The Black Veil: A Memoir with Digressions

by Rick Moody

The author weaves together past and present and family legend as he shares his personal story of dealing with depression, and his search through his family's paternal lines to find clues to his melancholy.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, Biography, Biography Memoir, Psychology, Medical

323 pages, Hardcover

First published May 6, 2002

About the author

Hiram Frederick Moody III is an American novelist and short story writer best known for the 1994 novel The Ice Storm, a chronicle of the dissolution of two suburban Connecticut families over Thanksgiving weekend in 1973, which brought him widespread acclaim, became a bestseller, and was made into the film The Ice Storm. Many of his works have been praised by fellow writers and critics alike.

Reviews

[Orsodimondo · Rating 3 out of 5]

QUALCHE PROBLEMA A ESSERE FELICE



È una storia di padri, e io mi aspettavo una storia di figli.
Non è neppure una storia di padri anagrafici, biologici, naturali, ma di avi più o meno legati da un pallido filo di parentela.
Mi aspettavo, e volevo, la storia del figlio Rick Moody e di suo padre e del padre di suo padre: ho trovato una storia che gira intorno a Hawthorne e a un suo racconto, a un Moody “dal fazzoletto” e all’America che fu e ancora è.

Le pagine di Rick su Rick sono belle e vibranti, e se ne vorrebbero di più.
Le pagine sui Moody del Settecento e dell’Ottocento sono interessanti a tratti, e sono sicuramente troppe.

Rick scrive:
Vorrei riuscire a ricordare di più, vorrei che la memoria non fosse solo una serie di desideri, una serie di incasellamenti per proteggere la propria identità, come catene di motel sui cigli dei canyon…
Ma a che ti serve la memoria, Rick, perché devi sforzarla, se la maggior parte delle pagine le dedichi a ricerche d’archivio?
Per dividere il tempo dall’eternità non ti serve la memoria: ti basta aprire un file di Word e prendere appunti.



All'inizio dell'ultimo capitolo Rick scrive:
Quando iniziai a scrivere questo libro, mi dissi che non avrei nascosto niente. Tutto ciò che mi riguardava, purché fosse significativo, doveva essere utilizzato.
Ma l'elenco delle cose rimaste fuori da queste pagine è più lungo di quelle incluse.

È vero, a un certo punto scrive:
un modo di raccontare storie in cui la digressione non è un limite bensì proprio l’obiettivo, in cui il racconto della storia è più importante del suo argomento.
E il sottitolo recita “memoir con digressioni”: ma è sbagliato l’ordine dei sostantivi, si tratta di digressioni su una traccia di memoir.



Questa volta m’hai proprio preso alla sprovvista, Rick, e non mi ha fatto piacere. Ti ho trovato nella più lucente corona d’angeli in cielo e adesso penso di cercarti in una tempesta di ghiaccio o in un americano rosso.
A presto.
Tuo affezionato,


Rick Moody

[Seth Sawyers · Rating 1 out of 5]

I've tried. I respect his trying, too, to break out, to do it his way. Like Belle and Sebastian, like Thomas Pynchon, Rick Moody's just not for me.

[Joshua Nomen-Mutatio · Rating 1 out of 5]

Rick Moody has moments, these brief little flashes of great prose. However the overviews of most of his stories and novels tend to be far less appealing, to put it kindly.

I literally threw this book across the room once I got to the final string of paragraphs which are merely a list of things that are black.

"I oughtta punch you in the face!"
-Upright Citizens Brigade

EDIT: Ok, this book wasn't so terrible. The way it ended though just drives me up the wall. He goes from describing his sister's tragic death to this evasive, meaningless (and frankly cowardly the more I thnk about it) stylistic wankery in the blink of an eye and ends the fucking memoir ("with digressions" lest we forget) on this sour, meaningless note. Argh!

The only passage I can really think of that hit me squarely in the gut—the place I want to be hit while trying to step inside a autobiographer's skin—is when he describes his Christmas time visit to his family. The visit that results in him having some sort of psychological breakdown seemingly brought on by nothing besides the possible causal culprit of his protracted descent into alcoholism. The descriptions of his desperation and embarrassment and inability to enjoy the festivities all while hidden, terrified and despairing thoughts ricocheted 'round his head was sharp and about as sincere as his recounting of his life (w/digressions) can be seen through this opaque "veil". I just wish more of the book had maintained this quality.

[Gabriel · Rating 1 out of 5]

This book bordered on being a complete waste of time, not because of the presence of anything, but rather because there was really nothing in it that went beyond a general recounting of Moody's life. It wasn't unreadable, but I came out of it with basically one idea.

The one thing I got out of it: I liked the idea that (loose paraphrase coming) entire lives have been left unexplored simply out of the fear of hearing our father's angry voice.

[Matt · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm not always a Moody partisan. I find some of his books to be pointlessly clever or even ugly at times. But this one really worked for me, and that's a hard sell for a couple reasons.

First, I feel like the whole "I'm a writer not an academic and I'm going to school you critics" kind of approach to literature one where writers I otherwise respect often embarrass themselves. I might not agree with Moody's interp here, and especially what he wants to be his takedown of J Hillis Miller, but he does the work-- this is, over the course of the book, a long, sustained, and thoughtful reading of Hawthorne's story. He's a good reader of the story, and a good reader of the context that produced it. He makes connections that are compelling and rich, and well, I liked it.

Next, the digressions, whichever they are, were interesting. I guess I didn't know a lot of this stuff about Moody, the memoir bits, and really felt like they were handled very well. I like, strangely, that there's not so much about writing here-- I mean, it's present, it's clear that's what Moody "does," but it's not what the book is about, as much as its about alcoholism and depression and etc.

Finally, there's some dynamite writing here-- the first and last sections, especially, are amazing. The last really reminded me of Ander's writing, which was weird. But just as important, Moody gets out of the way in other sections, more or less, and let's things unfold in relative clarity.

Really, a solid book, well-conceived and executed.

[Edward Amato · Rating 4 out of 5]

I very much enjoyed this book and found the dialog very thought provoking. It is exactly as advertised, "a memoir with digressions," that made following the story line much like a maze. I was surprised at how low other's rated this book but it had many of the elements of a story that I liked: focus on family, genealogy and history; the author's ability to share his experience of drug/alcohol abuse and mental illness; another example of the difficult transition from child to adult that makes me feel that my parents and family were true gifts.
This is the first book I have read by this author and am intrigued to read more. The ending of the book was a bit startling and very thought provoking.

[unnarrator · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's odd--leafing through some of the other reviews, I apparently liked/didn't like this for entirely different reasons from its other readers. I'm not nonplussed in the least by his purported inscrutable erudition, enjoyed the delicate fencing-parries he offers at Hawthorne by means of a college acquaintance with Derrida, and wasn't even that hellishly bored by the long chapters of genealogical research (if my family were half as interesting as the Moodys, I'm sure I'd do exactly the same thing).

It was more that...that what. That for one thing he has an occasionally teeth-grinding habit of fragmenting his sentences. For no reason. <—e.g. --I love stylistic affectation to some purpose, but this baffled me. And pissed me off. Then too...the meat of the story is of course his hospitalization in rehab and that was skated over with glossy ease. Maybe I'm the victim of having read tooooo many Crazy Lady memoirs, and I've come to expect a certain level of confessionalism or at least revelatory detail. But this was like "...aaaand then I just stopped drinking!" and I'm all Wha? Really? Just like that?

Am I just so trained on the current genre-flavor of Memoir that when I'm handed something the least bit different, I go all to baffled pieces?

I do like all the virtuosic passages everyone else seems to hate. And I love, as in The Ice Storm, his precise reenactments of the suave horrors of suburban childhood.

Plus everyone and their dog on the cover copy/blurbs keeps talking on and on about how he suffered from "addiction and depression" when he doesn't sound depressed to me at all, it sounds like some form of OCD (with excruciatingly obsessive phobias about being raped/violated) so, no wonder he failed on all the SSRIs, which he just kind of tosses out there in an aside.

I don't know, Thomas Pynchon and Michael Chabon and Sven Birkerts loved it, so I'm just being a bitch. And goodreads won't give me three and a half stars.

PS an equally inadequate description of life on a locked unit; but then I give it to Daphne that this is just an article, not the whole blooming memoir--and look, we've tried all the same meds!

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/10/mag...

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

Neglected Literary Classic Destined To Be Remembered Alongside "Angela's Ashes"

With "The Black Veil", Rick Moody has written a brilliantly realized memoir which I suspect will one day be remembered as well as Frank McCourt's "Angela's Ashes". Indeed there are many passages throughout "The Black Veil" which rank alongside "Angela's Ashes" for their elegant literary quality. If some readers - and I might add, book reviewers such as the infamous Dale Peck - have been frustrated with "The Black Veil", then I suspect it may be that Rick hasn't written nearly as engrossing a tale of survival as the one depicted by Frank in "Angela's Ashes". It also probably has hurt Rick that he has told his tale in a nonlinear fashion, jumping to and fro between various points from his childhood to early adulthood, while trying to mingle successfully with his memoir, writing a thoughtful literary exploration of the Nathaniel Hawthorne short story "The Minister's Black Veil" (The entire story is reprinted in its entirety at the end of "The Black Veil".) and of his own biographical odyssey in search of Joseph "Handkerchief" Moody, the ancestor who inspired Hawthorne's short story.

Among the more memorable passages are those relating to Rick's mental collapse and rehabilitation in a psychiatric clinic in Hollis, Queens (a New York City neighborhood in the borough of Queens) back in 1987. Indeed, I might add that I found most refreshing his acknowledgement of personal flaws such as drinking which led to his hospitalization (This is in stark contrast to what I read in Frank McCourt's "Tis", in which I perceived - whether correctly or not - that Frank was more willing to blame others for his own problems rather than acknowledging his own responsibility.). I also found rather interesting his relationships with his brother, sister, parents and grandfather, though I shall note that none of these are nearly as memorable as the anecodotes which Frank recounts of himself and his brothers in the dirty lanes of Limerick in "Angela's Ashes".

(Reposted from my 2006 Amazon review)

[Elise · Rating 3 out of 5]

Moody puts quotes and references in italics, braiding together his voice and often Nathaniel Hawthorne's, a lot of genealogical and literary sources, etc. I did not miss footnotes. It might be helpful to read Hawthorne's appended "The Minister's Black Veil" before the book, which I did not do, because I did not realize it was there.

Representative quotes:

Moody's introduction to the book: "If birds will describe the obsession, I will break away to describe the birds I have seen; if baseball will describe the obsession, I will break away to speak of foul-outs and pop-ups of my life; because I am myself the matter of this book, you would be unreasonable to expend your leisure on so frivolous a subject, as Montaigne advises. Get to know my book the way you would get to know me: in the fullness of time, hesitantly, irritably, impatiently, uncertainly, pityingly, generously."

Moody goes to Wal-Mart to buy material for his own makeshift black veil: "If you accosted a Wal-Mart employee at random and demanded of him or her the location of the soul, how would she or he reply? I'll see if we have those in stock. They should be over on the third aisle, beside the health-and-beauty aids."

[Suzanne Macartney · Rating 3 out of 5]

When one needs a break from the contrived nature of novels, there's Rick Moody. Especially this one. Its semiautobiographical, and semi-narrative. You get the impression you're eavesdropping on thoughts meant to be private. It's deep, feels real, but is not so much uplifting for the experience. Partly I think it's fascinating to witness someone who can't hold his life together and partly its the satisfaction of his unique voice.
The veil theme played out just fascinated me.

Publisher's weekly review:
Melancholy is a way of thinking. After having a panic attack Christmas, 1986, there are therapist visits and drugs prescribed. Then in March Moody experiences irrational thoughts, blackness. He ends up in a psychiatric hospital in Queens in 1987.

The writer began the book seeking to conceal nothing. It is an interesting amalgam of family history, personal history, and descriptions of the writer's craft. The Hawthorne story is presented at the end of the book

[Abraham · Rating 3 out of 5]

You have to give moody credit for never bowing to the demands of genre and tradition. He is unerringly in search of a truer approach to whatever he's working on. This memoir is a fantastic example of that. It is experimental and, in the end, not mind-blowingly fun to read. Still, it meanders meaningfully, drops into literary criticism, family-tree research, and over to the well-trod areas of traditional memoir. He works with a Hawthorne story as an over-the-top metaphor, and proceeds to undermine the authority, or certainty, of that metaphor. It becomes a story about seeking truth and the Wobblyness of that search. His sentences are always fun, and his paragraphs generally exuberant. The overall structure can be a bit tedious, as you, the reader, find yourself having to develop the same interests that come naturally to him over the course of the book. It's worth reading if you are interested in breaking the genre of its tired tropes.

Oh, and Dale Peck is a jerk.

[Monica Copeland · Rating 3 out of 5]

A brave and intelligent read, although he sometimes lapses into a list of a sentence that wanders into suffocating pretension (listing black at the end, for instance). There are times where you have to slap your brain and make it focus so you understand what he said...and times where the slap isn't worth it because he's middling--as I say, just at times-- and a bit lost. But, that's the point of the book... I hadn't heard of this Hawthorne story --The The Black Veil--due to my genetics-based scorn of Hawthorne's work and was happily surprised in my interest anyhow. Nothing better than a good memoir, and this is even a great memoir, mostly.

Today, I'm all about dashes.

Worth all the effort it took to make myself finish it. You should give it a shot.

[Antonia Crane · Rating 3 out of 5]

While hunting for structure in memoir, I spied on "The Rumpus" and found a reference to this book. It's framed within Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Black Veil" which is interesting, but I'm not convinced it works. It's literal thread is formal and lofty when it could be captivating and urgent. The digressions are pretty great at times-beautiful phrasing-but also self indulgent and tedious. What resonates the best are the relationships in the book, which are sick, like the author. Some sentences are absolutely stellar. But overall, I'm enjoying it. It's very dense so I wouldn't read this book when you're less than fresh.

[Jason McGathey · Rating 5 out of 5]

A memoir like no other. Alternating chapters detail his life story, and chart a road trip he and his father took through the old stomping grounds of author Nathaniel Hawthorne, an ancestor of Moody's. The Hawthorne chapters in all honesty are probably something you'd only want to read once, but the confession chapters I return to again and again - his battles with insanity, drinking, drug abuse, and old girlfriends as well as the ongoing struggle to commit his impulses to paper make this a fascinating work. No fabricated James Frey "Million Little Pieces" nonsense here, just honest reflection.

[Emily Kramer · Rating 3 out of 5]

I often have theories that depart quit drastically from their original subject, much like my theory about Rick Moody's message in this book. Without much evidence to prove my case, I say this book describes depression as the lack of identity whereby you take on the guilt of any history that has come before you. Even where you haven't committed a crime against your own moral conscience, you might just do so at any time without being clear how, when or why it happened. So it's a darkness brought about by the things you might do, even as they may never occur.

[Annabel Smith · Rating 3 out of 5]

There were some amazing parts in this book, but they were interspersed with some historical ramblings about Nathaniel Hawthorne and Moody's family history which I found really dull, and after a while stopped reading altogther, just paging through until I got to the next part.

The sections about Moody's breakdown were facinating and the language was so alive. This is the first Rick Moody I have read and I definitely want to read more.

[Larry Scarzfava · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow--Rick Moody never ceases to impress me. This work is funny, heart-rending, insightful, analytical, and readable all at once. So often I found myself relating to Moody's past experiences, allowing them to conjure up similar episodes from my own past.

[Elyssa · Rating 2 out of 5]

I didn't enjoy this as much as I had hoped. It was arduous reading that I do not recommend.

[Brent Legault · Rating 3 out of 5]

The memoir wasn't much, but the digressions were first rate.

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

His ambitious first memoir (in the age of memoir) and a fine one combining the quest of origins, genealogy mixed with a literary lesson, and a very personal narrative.

[S · Rating 1 out of 5]

The first 3 and last 3 pages are good. The rest is tedious.

[Evelyn · Rating 3 out of 5]

Whilst I haven't always gotten along with some of Moody's novels, his semi-autobiographical memoir, The Black Veil, is undoubtedly an intriguing read. Like some of the best memoirs that I've read, this one feels like a rollercoaster ride through someone's life, taking in the good, the bad and the ugly, as Moody depicts his struggles with mental health and breakdowns, alcohol and drug abuse, as well as his relationship with his father.

The only thing that really puts me off giving this book any more stars is the alternating narrative throughout, as chapters are interspersed with family history (some of which is really dull to read unless you're a Moody superfan), a bizarre road trip with his father and the actual timeline of his memoir, which leads The Black Veil into a disjointed sense of stopping and starting. If you can get past that though, you'll be enthralled by some of the stories that he tells.

[Garrett Rowlan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Excellent book to end the Goodreads Challenge of 2020. This book challenges the usual staid memoir by presented the protagonist as a troubled youth despite his considerable achievements (which are only glossed over at the book's end), dismissing them as not germane to the book's probing of an ancestor's black veil worn in shame after accidentally shooting a childhood friend. The ancestor, one Handkerchief Moody, cloaked his features in a way similar to the veil worn by the Minister in Nathanial Hawthorne's story "The Minister's Black Veil." The story is summarized (and later at the book's end reprinted in full) with critical commentary and seems a metaphor for the author's own troubled relation to his family, country, and the sometimes bewildering task of being an American in these times. And just an excellent, inventive writer.

[Matt · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an extraordinarily strange (in the best sense of that word) book. It is also an astonishingly original work. The fact of Rick Moody using Nathaniel Hawthorne's story "The Minister's Black Veil" as the axis on which the book turns is rather a brilliant stroke, taking the reader in a new and startling direction. The book does remove the veil or give the reader a look behind it. Indeed, the intent would seem to be an explication of the the reason for the veil, for the author and anyone heeding this most unusual work.

[Joshua · Rating 1 out of 5]

Surprisingly, and in my opinion, unreadably dull. Extended riffs on Nathaniel Hawthorne (also dull, in my opinion), distant family history, and his own miserable depression. Catalogues of black things. Catalogues of other Hawthorne-centric criticism. With one exception (a review of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, which seems to have been pasted in from some other project) there is nothing to connect the author of this memoir to music or writing. Avoid.

[Jill Flanagan · Rating 3 out of 5]

While I thought the book was better than the other reviews I've seen posted here, I think the average rating of 3 stars was accurate.
The rambling narrative does connect in important and interesting ways but still this book felt unreasonably long given what Moody is trying to say and I often struggled to not lose interest as it tends to jump all over the place. Nevertheless it is quite good in places but it feels like the book needed a less sympathetic editor.

[Max Nussenbaum · Rating 3 out of 5]

I picked this up because of how much I loved Moody's novel The Ice Storm . But this one disappointed me: not enough alcoholism/recovery memoir, way too much family history/New England travelogue.

[M. Sarki · Rating 3 out of 5]

I may return to it and finish one day, but it is just too boring. I am surprised given my past experience reading Rick Moody.

[Lawrence · Rating 3 out of 5]

.

[Stuart Cooke · Rating 3 out of 5]

Read now, it's hard not to see this as Ben Lerner-lite, or as proto-Lerner, or as a set of materials that were meant for Lerner but somehow ended up in Moody's hands.