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Meditations from a Movable Chair: Essays
The twenty-five luminous and intensely personal essays in this collection are, like Andre Dubus's celebrated short stories, a testament to the author's vulnerability, vision, and indestructible faith. Since losing one leg and the use of the other in a 1986 accident, Dubus has experienced despair, learned acceptance, and, finally, found joy in the sacramental magic of even the most quotidian tasks.
Whether he is writing of the relationship with his father, the rape of his beloved sister, his Catholic faith, the suicide of a gay naval officer, his admiration for fellow writers like Hemingway and Mailer, or the simple act of making sandwiches for his daughters' lunchboxes, Dubus cuts straight to the heart of things. Here we have a master at the height of his powers, an artist whose work "is suffused with grace, bathed in a kind of spiritual glow" (The New York Times Book Review).
Whether he is writing of the relationship with his father, the rape of his beloved sister, his Catholic faith, the suicide of a gay naval officer, his admiration for fellow writers like Hemingway and Mailer, or the simple act of making sandwiches for his daughters' lunchboxes, Dubus cuts straight to the heart of things. Here we have a master at the height of his powers, an artist whose work "is suffused with grace, bathed in a kind of spiritual glow" (The New York Times Book Review).
224 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1998
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About the author
Andre Dubus
93 books268 followersAward-winning author Andre Dubus II (1936–1999) has been hailed as one of the best American short story writers of the twentieth century. Dubus’s collections of short fiction include Separate Flights (1975), Adultery & Other Choices (1977), and Dancing After Hours (1996), which was a National Book Critics Circle Award finalist. Another collection, Finding a Girl in America, features the story “Killings,” which was adapted into the critically acclaimed film In the Bedroom (2001), starring Sissy Spacek, Tom Wilkinson, and Marisa Tomei. His son Andre Dubus III is also a writer.
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August 12, 2021
Leggere Andre Dubus è per me come tornare a casa.
Il suo modo di scrivere è così "umano" che non può lasciare indifferente il lettore; scrivo meglio: il modo di scrivere di Dubus, mi smuove e commuove.
La sua vita è divisa da ciò che era prima dell'incidente e ciò che è stato dopo l'incidente: la notte del 23 luglio 1986, mentre stava guidando da Boston a Haverhill, per soccorrere due fratelli, è stato investito da un'auto in corsa. Avrebbe potuto lasciarci le penne in quell'incidente. In realtà, la menomazione subita è stata grave: ha perso una gamba e l'uso dell'altra.
In questi venticinque racconti autobiografici, Andre Dubus (di cui è ricorso l'anniversario della nascita l'11 agosto scorso) non solo parla di sé, della sua ossessione (quella cioè di non possedere più l'uso delle gambe), ma anche di letteratura, di diritti di tutte le persone disabili, di fede, di famiglia, di amori e di figli, dei suoi desideri, delle sue fragilità.
"Non pensare a quello che vorresti. Pensa a quello che tiseve." Gli dice così la donna che per un nno è stata il suo ministro straordinario dell'Eucarestia. Questa frase mi ha molto scossa.
"Che cosa mi serve, mentre me ne sto seduto in quest'auto? Coraggio? Pazienza? Penso che l'unica cosa che mi serve è che questo dolore mi lasci stare. Mi ruba ogni energia. E non è un dolore intenso."
Non sono queste sue parole valide sempre? Valide per chiunque stia soffrendo, non solo di un male fisico, ma anche di un male spirituale/mentale?
E il dire "Che cosa mi serve adesso?" al posto di "Che cosa desidero?" non cambia forse il punto di vista della nostra vita?
Ancora, "Mi devo sforzare per non essere impaziente o irascibile. Qualche giorno fa, ho letto che uno degli insegnamenti filosofici dei samurai è trattenersi dal rispondere - finché non si veramente in grado di farlo - invece di reagire. Ci devo lavorare." Queste sue parole, le ho sentite così mie, di nuovo.
Quante volte mi trattengo, perché sto imparando a farlo. Perché rispondere quando si è mossi da una reazione è il più delle volte la cosa da non fare, perché foriera di guai, incomprensioni ulteriori, rotture.
Un altro saggio che mi ha colpita molto è "Un racconto di Hemingway". Dubus scrive di "In un altro paese", un racconto di Hemingway a lungo analizzato con gli studenti del suo corso.
Ma anche qui, c'è un prima e un dopo: la visione di Dubus di "In un altro paese" prima del 23 luglio 1986 e una visione dopo l'incidente. "In un altro paese" non solo parla delle cure, e dell'inutilità di alcune cure, come ha sempre detto ai suoi studenti prima dell'incidente.
Ma "Questa storia parla anche di guarigione. Il magiore continua ad andare dove stanno le macchine. E non ci crede. Ma ogni mattina scende dal letto. Si lava i denti. Si fa la barba. Si pettina i capelli. Si mette l'uniforme. Lascia il posto in cui sta e cammina verso l'ospedale, e si siede nelle macchine. Ognuna di queste azioni è un allontanamento dal suicidio. Dalla disperazione. [...] La sua ma non guarirà, ma un giorno incontrerà un'altra donna. E l'amerà. Perché è vivo."
Anche di questa raccolta posso dire la stessa cosa che Dubus dice del racconto di Hemingway. Dubus non ha paura a raccontarsi, a raccontare il suo dolore per quegli arti persi che non gli saranno più resi indietro. Non prova vergogna nel mettere su carta i suoi fallimenti, il suo matrimonio naufragato, la sua fede incrollabile in Dio, il suo disagio nel riprendere a vivere su una sedia a rotelle.
"Un arciere Zen non cerca di colpire il bersaglio. Con intensa concentrazione, tende l'arco e aspetta; è il bersaglio che fa rilasciare la freccia e la attira a sé."
Dopo l'incidente, per Dubus tutto diventa dono e la sua vita si trasforma in un canto di compassione e gratitudine. Per lui scrivere diventa l'occasione per ritornare là dove tutto è andato in frantumi. Non certo per liberarsene, ma "per andare in quel luogo e trovarci una musica, e vedere se in quel posto c'era luce."
E dopo averlo fatto sedimentare e raffreddare, "Tutto quello che ho scritto qui sembra piatto: i fiati stonati, la batteria fuori tempo, il piano scordato. Ma oggi è arrivata la luce: sono qui."
Penso che questo sia il testimone che Dubus consegna ai suoi lettori. Non importa quante volte andrai in frantumi e nel rialzarti (spiritualmente o fisicamente) ti dispererai perché hai perso parte di ciò che eri. Non importa. Cerca tra quei frammenti di te la luce. E una volta trovata, ringrazia per il dono ricevuto e canta il tuo "sono qui.".
Il suo modo di scrivere è così "umano" che non può lasciare indifferente il lettore; scrivo meglio: il modo di scrivere di Dubus, mi smuove e commuove.
La sua vita è divisa da ciò che era prima dell'incidente e ciò che è stato dopo l'incidente: la notte del 23 luglio 1986, mentre stava guidando da Boston a Haverhill, per soccorrere due fratelli, è stato investito da un'auto in corsa. Avrebbe potuto lasciarci le penne in quell'incidente. In realtà, la menomazione subita è stata grave: ha perso una gamba e l'uso dell'altra.
In questi venticinque racconti autobiografici, Andre Dubus (di cui è ricorso l'anniversario della nascita l'11 agosto scorso) non solo parla di sé, della sua ossessione (quella cioè di non possedere più l'uso delle gambe), ma anche di letteratura, di diritti di tutte le persone disabili, di fede, di famiglia, di amori e di figli, dei suoi desideri, delle sue fragilità.
"Non pensare a quello che vorresti. Pensa a quello che tiseve." Gli dice così la donna che per un nno è stata il suo ministro straordinario dell'Eucarestia. Questa frase mi ha molto scossa.
"Che cosa mi serve, mentre me ne sto seduto in quest'auto? Coraggio? Pazienza? Penso che l'unica cosa che mi serve è che questo dolore mi lasci stare. Mi ruba ogni energia. E non è un dolore intenso."
Non sono queste sue parole valide sempre? Valide per chiunque stia soffrendo, non solo di un male fisico, ma anche di un male spirituale/mentale?
E il dire "Che cosa mi serve adesso?" al posto di "Che cosa desidero?" non cambia forse il punto di vista della nostra vita?
Ancora, "Mi devo sforzare per non essere impaziente o irascibile. Qualche giorno fa, ho letto che uno degli insegnamenti filosofici dei samurai è trattenersi dal rispondere - finché non si veramente in grado di farlo - invece di reagire. Ci devo lavorare." Queste sue parole, le ho sentite così mie, di nuovo.
Quante volte mi trattengo, perché sto imparando a farlo. Perché rispondere quando si è mossi da una reazione è il più delle volte la cosa da non fare, perché foriera di guai, incomprensioni ulteriori, rotture.
Un altro saggio che mi ha colpita molto è "Un racconto di Hemingway". Dubus scrive di "In un altro paese", un racconto di Hemingway a lungo analizzato con gli studenti del suo corso.
Ma anche qui, c'è un prima e un dopo: la visione di Dubus di "In un altro paese" prima del 23 luglio 1986 e una visione dopo l'incidente. "In un altro paese" non solo parla delle cure, e dell'inutilità di alcune cure, come ha sempre detto ai suoi studenti prima dell'incidente.
Ma "Questa storia parla anche di guarigione. Il magiore continua ad andare dove stanno le macchine. E non ci crede. Ma ogni mattina scende dal letto. Si lava i denti. Si fa la barba. Si pettina i capelli. Si mette l'uniforme. Lascia il posto in cui sta e cammina verso l'ospedale, e si siede nelle macchine. Ognuna di queste azioni è un allontanamento dal suicidio. Dalla disperazione. [...] La sua ma non guarirà, ma un giorno incontrerà un'altra donna. E l'amerà. Perché è vivo."
Anche di questa raccolta posso dire la stessa cosa che Dubus dice del racconto di Hemingway. Dubus non ha paura a raccontarsi, a raccontare il suo dolore per quegli arti persi che non gli saranno più resi indietro. Non prova vergogna nel mettere su carta i suoi fallimenti, il suo matrimonio naufragato, la sua fede incrollabile in Dio, il suo disagio nel riprendere a vivere su una sedia a rotelle.
"Un arciere Zen non cerca di colpire il bersaglio. Con intensa concentrazione, tende l'arco e aspetta; è il bersaglio che fa rilasciare la freccia e la attira a sé."
Dopo l'incidente, per Dubus tutto diventa dono e la sua vita si trasforma in un canto di compassione e gratitudine. Per lui scrivere diventa l'occasione per ritornare là dove tutto è andato in frantumi. Non certo per liberarsene, ma "per andare in quel luogo e trovarci una musica, e vedere se in quel posto c'era luce."
E dopo averlo fatto sedimentare e raffreddare, "Tutto quello che ho scritto qui sembra piatto: i fiati stonati, la batteria fuori tempo, il piano scordato. Ma oggi è arrivata la luce: sono qui."
Penso che questo sia il testimone che Dubus consegna ai suoi lettori. Non importa quante volte andrai in frantumi e nel rialzarti (spiritualmente o fisicamente) ti dispererai perché hai perso parte di ciò che eri. Non importa. Cerca tra quei frammenti di te la luce. E una volta trovata, ringrazia per il dono ricevuto e canta il tuo "sono qui.".
October 15, 2016
https://msarki.tumblr.com/post/151849...
The essays are many and quick to read, full of emotional pain and wrenching agony involved in the effort it most likely took Dubus to write them. I never doubted for a second the anguish Dubus related in his struggle with depression, and I am sure thoughts of ending his life entered his consciousness often though he did not ever speak of it except for saying he struggled mightily those first five years after the accident that took his legs from him. Instead of killing himself he focused on his faith, his communion with the god of his understanding, and whatever love he could find when and wherever it was possible to do so. But the essays were not sentimental in any way. More of an expression of gratitude for what was left and not yet taken from him. And the measure of its success was in truthfully demonstrating a life gone totally wrong and the manner in which the man now dealt with it.
The book was smoldering in my hands, and I had to put it down from time to time because of it. The heat had everything to do with its subjects whether they were anecdotes about Ernest Hemingway, Richard Yates, Norman Mailer, divorce, faith, writing, depression, the accident, or his being a cripple and living with it. The only essay I did not read was one called Sacraments as I wasn't at all interested in learning about what that word meant for Dubus nor what Dubus seemed to get out of partaking in them. I am not a believer, but I do know the power in having a belief. I know it helped me before and is there for me again if I ever need it. The mind is so powerful. Believing in something is a good way to keep going in a life that has been altered in unimaginable ways. Nobody knows the pain involved in daily living after sustaining injuries the extent to which Dubus received unless they have personally been through it. I would never call an accident grace. But I do respect the fact that Dubus continued to write and to write well. I am happy he had his children and friends to depend on. But for the most part it was Dubus alone in that chair, having to fend for himself, to bathe and clothe and to shit and to piss, and to continue to present a man to the world not of his choosing. The book was certainly a testimony to his suffering but he never once complained. Andre Dubus was honest about the daily suffering he incurred and the challenges of mobility in a world made for the young and virile.
I rarely left home when I was in a wheelchair for months while recovering from my own injuries from a fall in 2010 on Easter Sunday from my cabin roof. I only left for doctor's appointments and twice my wife took me out for walks which were humiliating, difficult, and unnatural. One day she kindly wheeled my chair into beautiful Cherokee Park where she thought I could enjoy the sunshine and scenery as she walked the loop for exercise. There I sat ashamed in that chair, stuck in the spongy grass and immobile. I wanted desperately to escape my shame and vowed never to return until I could walk again. I looked at my injuries as my own doing and something I did not need to subject other innocent people to. I had had my chance at life, and for many years I escaped serious injury. But Dubus was injured while being a good Samaritan helping stranded motorists on a busy four-lane road. He could have been bitter and acted out by being a mean old man. But it doesn't appear he did.
I would have had an awful time of it if I had chosen to attend my youngest son's graduation from New York University just a little over a month from when I sustained my injuries. His college graduation was a momentous occasion for those of us who worried this boy would never make it, that he would squander away his enormous talents and the opportunities his parents and siblings worked so hard to ensure by persuading him to complete the academic requirements. There were so many reasons for me to be attending this ceremony. But I couldn't. Not only did I dread the two hour flight cramped in a disagreeable seat of a small US Airways commuter plane, but my leg and arm were still not even mobile enough to perform the necessary bends and flexibility that traveling often dictates as a requirement. I couldn't imagine getting around in the city on the subway or even in a cab. Thinking about me and my wheelchair rolling along on the busy sidewalks full of anxious and obnoxious swarms of humanity made me literally sick to my stomach. I held my ground and refused to attend, and there were plenty of ill feelings for everyone to contend with. I remember being home alone in Louisville sobbing and flat-out crying for three straight days as I wrestled with my demons of the past. I did finally make it to New York the following October and it was there on The Avenue of the Americas in Greenwich Village where I performed an awkward pirouette that almost had me crashing through the glass picture window of a corner drugstore as I lost my balance while crossing the street. Losing my equilibrium I began to spin on my axis, and try as I might I could not regain control of my body with my cane and get myself stabilized. But that same graduate son of mine eventually caught me as I violently twirled, saving me from another dreadful accident by my own hand.
The essays are many and quick to read, full of emotional pain and wrenching agony involved in the effort it most likely took Dubus to write them. I never doubted for a second the anguish Dubus related in his struggle with depression, and I am sure thoughts of ending his life entered his consciousness often though he did not ever speak of it except for saying he struggled mightily those first five years after the accident that took his legs from him. Instead of killing himself he focused on his faith, his communion with the god of his understanding, and whatever love he could find when and wherever it was possible to do so. But the essays were not sentimental in any way. More of an expression of gratitude for what was left and not yet taken from him. And the measure of its success was in truthfully demonstrating a life gone totally wrong and the manner in which the man now dealt with it.
The book was smoldering in my hands, and I had to put it down from time to time because of it. The heat had everything to do with its subjects whether they were anecdotes about Ernest Hemingway, Richard Yates, Norman Mailer, divorce, faith, writing, depression, the accident, or his being a cripple and living with it. The only essay I did not read was one called Sacraments as I wasn't at all interested in learning about what that word meant for Dubus nor what Dubus seemed to get out of partaking in them. I am not a believer, but I do know the power in having a belief. I know it helped me before and is there for me again if I ever need it. The mind is so powerful. Believing in something is a good way to keep going in a life that has been altered in unimaginable ways. Nobody knows the pain involved in daily living after sustaining injuries the extent to which Dubus received unless they have personally been through it. I would never call an accident grace. But I do respect the fact that Dubus continued to write and to write well. I am happy he had his children and friends to depend on. But for the most part it was Dubus alone in that chair, having to fend for himself, to bathe and clothe and to shit and to piss, and to continue to present a man to the world not of his choosing. The book was certainly a testimony to his suffering but he never once complained. Andre Dubus was honest about the daily suffering he incurred and the challenges of mobility in a world made for the young and virile.
I rarely left home when I was in a wheelchair for months while recovering from my own injuries from a fall in 2010 on Easter Sunday from my cabin roof. I only left for doctor's appointments and twice my wife took me out for walks which were humiliating, difficult, and unnatural. One day she kindly wheeled my chair into beautiful Cherokee Park where she thought I could enjoy the sunshine and scenery as she walked the loop for exercise. There I sat ashamed in that chair, stuck in the spongy grass and immobile. I wanted desperately to escape my shame and vowed never to return until I could walk again. I looked at my injuries as my own doing and something I did not need to subject other innocent people to. I had had my chance at life, and for many years I escaped serious injury. But Dubus was injured while being a good Samaritan helping stranded motorists on a busy four-lane road. He could have been bitter and acted out by being a mean old man. But it doesn't appear he did.
I would have had an awful time of it if I had chosen to attend my youngest son's graduation from New York University just a little over a month from when I sustained my injuries. His college graduation was a momentous occasion for those of us who worried this boy would never make it, that he would squander away his enormous talents and the opportunities his parents and siblings worked so hard to ensure by persuading him to complete the academic requirements. There were so many reasons for me to be attending this ceremony. But I couldn't. Not only did I dread the two hour flight cramped in a disagreeable seat of a small US Airways commuter plane, but my leg and arm were still not even mobile enough to perform the necessary bends and flexibility that traveling often dictates as a requirement. I couldn't imagine getting around in the city on the subway or even in a cab. Thinking about me and my wheelchair rolling along on the busy sidewalks full of anxious and obnoxious swarms of humanity made me literally sick to my stomach. I held my ground and refused to attend, and there were plenty of ill feelings for everyone to contend with. I remember being home alone in Louisville sobbing and flat-out crying for three straight days as I wrestled with my demons of the past. I did finally make it to New York the following October and it was there on The Avenue of the Americas in Greenwich Village where I performed an awkward pirouette that almost had me crashing through the glass picture window of a corner drugstore as I lost my balance while crossing the street. Losing my equilibrium I began to spin on my axis, and try as I might I could not regain control of my body with my cane and get myself stabilized. But that same graduate son of mine eventually caught me as I violently twirled, saving me from another dreadful accident by my own hand.
April 5, 2021
Apprezzo Andre Dubus per la capacità che ha di ritornare sugli elementi di un racconto, scavare e restituire delle storie che hanno del già letto ma sono comunque diverse. E lo apprezzo per il suo stile colloquiale e al tempo stesso tormentato che in questi scritti viene esaltato in modo particolare. L'incidente che ha subito e che lo ha menomato è il punto di svolta della sua vita e qui ci ritorna più volte, in modo ricorsivo, ogni volta con frammenti nuovi a ricomporre il quadro. Sarà la sua ossessione, sarà un tentativo di analisi o più semplicemente come dice lui "tuffarmici dentro, scriverlo, non per liberarmene, perché scrivere non mi libera da niente, ma semplicemente per tornare lì, dove la donna mi aveva portato, per andare in quel luogo e trovarci una musica, e vedere se in quel posto c'era luce.". E anche il lato religioso e cattolico in particolare, quello che non sono riuscito ad apprezzare finora in Dubus, qui appare in una luce nuova, più comprensibile e accettabile anche per me.
Bravo Andre.
Bravo Andre.
August 27, 2017
I really enjoyed this collection of memoir-essays by Andre Dubus II. Titled "Meditations from a Moveable Chair," the essays were all written after the author started using a wheelchair, but not all of the essays are about his disability, or his life as a disabled person. Some of the essays focus on other people, or events unrelated to the car accident that damaged his body so greatly. Some essays focus on his childhood, and different moments from his adult life as an able-bodied man.
I loved reading this book. I especially loved reading it so soon after finishing one of his collections of short stories: "Selected Stories." Andre Dubus II is a marvelous writer, and his memoir-essays give a fascinating illumination and depth to his fiction.
This book was also a balm for my soul. I love the prose of his son, Andre Dubus III, and I loved seeing Andre Dubus III appear in these personal essays. I loved seeing all of the family members in these pages.
I also just loved having Andre Dubus II alive again. Even more than reading his fiction, when I read these essays, I feel like he lives again, while I sit absorbing these words.
As a white, neurotypical, able-bodied, cis, hetero, middle-class American male, Andre Dubus II had a life that changed quite dramatically when he became a disabled man. The beauty of these essays is how humbly and brutally honest he is, at all times. In some of the essays about his childhood and young adulthood, the reader can see his privilege shining through. Sometimes the author draws attention to his unacknowledged entitlements, and other times, the reader can do that without the text making anything explicit.
Andre Dubus II was a very sensitive man. His sudden change from being an able-bodied man to being a disabled man intensified those sensitivities, increased his humility, and increased his comfort with weakness. He also gained a greater acceptance of having a lack of control over life. He was forced to become intimately aware of all the many and constant ways disabled people are dehumanized and disregarded in American society, and some of the essays in "Meditations from a Moveable Chair" discuss that disregard in powerful ways.
Highly recommended. Especially if you are already a fan of the author's fiction.
I loved reading this book. I especially loved reading it so soon after finishing one of his collections of short stories: "Selected Stories." Andre Dubus II is a marvelous writer, and his memoir-essays give a fascinating illumination and depth to his fiction.
This book was also a balm for my soul. I love the prose of his son, Andre Dubus III, and I loved seeing Andre Dubus III appear in these personal essays. I loved seeing all of the family members in these pages.
I also just loved having Andre Dubus II alive again. Even more than reading his fiction, when I read these essays, I feel like he lives again, while I sit absorbing these words.
As a white, neurotypical, able-bodied, cis, hetero, middle-class American male, Andre Dubus II had a life that changed quite dramatically when he became a disabled man. The beauty of these essays is how humbly and brutally honest he is, at all times. In some of the essays about his childhood and young adulthood, the reader can see his privilege shining through. Sometimes the author draws attention to his unacknowledged entitlements, and other times, the reader can do that without the text making anything explicit.
Andre Dubus II was a very sensitive man. His sudden change from being an able-bodied man to being a disabled man intensified those sensitivities, increased his humility, and increased his comfort with weakness. He also gained a greater acceptance of having a lack of control over life. He was forced to become intimately aware of all the many and constant ways disabled people are dehumanized and disregarded in American society, and some of the essays in "Meditations from a Moveable Chair" discuss that disregard in powerful ways.
Highly recommended. Especially if you are already a fan of the author's fiction.
August 30, 2013
Meditations From A Movable Chair by Andre Dubus
This wonderfully thought-provoking collection of essays on faith and family and life lessons, on pain, love, loss, literature became true meditations for me. I would read until some thought or image demanded me to reflect. At times, I was handed a nugget so rich that it was a week or more before I could pick up the book again. At other times, I could not put it down, craving more time with this insightful and intelligent mind.
This wonderfully thought-provoking collection of essays on faith and family and life lessons, on pain, love, loss, literature became true meditations for me. I would read until some thought or image demanded me to reflect. At times, I was handed a nugget so rich that it was a week or more before I could pick up the book again. At other times, I could not put it down, craving more time with this insightful and intelligent mind.
January 29, 2010
This last work of Andre Dubus is a graceful and intimate collection of essays that delivers wave after wave of insight into the writer's humanity, frustration, gratitude, nostalgia, morality, physicality, spirituality, faith, etc. His style in these essays matches the rhythms of his excellent prose, but slice a little deeper as a result of these insights. His faith (he became a more devout Roman Catholic after his accident) could seem overwhelming to some, but he is never preachy. He is instead somewhat enchanting, enviable even as he explores how hard it has been and still is coming to appreciate his life and his body, finding whatever you could call God in overlooked everyday tasks, like moving around the kitchen in his wheelchair so that he can make sandwiches for his daughters ("Sacraments"). A beautiful and quick read for anybody, but much more meaningful to anyone already a Dubus fan.
P.S. - Read a collection of his stories before this.
P.P.S. - For any aspiring writers who need examples on how to write movement well, Dubus runs a clinic in these essays. Every action of his, from opening a drawer to placing pastrami on bread, is so fully captured, well said, and never uninteresting.
P.S. - Read a collection of his stories before this.
P.P.S. - For any aspiring writers who need examples on how to write movement well, Dubus runs a clinic in these essays. Every action of his, from opening a drawer to placing pastrami on bread, is so fully captured, well said, and never uninteresting.
September 23, 2014
It was neat to read this book alongside Dancing After Hours because, in some cases, you get the germ of the short story in the memoir/essay. I've admired Dubus père for many years, consider "A Father's Story" one of the best I've EVER read, right up there with Carver's "A Small, Good Thing" and Kate Braverman's "Tall Tales from the Mekong Delta" (if you want to know my absolute favorites).
Anyhow, it was good to get some insights into Dubus, perhaps more important since his son's memoir, Townie. Balancing the two sides of the man, his extraordinary ability to craft a story and his flaws as a husband and father is tough.
Anyhow, it was good to get some insights into Dubus, perhaps more important since his son's memoir, Townie. Balancing the two sides of the man, his extraordinary ability to craft a story and his flaws as a husband and father is tough.
November 11, 2016
I didn't find his particular way of adapting to a tragedy inspiring. I'm glad he found his way the best he could. At a younger age I would have been impressed and yes, inspired. But now it was just one more way, and each way seems to me over the years, when found is tailored to the individual.
September 18, 2018
I borrowed this book from the library, but when I was halfway through it, I went online and bought it. Thoughts so poignant about writing and life that I immediately made copies for the writers in my adult classes. I'm looking forward to getting acquainted with his fiction.
May 8, 2020
4/5
Andre Dubus III is my favorite author, and it looks like his father might end up on that list too.
Andre Dubus III is my favorite author, and it looks like his father might end up on that list too.
March 25, 2012
I loooooved Andre Dubus' collection of essays, Broken Vessels
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
So I feel like I'm cheating on him or talking behind his back to do anything but totally love this collection as well but the truth is I didn't. I liked a lot of it and I'll probably re-read much of it in snippets over time but reading it essay to essay was too much for me. It felt too inspirational or motivational in a predictable way, like there was a rhythm and it went it something like this:
I'm Andre Dubus.
I have a truth to reveal to you.
It's profound. It's heavy.
It's found in a small thing.
and here
it
is
now
BA-BAM!
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
So I feel like I'm cheating on him or talking behind his back to do anything but totally love this collection as well but the truth is I didn't. I liked a lot of it and I'll probably re-read much of it in snippets over time but reading it essay to essay was too much for me. It felt too inspirational or motivational in a predictable way, like there was a rhythm and it went it something like this:
I'm Andre Dubus.
I have a truth to reveal to you.
It's profound. It's heavy.
It's found in a small thing.
and here
it
is
now
BA-BAM!
August 12, 2009
I really like the personal essay form, and Dubus is great at this form. Mainly because he takes risks being alarmingly honest and real with who he is, what he's facing, and the reflections he gets back from those around him who think they are seeing him.
Read
June 30, 2020My favorite collection of non-fiction essays. Moving and fantastic and made want to somehow write essays just like these all at once.
May 29, 2022
It's worth buying this book to have your own copy of "A Country Road Song," which I expect to be rereading for as long as I can read. Like a a great poem, it reveals a little more of itself on each return, always holding a discovery or two for next time. The essay doesn't explicitly ask, "How do we go on after unimaginable loss?" Dubus lets you wander the contours of that loss--the two strong legs that used to carry him as a runner, then as a walker down a road that for him was a wellspring of wholeness.
Readers familiar with his work and life will know about the accident that took one leg and left the other useless. He told the story in a previous essay that bluntly and powerfully recounted the aftermath: a painful course of physiotherapy, the end of his marriage, the humiliation of utter helplessness. The earlier piece, in BROKEN VESSELS, has conviction of the most literal kind, grounded in events and processes. With "A Country Road Song," Dubus takes flight through the runs and walks of memory to stationary contemplation from his wheelchair. His real subject is the ravages of time. What happened to him, he implies, could happen to any one of us--if not through maiming, then some other equally terrible way.
He concludes: "“When I ran, when I walked, there was no time: there was only my body, my breath, the trees and hills and sky…I always felt grateful, but I did not know it was gratitude and so I never thanked God. Eight years ago, on a starlight night in July, a car hit me…and in September a surgeon cut off my left leg… It is now time to sing of my gratitude: for legs and hills and trees and seasons…I mourn this, and I sing in gratitude for loving this, and in gratitude for all the roads I ran on and walked on, for the hills I climbed and descended, for trees and grass and sky, and for being spared losing running and walking sooner than I did: ten years sooner, or eight seasons, or three; or one day.”
The other essays in the book don't achieve the same level; a few are pretty slight. But how many writers are consistently sublime? If Andre Dubus had written nothing else, he'd have my gratitude for "A Country Road Song," one of the finest and most moving pieces of prose I know. For "A Country Road Song," I'm giving this book five stars.
Andre Dubus could have called this collection Meditations from a Wheelchair. He'd been navigating the world in a wheelchair since the catastrophic accident that took one leg and left the other one useless.
Readers familiar with his work and life will know about the accident that took one leg and left the other useless. He told the story in a previous essay that bluntly and powerfully recounted the aftermath: a painful course of physiotherapy, the end of his marriage, the humiliation of utter helplessness. The earlier piece, in BROKEN VESSELS, has conviction of the most literal kind, grounded in events and processes. With "A Country Road Song," Dubus takes flight through the runs and walks of memory to stationary contemplation from his wheelchair. His real subject is the ravages of time. What happened to him, he implies, could happen to any one of us--if not through maiming, then some other equally terrible way.
He concludes: "“When I ran, when I walked, there was no time: there was only my body, my breath, the trees and hills and sky…I always felt grateful, but I did not know it was gratitude and so I never thanked God. Eight years ago, on a starlight night in July, a car hit me…and in September a surgeon cut off my left leg… It is now time to sing of my gratitude: for legs and hills and trees and seasons…I mourn this, and I sing in gratitude for loving this, and in gratitude for all the roads I ran on and walked on, for the hills I climbed and descended, for trees and grass and sky, and for being spared losing running and walking sooner than I did: ten years sooner, or eight seasons, or three; or one day.”
The other essays in the book don't achieve the same level; a few are pretty slight. But how many writers are consistently sublime? If Andre Dubus had written nothing else, he'd have my gratitude for "A Country Road Song," one of the finest and most moving pieces of prose I know. For "A Country Road Song," I'm giving this book five stars.
Andre Dubus could have called this collection Meditations from a Wheelchair. He'd been navigating the world in a wheelchair since the catastrophic accident that took one leg and left the other one useless.
December 11, 2018
I most always learn something about others when I read books, but not necessarily anything meaningful about myself. This is not the case with the work of Andre Dubus. Both his stories and essays, convey a type of truth, I believe, clearly recognizable because it reminds us of our own individual lives. The essays in this collection often focus on the struggle of trying to derive meaning from personal experience, in the case of Andre Dubus, tragic experience. Dubus was struck by a car in his fifties and was forced to live the remaining years of his life in a wheelchair. He was forced to reevaluate his life by contemplating a future with permanent disability. This required becoming more aware and grateful of what he once had and also thankful for the joy he could still find in each day, regardless of the tremendous suffering he endured as a result of the accident.
There is a spiritual quality in his writing that resonates with human compassion for both himself and others that I found compelling. As humans, we all experience pain, fear and confusion; however, luckily many of us, never experience the type of tragedy incurred by Dubus. The essays are written in a clear straight forward manner, without self-pity, yet still movingly convey the suffering of a human life. Dubus is made to reconsider his life and also the lives of others--his family, his friends, even strangers. He does so in a way that compels the reader to also consider the life of Andre Dubus. Who would we be if we could no longer walk? In such circumstances how would we view our past bipedal lives? How would we view a disabled future?
There is a spiritual quality in his writing that resonates with human compassion for both himself and others that I found compelling. As humans, we all experience pain, fear and confusion; however, luckily many of us, never experience the type of tragedy incurred by Dubus. The essays are written in a clear straight forward manner, without self-pity, yet still movingly convey the suffering of a human life. Dubus is made to reconsider his life and also the lives of others--his family, his friends, even strangers. He does so in a way that compels the reader to also consider the life of Andre Dubus. Who would we be if we could no longer walk? In such circumstances how would we view our past bipedal lives? How would we view a disabled future?
May 27, 2017
210pp. A collection of personal essays on his experience of losing a leg and being confined to a wheelchair that are actually about daily sacrament, sorrow, joy, beauty and the gift and struggle of this life. I am raw with loveliness. He writes in clear, simple sentences. Moves back and forth between memory and present experience until--in a neat slice-you are in the beating heart.
I get to meet him in two weeks and spend several hours each day in a writing workshop with this lovely human. I might just burst into tears and hug him for a long time. More likely, based on my other interactions with authors I love, I will nod stupidly and say thank you over and over. I highly recommend this book, if it's the only work of his you read. #twilareads2017
"Sacraments are myriad. It is good to be baptized, to confess and be reconciled, to receive Communion, to be confirmed, to be ordained a priest, to marry, or to be anointed with the sacrament of healing. But it is limiting to believe that sacraments only occur in churches, or when someone comes to us in a hospital or at home and anoints our brows and eyes and ears, our noses and lips, hearts and hands and feet...I am receiving sacraments with each breath, as I did while I slept; with each movement of my body as I exercise my lower abdomen to ease the pain in my back caused by sitting for fifteen hours..."
I get to meet him in two weeks and spend several hours each day in a writing workshop with this lovely human. I might just burst into tears and hug him for a long time. More likely, based on my other interactions with authors I love, I will nod stupidly and say thank you over and over. I highly recommend this book, if it's the only work of his you read. #twilareads2017
"Sacraments are myriad. It is good to be baptized, to confess and be reconciled, to receive Communion, to be confirmed, to be ordained a priest, to marry, or to be anointed with the sacrament of healing. But it is limiting to believe that sacraments only occur in churches, or when someone comes to us in a hospital or at home and anoints our brows and eyes and ears, our noses and lips, hearts and hands and feet...I am receiving sacraments with each breath, as I did while I slept; with each movement of my body as I exercise my lower abdomen to ease the pain in my back caused by sitting for fifteen hours..."
June 10, 2021
A few months after finishing a book called "The Hard Crowd," I found myself reading from an author that is undoubtedly soft, rightly so and in the best way possible. Essays with topics ranging from a wheelchair accident in 1986, to a voicemail from an anonymous lover, and his decision to give up his guns. His voice is uncomfortably intimate but also vulnerable, one that knows better than most that feeling when just a bit of traffic is enough for something inside to snap. That anxiety. I really liked this passage, on writing, in the final essay, "Witness":
"I told them I would start writing this on Monday, because meeting that woman, shaking her hand, hearing her voice, seeing her sons, especially the youngest one, and shaking her husband's hand, hearing his witness–"She called me that night"–had so possessed me that I might as well plunge into it, write it, not to rid myself of it, because writing does not rid me of anything, but just to go there, to wherever the woman had taken me, to go there and find the music for it, and see if in that place there as any light."
"I told them I would start writing this on Monday, because meeting that woman, shaking her hand, hearing her voice, seeing her sons, especially the youngest one, and shaking her husband's hand, hearing his witness–"She called me that night"–had so possessed me that I might as well plunge into it, write it, not to rid myself of it, because writing does not rid me of anything, but just to go there, to wherever the woman had taken me, to go there and find the music for it, and see if in that place there as any light."
January 1, 2024
I read this collection of essays for an English class this past fall. I personally was not a huge fan since I typically reach for fiction. While I did find some of the essays intriguing, some of them simply did not make sense to me and the meaning behind them was lost. The essays are also not in chronological order, which made it more difficult to follow. Dubus never provided a reason for this choice. Dubus chronicles his life before and after a tragic accident where he ended up losing one of his legs and losing function in the other. He also talks about his journey as a writer, his family (both his family during childhood and his own children and multiple marriages), and his Catholic faith. Additionally, our professor chose this collection for my class because we are all nursing students and it did provide a unique patient perspective that demonstrated how the little things/ actions do matter and can impact our patients for better or worse. While I did find some of the essays interesting, overall this is just not a personal favorite of mine.
April 29, 2024
There are few books I would describe as gritty and spiritual, but this one has that rare combination. Dubus writes with uncompromising honesty about his experiences after a life-altering accident, yet shows how his life has been infused with moments where he experiences the sacred. Though shown through the lens of his Catholic background, they have a universal resonance. The book also runs counter to the recent tendency to romanticize disability by depicting the differently abled as consistently brave and exemplary...he tells it like it is, warts and all. I found his essays thought-provoking, and some quite moving.
April 26, 2018
Why haven't I read his work before this? I am in love with this writer who looked like Hemingway, but whose sentences read like poetry as opposed to Hemingway's so clear and crisp. Dubus paints pictures with his words, but they aren't superfluous. His message is raw and truthful just as Hemingway. What I love most about Dubus is his faith and how he loves it and lives it. I think I like him more than Hemingway, well at least as much.
November 25, 2018
These essays touch on his life in a wheelchair after a car accident that left him with one leg amputated at the knee and the other so shattered that it was useless, but he also examines the craft of writing, his complicated feelings about his family and how his Catholic faith affected his life. All the essays are finely crafted, with details that pull you in and make you see things through his eyes. Highly recommended to anyone who enjoys creative non-fiction.
October 7, 2019
4 1/2 stars. This is a work of great beauty and generosity of spirit, filled with fabulous writing as crystal clear as Hemingway or Carver's. My only complaint is that over the course of some 25 essays, the themes - disability, faith, family - become slightly repetitive; read quickly one after another this causes the individual pieces to lose their impact. One to dip into in small doses.
July 21, 2024
Really rewarding to read this right after Selected Stories. You see how a lot of personal experiences shape and show up in his fiction. Pleased also to read about him being a daily Mass attendee who has a lot to say about grace and the Eucharist and trusting God, that the Catholic themes in his fiction stem from devotion and not another tired old "lapsed Catholic just can't get away from it."
January 27, 2019
Andre Dubus is my favorite author, and for good reason. Even his essays are filled with life and leave with me awe. I cherish his stories and I am thankful to read them. If you've never read his work you are missing something amazing and unlike any other.
November 13, 2020
I can't remember how I found this book, but I'm glad I did. Through these writings about his life, Dubus gets us to look at our own. For me, the essay "Brothers" was worth much more than the price of the book.
March 9, 2022
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, it peeked my interest in some of the writers and artists that Hemingway writes about. He seemed so happy, enjoying his friends, food and especially his love for alcoholic drinks. It was hard to believe that one day he would commit suicide.
September 13, 2024
I am sure there is wisdom in reading these essays as slow, daily reflections, but I was so enamored with Dubus that I couldn’t put the book down. His meditations are full of blessing and pain, beauty and sorrow, with a detailed simplicity that captivated me. I’ll be revisiting this one.
April 17, 2019
This is a beautiful and thought-provoking series of memoir essays meditating on the intersections between faith, art, suffering, and relationships. I'll definitely read it again in the future.
May 26, 2019
found this in a box today and remembered how great it was.... been too long to write anything more than that I remember loving “legs”... into the growing re-read pile...
January 14, 2022
Some of these essays are deeply moving. About reading and writing and healing. I love "Song of Pity."
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