The book, to my horror, contains lusty scenes of death and rape.
I felt like such a fool for recommending it… but I also didn’t want to touch a hair on my baby’s head. My baby being that “look inside” book review from Saturday. I felt so good and stupid and silly and funny inside when I published it, and although I keep getting more and more wrong as the days progress, as is the case with all my posts, for some reason I still feel no shame for this one. I only now feel worried that I have recommended a book that will inadvertently hurt someone. The “look inside” feature, of course, does not show any mentions of the c-word, used in the same paragraph as cleft peach. I wanted to vomit when I read that. Well it’s not vomit exactly it’s like my gut was twisted up in pain and horror. I hated those men then.
I love men so much, and is this how they think?
I felt betrayed.
I love too quickly, I assume wrongly, then the world reveals some shit and I want to rage against it then disappear.
I felt so good this morning until I read the end of the first story and the middle of the second story — the parts missing from the “look inside” preview on Amazon.
I woke up, and I felt fine. Though yesterday I had drunk a fair bit of wine.
But it was love-infused and beautiful and while watching A Good Year — my “favourite movie of all time” (should I have said that to them?) with the kids and T.
T did not drink that night. He had a couple of beers during the day but not at night. Yesterday, we both got a lot of work done and spent a lot of time with the kids. It was a gorgeous warmth-filled day, away from screens.
Alcohol: Okay so it opens up a world of love. Even as in Coover’s brother story, it shows the same. The brother and his wife share a bottle of wine after a brutal week, and are infused with love for each other and the world around them.
Why did the author end it that way? Without any expressed remorse for the dead wife? Only “I couldn’t hardly stand to look at her the way she was”
Was it showing why and how a biblical god could have turned against the world? Because the people were corrupt and callous? But the brother wasn’t all that. He helped his brother in spite of everything… while the biblical god’s star, Noah, in this version of the story, betrayed them all. Did not save the brother nor the brother’s pregnant wife.
I don’t know if I have the chops to be an author. I need writing, it seems (it seems! I must remember that! nothing is as it seems) like I need air and water, but the publishing is another thing. It at once enlivens me (as it did Saturday morning, I felt somehow drunk with joy) and later slays me. It is exactly like having a hangover. I think I’m so brilliantly stupid and silly and funny and then the next day I think what carnage is this? What lives have I inadvertently led astray? Whom have I unwittingly hurt? Yes even during periods of no wine for weeks… or even months.
So I want to un-publish that piece now. To avoid hurting anyone. On the other hand, I want to stop un-publishing things. I have to learn to accept my imperfect self — and thus my imperfect work — somehow. Otherwise I am Noah leaving his brother to die. And the brother leaving his dead wife afloat.
This morning I had written, in my head, a gorgeous Coover-esque journal entry of life in the past 24 hours, the asteroid fall and all that, but when I woke this morning (to T’s alarm, with a jolt, out of a disturbing dream that I can’t quite remember), I first used the toilet and decided to read a bit of the Coover book while there. I was riveted, couldn’t put it down, though racing more and more quickly through it, skipping parts, even, to seek the end as I became all the more horrified… and now my joyous mood, a hold-over from yesterday’s beautiful family day, is destroyed, I fear I shall never get it back.
Input ruins me, it really does…I should only read “look inside’’s and nothing else. The “look-inside” removes the horror… but the funny thing is then I am rejecting the true world. The true world with its horrors alongside its joys. I am instead feeding myself on sales-airbrushed rainbows instead of the squirming bug-infested bogs they are formed upon…
O how I wish I could get back my imaginary writing from this morning
I have finally re-read the second story without the breathlessness of my previous shock horror. Turns out there is no rape… there is only fantasy and big bang theory and volcano gods and bawdy men’s jokes.
The world is only the world. And Coover is a genius…
Nadine inhales & exhales words & images from current vantage point in Zone of Emptiness, France. Thank you for reading. ❤︎