On the Magic of Reading the Right Book at the Right Time

2011 at 5am     Posted by Rebecca Joines Schinsky

brief history of the dead kevin brockmeier

I stayed mostly offline this weekend. As much I’m a person who processes emotions verbally—sometimes I don’t really know how I feel about something until after I start talking about it—there are some things I just can’t write about, some things I need to take stock of privately. I was thinking about this on Saturday when someone I follow on Twitter recalled her diary entry from 9/11, sending me running to the storage closet in my office to dig out my journal from 2001.

Most of that day is a blur to me. I know where I was when I heard the news. I remember calling my parents to tell them I was okay (I was two weeks into my freshman year of college then). I remember the emotions. But I couldn’t remember if I wrote anything about it. So I checked, and there’s a 10-day blank through the middle of September. I couldn’t write about it then, and I can’t write about it now. It’s not something I want to talk about here. That’s not what this blog is about. So I didn’t write a post to mark the day on Sunday.

Instead, I did what I usually do in the face of overwhelming feelings: I spent the weekend with a book.

More specifically, I spent the weekend with Kevin Brockmeier’s A Brief History of the Dead, in which people who have died live in a city (ostensibly it is either THE afterlife or a step along the way) where they continue to reside as long as someone alive on Earth remembers them. When there ceases to be someone on Earth to remember them, they depart from The City. Like the other Brockmeier novel I’ve read, The Illumination, it’s a slightly magical story about connectedness and how we are tied to each other in a million more ways than we realize. Of course, I didn’t know this when I picked up the book Saturday morning. All I knew was that I liked the author’s other work, and I wanted to read something from my personal TBR, and this one had been sitting on the pile for far too long.

The Brief History of the Dead is a gorgeous, mesmerizing, occasionally frightening book, and I would have loved it no matter when I read it. But I happened to read it the weekend of 9/11, when I was already thinking about loss and memory and connectedness, and the more time I spent with it, the more perfect it seemed.

When you don’t have a religious practice, you miss out on all the ritualized framework it provides for dealing with difficult moments. I didn’t go to church or to a public ceremony this weekend to think about 9/11 or to ponder the meaning of life and death and what might happen after. I didn’t even tune into the TV coverage. I didn’t need to. I had a book, a book that presented itself to me at just the right moment, as books always seem to do, and if that—the power of literature—is the big thing I believe in, that’s more than enough for me.

Expanded from this tumblr post.

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