“We all die alone.”

Someone said this to me this morning: “we all die alone” in a “boy have I an important truth to share with you, Bob” way. I smiled my “thanks for that” smile and proceeded to my destination (the coffee urn and not the urn from which no one returneth).

And then I thought, after filling my cup with coffee, OK, but just what does that mean? Is it something like: my death like my birth involves only me? But that cannot be right. Mom was there too.

When Grandma died Grandpa was there with her, holding her hand.

When Mom was in her final care home I went down from Canada to Colorado to visit. My daughter went with me. Mom looked terrible but her caring spirit was evident. A young Lutheran Pastor was there to comfort her. But he was visibly nervous and upset with his task. Mom noticed his discomfort and calmed him down by saying : “Do not worry; all is well. Thank you for coming.” She dismissed him. “You may go now. I want to talk to my family members.” She asked me to say the doxology with her. I did (surprised that I remembered it.)

Then we talked and laughed a bit – she asked about my teaching and about Margaret’s nursing work. Mom spoke about missing her own cooking. After asking how my wife was she took my hand, said “I love you and I am proud of you.” And looking at me with a twinkle in her eye, “I don’t really care about your tattoo.”

She then dismissed me and told me to get back home to my wife. I did.

Shortly after Mom died. She was 92. She was at peace. But not alone. She had a lifetime of memories – a family, a smile – a unique STORY.

Literature and philosophy

The three writers who have most influenced my own take on fiction are Joseph Conrad in his foreword to The Nigger of the Narcissus quoted below; E.M. Forster in his little book Aspects of the Novel; and Kenneth Burke.

Here is Forster:

 “Let us define a plot. We have defined a story as a narrative of events arranged in their time A plot is also a narrative of events, the emphasis falling on causality. “The king died and then the queen died” is a story. “The king died, and then the queen died of grief” is a plot. The time is preserved,but the sense of causality overshadows it. Or again: “The queen died, no one knew why, until it was discovered that it was through grief at the death of the king.” (This is a plot with a mystery) in it, a form capable of high development. It suspends the time. It moves as far away from the story as its limitations will allow. Consider the death of the queen. If it is in a story we say “and then?” If it is in a plot we ask “why?” That is the fundamental difference between these two aspects of the novel. A plot cannot be told to a gaping audience of cave-men or to a tyrannical sultan or to their modern descendant the movie-public. They can only be kept awake by “and then—and then—” They can only supply curiosity. But a plot demands intelligence and memory also.
Curiosity is one of the lowest of the human faculties. You will have noticed in daily life that when people are inquisitive they nearly always have bad memories and are usually stupid at bottom. The man who begins by asking you how many brothers and sisters you have is never a sympathetic character and if you meet him in a year’s time he will probably ask you how many brothers and sisters you have, his mouth again sagging open, his eyes still bulging from his head. It is difficult to be friends with such a man, and for two inquisitive people to be friends must be impossible. Curiosity by itself takes us a very little way, nor does it take us far into the novel—only as far as the story. If we would grasp the plot we must add intelligence and memory.
Intelligence first. The intelligent novel-reader, unlike the inquisitive one who just runs his eye over a new fact, mentally picks it up. He sees it from two points of view: isolated, and related to the other facts that he has read on previous pages. Probably he does not understand it, but he does not expect to do so yet awhile. The facts in a highly organized novel (like The Egoist) are often of the nature of cross-correspondences and the ideal spectator cannot expect to view them properly until he is sitting up on a hill at the end. This element of surprise or mystery—the detective element as it is sometimes rather emptily called—is of great importance in a plot. It occurs through a suspension of the time-sequence; a mystery is a pocket in time, and it occurs crudely, as in “Why did the queen die?” and more subtly in half-explained gestures and words, the true meaning of which only dawns pages ahead. Mystery is essential to a plot, and cannot be appreciated without intelligence. To the curious it is just another “and then—” To appreciate a mystery, part of the mind must be left behind, brooding, while the other part goes marching on.” [pages 86-87]

 PREFACE From the Preface, The Nigger of The Narcissus, by Joseph Conrad:

A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line. And art itself may be defined as a single-minded attempt to render the highest kind of justice to the visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one,underlying its every aspect. It is an attempt to find in its forms, in its olours, in its light, in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and in the facts of life what of each is fundamental, what is enduring and essential—their one illuminating and convincing quality—the very truth of their existence. The artist, then, like the thinker or the scientist, seeks the truth and makes his appeal. Impressed by the aspect of the world the thinker plunges into ideas,the scientist into facts—whence, presently, emerging they make their appeal to those qualities of our being that fit us best for the hazardous enterprise of living. They speak authoritatively to our common-sense, to our intelligence, to our desire of peace or to our desire of unrest; not seldom to our prejudices,sometimes to our fears, often to our egoism—but always to our credulity. And their words are heard with reverence, for their concern is with weighty matters: with the cultivation of our minds and the proper care of our bodies,with the attainment of our ambitions, with the perfection of the means and the glorification of our precious aims.

Read the book online here.

For his career, Burke has been praised by The Johns Hopkins Guide toLiterary Theory and Criticism as “one of the most unorthodox,challenging, and theoretically sophisticated American-born literary critics of the twentieth century.”

Read a paper on Kenneth Burke here.