Good Grief

Good Grief

In America, the land of Hollywood and happily ever after endings, commercialized medication will put a smile on the face of the bereaved. Why trudge through the methodology of grief when a Prozac band-aid will wash away the pain? Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, written by Jonathon Foer, confronts 9/11 and the ensuing wall of grief that event encapsulated. He captures his readers with his unwavering craftsmanship and dances them through the process of grief and bereavement utilizing humor, open mindedness, and an understanding of the process needed to promote healing.

According to John Gardner, who wrote The Craft of Fiction, a great author’s power comes from his sane humanness and his absolute trust in his judgments and instincts. In other words, the reader must be able to identify with what the author writes, and the author has to have a basic understanding of what will, and what won’t work. The author must be able to sustain the reader’s suspension of disbelief.

In Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Oskar, the main character, is not your normal 9-year-old. In fact, at times, he’s unbelievable. For instance, his favorite book is A Brief History of Time, he speaks French, and has a subscription to National Geographic, but doesn’t know whom Winston Churchill, Walter Cronkite, or Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald is. He hasn’t heard of the Berlin Wall or the Bay of Pigs. But because Foer has mastered the craft of writing, it’s easy to become immersed in Oskar’s life, to suspend disbelief, and to keep reading.

In The Art of Fiction, Gardner discusses how a master writer engages a reader’s attention by depending heavily on precision of detail. This reminds me of Ann Lamont’s book, Bird by Bird. How do you write? By putting words on paper a bird, or detail, at a time, by showing, not telling, and by painting a picture out of words for the reader to envision.

Jonathan Foer, a master craftsman, describes the bombing of Dresden like this: “I walked over an old man. I walked over children, everyone was losing everyone, the bombs were like a waterfall, I ran through the streets and saw terrible things: legs and necks, I saw a woman whose blond hair and green dress were on fire, running with a silent baby in her arms. I saw humans melted into thick pools of liquid, three or four foot deep in places; I saw bodies crackling like embers (211)."

Foer engages our senses of sight and sound, and later he includes the sense of smell and taste. He captures us with his imagery and bang I feel like I am in Dresden experiencing the waterfall of bombs falling from the night sky.

Gardner states that “aesthetic arthritis” will set in if a writer tries to adhere to a set of rules and regulation when writing fiction. Foer’s writing doesn’t need a knee replacement. Foer disregards several rules along the way. His dialogue, for instance, is difficult to follow because it doesn’t obey the proper quotation format. However, it adds to the authors voice and to the characterization of Oskar.

Foer utilizes some interesting devices to layer the story, like single sentences and single words on an entire page, a page where the words run into each other until the page turns black, long paragraphs, and unusual photographs. The single sentences and the blackout page enhance the character of the grandfather, who does not speak and communicates with a notepad. The long paragraphs belong to the Grandmother, who writes a letter describing her life to Oskar. This device added depth to her character. I didn’t think the photographs added to the novel. Having taken a couple of digital photography classes, I found myself critiquing the quality of the photos instead of letting them flow with the story. They distracted me, and I chose to ignore them.

Oskar, a precocious 9-year-old, lost his dad in the twin towers on 9/11. Oskar shares some of his symptoms of acute grief. For instance, he writes, “A lot of the time I’d get that feeling like I was in the middle of a huge black ocean, or in deep space, but not in the fascinating way. It’s just that everything was incredibly far away from me (37).” Oskar also expresses his feelings of bereavement by saying he’s wearing heavy boots.

As Oskar attempts to process his grief, he bruises himself. His mom takes him to see a Dr. Fein. At the end of their session, Oskar tells Dr. Fein, “I’m gonna bury my feelings deep inside me. No matter how much I feel, I’m not going to let it out. If I have to cry, I’m gonna cry on the inside (203).” Afterward, Oskar’s mom talks to Dr. Fein. Oskar overhears Dr. Fein advising her to put Oskar in the hospital. I rejoiced when Oskar’s mom disagreed with the doctor.

Death touches the lives of many, and Oskar’s grandparents and his mother also demonstrate various ways to dive into the bereavement process. For instance, the grandparent’s witnessed the devastation of Dresden. It made the grandfather mute. After the death of my husband, I got a week off. When I returned to work, I was advised to get over it, to pull myself up by my bootstraps, and get back to the job at hand. Only it felt like my right hand had been cut off. It wouldn’t do as I commanded. It took the Grandfather, and me, years to come to terms with our losses. Foer’s writing demonstrates that sometimes, the grieving process takes a long time.

When I read the back cover of the book, I thought, I can’t read this novel. My son, Nikolas, died May 8, 2008, a day before his 18th birthday. What torturous teacher would want me to pick at what little scab had started to form? How could I bare it?

Of course I read the book and I’m glad that I did. Indeed, I’m passing it along to my daughter and other family members. I’m recommending it to the young writers I mentor and to my friends. This short, easy to read, somewhat confusing, madly entertaining book has helped me confront my grief. Foer shared the in your face, all encompassing overwhelming feelings of complete and total loss of control, that familiar falling feeling I experience every time I think of my son, in the pages of his book. Life goes on in spite of my pain. It was refreshing to read about it, to know that I’m not alone, not crazy, don’t need medication, and yes, I can survive.