Great Regulars: 'In Defense of Pain,'

by Meghan O'Rourke

So now the sleighs have slid away

from Meghan O'Rourke: The Chronicle: Monday's Poem: 'In Defense of Pain,' by Meghan O'Rourke

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We had no rules about what to do right after my mother died; in fact, we were clueless--

"What do we do now?"

"Call the nurse."

"The nurse says to stay here."

--and so we sat with her body, holding her hands. I kept touching the skin on her face, which was rubbery but still hers, feeling morbid as I did it, but feeling, too, that it was strange that I should think so. This was my mother. In the old days, the days I read about in fantasy tales as a child, didn't the bereaved wash the body as they said their goodbyes? I was ransacking the moment for understanding.

from Meghan O'Rourke: The New Yorker: Story's End

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Here's F. Scott Fitzgerald in the brilliant last sentence of "The Great Gatsby": "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." Note those effortful "b" sounds--the way they intensify the meaning.

Rhythm isn't just decorative. It serves a purpose even in a book like "Moby-Dick," which aspires to social realism. Melville could well have made his opening line "Call me Richard"--it was a popular American name then as now--but it lacks the tragic Old Testament resonance of Ishmael.

from Meghan O'Rourke: The Wall Street Journal: The Sweetest Sounds I Ever Read

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I don't know about you, but I often felt embarrassed in those first months of grief. I worried I would cry whenever a stranger was rude to me on the subway; I was angry that on top of my loss I had to be concerned about what to say when people asked "How are you?" I read "Hamlet" over and over and suddenly his character made a lot more sense. His father had just died and no one wanted him to talk about it. No wonder he felt the world was "weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable"!

from Meghan O'Rourke: The New York Times: Why We Write About Grief

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