aprilhenry (aprilhenry) wrote,
aprilhenry
aprilhenry

"Frolicking in a summer meadow" - THIS is what I needed

I read a lot, but the older I get and the more I've written myself, the harder it is for me to fall head over heels into the world of a book. Instead, a part of me usually sits back and takes notes about what should be changed: that bit of dialog is expository, this character's actions have no motivation, that supposedly traumatic event just leaked away all the tension.

And then there is this: Mark Haddon's new book, A Spot of Bother. I recently re-read his The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime to my 11 yo. (Full disclosure: the book is particularly moving for me because my nephew has Aspbergers, and another niece and nephew are autistic.). When I first read the book the ending seemed nearly downbeat, but a second reading to my kid showed me the ending was more hopeful.

In A Spot of Bother, George Hall has become convinced that a spot on the skin of his hip is really some kind of horrible cancer. His doctor says it's eczema and prescribes cream. Here's what happens one night when George ends up watching a documentary about a man truly dying of cancer:

"Obviously it would be nice to go quietly in one's sleep. But going quietly in one's sleep was an idea cooked up by parents to make the deaths of grandparents and hamsters less traumatic. And doubtless some people did go quietly in their sleep but most did so only after many wounding rounds with the Grim Reaper.

"His own preferred exits were rapid and decisive. Others might want time to bury the hatchet with estranged children and tell their wives where the stopcock was. Personally, he wanted the lights to go out with no warning and the minimum attendant mess. Dying was bad enough without having to make it easier for everyone else.

"He popped to the kitchen during the ad break and returned with a cup of coffee to find the chap entering his last couple of weeks, marooned almost permanently on his sofa and weeping a little in the small hours. And if George had turned the television off at this point the evening might have continued in a pleasantly uneventful manner.

"But he did not turn the television off, and when the man's cat climbed onto the tartan rug in his lap to be stroked someone unscrewed a panel in the side of George's head, reached in and tore out a handful of very important wiring.

"He felt violently ill. Sweat was pouring from beneath his hair and from the back of his hands.

"He was going to die.

"Maybe not this month. Maybe not this year. But somehow, at some time, in a manner and at a speed very much not of his choosing.

"The floor seemed to have vanished to reveal a vast open shaft beneath the living room.

"With blinding clarity he realized that everyone was frolicking in a summer meadow surrounded by a dark and impenetrable forest, waiting for that grim day on which they were dragged into the dark beyond the trees and individually butchered.

"How in God's name had he not noticed this before? And how did others not notice? Why did one not find them curled on the pavement howling? How did they saunter through their days unaware of this indigestible fact? And how, once the truth dawned, was it possible to forget?"

"Unaccountably he was now on all fours between the armchair and the television, rocking back and forth, attempting to comfort himself by making the sound of a cow."



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Tags: a spot of bother, mark haddon
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