to bleak, barefaced guilt. It is really guilt they feel? Or just the fear of being caught?
The only literary character I could come up with that even remotely resembled my own hopeless state of having done wrong for no identifiably good reason, who can’t blame their reprobate state on anyone or anything else, and who didn’t get a single worthwhile moment out of their flights of wrongdoing was, painfully ironically, Quentin Coldwater. His inability to understand the reasons for his unhappiness and why he does anything that he does, even when it hurts him and everyone around him horribly, were the closest I could come to my own sorry self. But even Quentin didn’t hurt mass numbers of people, including his own children. Really, he only hurt Alice. And himself. Which makes me about ten thousand times worse than Quentin and Briony and Sethe and any number of murderers with beating hearts under the floorboards combined since I hurt everyone around me, flagrantly and expansively, for selfish reasons that even I can’t justify or explain.
What literature gets wrong about guilt and remorse is that, a large amount of the time, there isn’t a nasty culprit to blame for what happens. Sometimes, it’s just pure, unmitigated selfishness that causes all that pain. I wonder why authors don’t address this more often. Is it because it happens so seldom that no one thinks of it? Or because it happens so frequently – and is so painful – that we would rather believe that all wrongdoing has some dark and evil root and isn’t just the result of us just being very, very fallible humans?
None of this has been easy for me to write. I am embarrassed and shamed by my actions and even less enthusiastic to broadcast them. I am also weighed down heavily by the houseguests that have come to stay with me: Guilt, Remorse, Severe Depression, Suicidal Tendencies, Consequences, and, my personal favorite, You Did This To Yourself, So Why Are You Complaining About It? As far as I can see, this very individualized pack of Dementors/Black Riders/insert-your-favorite-fantasy-book-bad-guys are here for a permanent stay.
I should say something pithy here about Avoiding Certain Destruction and Not Doing Stupid Things That Will Ruin Your Life and Not Ending Up Like Me. But I can’t seem to rustle up such an Aesop-ish finish. Especially when I, of all people, have no good advice to give.
Understand that I mean all of these things in spirit and that I apologize completely to everyone who I have hurt by my stupid, thoughtless, and selfish actions.
That I am absurdly grateful to everyone who has been with me on this site since my inauspicious beginning and who have persevered with me through to this horrid point.
That, when the Book Examiner returns, she will be better, smarter, wiser, and stronger than she ever was before.
Comments
I'm sorry to hear you are feeling so tormented; I've always so enjoyed your voice in these reviews. One good literary portrait of "Guilt, Remorse, Severe Depression, Suicidal Tendencies, Consequences, and, my personal favorite, You Did This To Yourself, So Why Are You Complaining About It?" is Lois McMaster Bujold's Miles Vorkosigan, who in the novel _Memory_ manages, through a cascade of utterly stupid actions, to derail his entire career -- a career in which he had bound up his whole self-identity. His soul-searching and attempts to rebuild his life on a new basis finally lead to peace. Worth a read, as Bujold always is.
Michelle, you are one of the greatest people I know. After 16 years of being with you, and 14 years of marriage to you, I know no one your equal. No one.
I'm not only your husband, but your # 1 fan, and best friend. I adore you, your spirit, and our beautiful family. (And our children and extended family feel the same.)
Normally, I'd say this only privately. But I want everyone to know how wonderful you are. You're an incredible person and a tremendously talented one, and I will devote each day to rewarding you for your friendship, love, and kindness.
Love,
Keith
I was starting to wonder what had happened to you. Thank you for coming back, and what a wonderful reply from your own beloved. Made my day, Michelle, and I dont even know you :-)
Just looking in at what I can see from the outside, it looks to me like you and your husband are both blessed to have each other. Keep on keepin' on, folks. No marriage is easy, and I think the really good ones are even harder. But they're definitely worth the effort.
God bless,
Jim D.
I'm so sorry, I hope everything ends up well, and that everyone will forgive you, because you deserve it, I'm sure that right now you feel so awful that you think you don't deserve to be forgiven, but remember all the amazing things you have done for others, with your writing, and for those you love, it have not all been bad... And also is always good to remember that everything passes, nothing (not even really horrible things) remain forever... Once upon a time I used to think it was not possible to forget and really forgive, to forgive the pain that someone caused you, but it is possible, I've done it and I do think love can conquer many things, especially forgiveness... all my love and hope for you.
Hey Michelle. I'm so sorry to hear that you're going through some hard times at the moment, especially at this time of year.
Although I can't say that I've been where you are, I've been close to that point. It seems like the horror of it will never end, but "time heals all wounds".
I'm sure that you're the type of person that will make an effort to do whatever you can to ensure that the situation doesn't get any worse. I'm positive that you are most likely taking action to rectify the situation. Although not ever situation can be rectified, it's better to try than to let things slide.
When you fall down, you can either sit about and cry, or get up and move on. I hope you take the latter route, and I hope that things get better for you soon.
Oh, and by the way, in case you didn't know...
You rock!
No se preocupe. No se si hable español. Pero las cosas deben siempre ser asi: debes volver a pensar en las cosas que nos hacen buenos. Yo siempre he sabido que las cosas no llegan un dia de la nada. Tal vez nadie lo reconozca (no siquiera los escritores), pero todos sabemos nuestros defectos, pero solo hasta que nos llegan las consecuencias reaccionamos. No reaccione mal, sintiendo pena y desesperanza. Ay que decir, "lo arruiné, pero..."´. Así como nos quejamos de que algo es demasiado bueno para ser verdad, hay que decir que algo es demasiado malo como para durar. Yo mañana tengo una presentacion en mi escuela y, si me va mal, sé que la culpa no fue sino mia. Pero a todos hay que darles la otra mejilla. Mi mamá siempre me ha dicho que sea fuerte, que de nada sirve llorar o quedarse pasmado. A nadie le gusta alguien estancado, sino alguien que siempre está luchando. Por eso me cae muy bien usted y mi mamá. Jajaja, ¡mucha suerte en juntar los pedazos!
I´m gonna make a story that fits those characteristics, Mrs. Kerns, I will!
You have a group of fans who wish you well, including me. I've always enjoyed your articles and certainly have missed you in your absence. I hope to read more articles from you in the future. To make a very cliche quote "That which does not kill us will only make us stronger." Hey, at least it wasn't one of your pet peeves review quotes.
I've really missed you the last month. And I decided that there must be something sad going on in your life to have you silent for so long. So I want you to know that alerts about a new book examiner posting are my absolute favorite surprise to find in my inbox.
Michelle:
It's December 13, 2009: please post something to let us know you are OK. People care, even those you don't know, such as me, who admire you/your writing, love reading your column and consider you a role model for intelligent,funny and brave writing, as well as share you passion for books and reading. Everyone has issues, everyone makes mistakes, and you can get on the other side of guilt and remorse, even repair and heal a marriage and have it be stronger and better than ever. Someday this suffering can be a distance dream. It's hard work but doable. Don't give up. If you feel you are low on support and resources and think talking to a sympathetic stranger would help, you can find my e-mail on my Examiner site. And btw, thanks for the info on Lev Grossman's "The Magicians." I have bought the book for one of my sons for Christmas. He will love it. -- Kathye
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