A Literary Memoir

This is probably the most personal review I've written in 10 years.

4.5

"The demon was now fully mature, and not all hypothetical. It was not a case, this time of, "If Diane should die someday..." but rather, "When Diane dies..." (...) And the question now was, How do I survive in the world without Diane?"

I often write reviews specifically for the next reader, an insight into my 2 cents opinion, but this one will be different. It is also a "thank you" to the author. You made me write again, sir (it's been almost a year since I've written anything but the usual limited character paragraph that fits social media in a rushed day. Thank you.

And if this is the result of reading your 229 pages, oh how I wish you had been my teacher during my 4 years of my Literature Degree (that's how long our European degrees were during my time back in 1997, and in my opinion, not enough. I did not grow up with Stephen King but in a house with Moby Dick and Charles Dickens, Thomas Mann Black Swan, or Magic Mountain... books that keep making more sense to me now as I get older, Thomas More taught me when I was only 17 that there is no perfection or Utopias in this world, nor Nietzche's superman: daily life events are more Kafka universe than anything else.)

So here is my literary review (forgive me readers for the length of it in advance.)

I am a human being (artist and writer because author is one more label on Amazon rankings or social interaction to punch and shut down, to hurt and rob of voice or motivation. Don't aspire to be an author. Be the best writer. No one kicks a writer...).

As a person I don't like people specially the ones too politically correct (here I relate to the aithor), with their entitlement and toxic positivity, so all my life I have listened, I have listened hard and carefully to all that people have to say (no matter who because denying knowledge even if that is to learn that some people should go back to first grade, lack of knowledge is denying evolution and self growth. I wish going to school was obligatory for life, like retesting people each time we need to renew our driver's license. How is that not a thing when we "drive" our lives, we are constantly crashing and hurting others with ignorance) So my hope was that maybe one would make me change my mind. Some people are drawn to true crime, I am drawn to what bruises them , what they can't let go, what is relevant to them at the end of their lives...

I never found one who made me like people (perhaps I liked their a lions in specific moments, like the author made me love his actions towards his wife), but in general towards humanity I was always befuddled by those who so much love say they love people, how they accept all types but in truth they just do it towards a closed selected group (forget all spectrum of colors, too many to advocate for, let's just say rainbow it's just one word. Whatever color is accepted let me know, because I never found the right one to belong to.) As a white woman, society tells me to shut up because white is privileged (although I am not seen as white in this country, go figure). As a straight woman it tells me to shut up (depends where I am on that day), as a Portuguese descendant tells me to shut up (daughter of colonialism, how dare you breathe). But I prefer not to shut up, not to erase myself, and be the best version one can be to change those dogmas associated with the many labels existing today...

So yeah, this book is written by a white privileged man and Democrat who voted for Hillary (woman and democrat, that is two points already for Gryffindor). Many will quit this memoir just because of that, or maybe because in the first chapters, the author calls himself out to all his faults, the possible racism incidents

I hope you don't quit, readers. I hope you read as far as Diane's death and get the honesty from a man who loved his wife.

(I didn't see the incidents as racism, in each specific tale I saw it as a child defying society, adults and rules as a baby test his mother for how many times she will pick up that spoon from the floor without snapping, it didn't came across to me as white supremacy. In the scene in the restaurant I think the child in you wanted recognition that your father marched for them to be there happy, and lets not forget that you and your siblings were paying respect to Aline instead of witnissing your mother's last breath, ok there were some a_sh0leness but that could have been targeted towards any stranger not because of color... I think, we all been there testing the patience of a teacher, it's the irreverence, the need for rebelion, or just boredom)

The author also points out imposter syndrome in a very cynical, honest (fun) and eurodite way, concepts of failure, inner voices, self-criticism, racial issues, self-hate, confessions, vanished language (these are keywords don't take them isolated, read the book and put them in context, give the author a chance to speak of these in hos literary engaging way.

Now... the middle of the book... Diane... On page 99 I had tears on my eyes. It's my favorite part of the book and reading about her in just a few pages made me care for her and recognize the love they had who could not stop death.

Made me want to thank the author as a mother thanks his in law for loving her daughter. Thank you for loving her, for being there for her, for doing all you could at the moment. When I was a teen (not trying to hijack this review, Joßse would say: too late for that, but he is not my alter ego, ergo progrediamur...) I attended my first funeral and a friend accompanied me, she whispered to me that all the people crying weren't crying for my grandmother but for themselves for losing someone they needed. Not because they wanted to continue to help her. That never left my mind, I felt selfish so from that day on I never cried in a funeral again. (It's not about you silly girl, it's about the deceased. The funeral is for them not you.) The author of this memoir put his wife first, was there for her, was doing all for her, even sleeping on a tainted bed because at the ment she was the only one who mattered. Holding her, loving her, not caring about anything else.

I cry because as an adult we want to feel loved like that, like newborns who vomit on their moms and their moms love them for all of it. Most of the times in life you don't even get a mother like that. So I cried with this chapter because I am thankful Diane was loved (again the selfishness I cried because I wanted that too).

It must have been a cathartic process, to write this book, and I am glad I read it.

"Acceptance of who you are, and of the work you have to do in the world, would make you (and the rest of us) feel so much better."

Get book here