Our Tragic Universe
Tuesday, October 5, 2010 at 06:24PM It was as if the superobjective of everyone in the Western world was simply 'I wish to become a fictional character.'
-- Scarlett Thomas's Our Tragic Universe
It's a tricky sort of thing to sort out in your mind sometimes: you might not be the hero of the story.
We spend our days going about our lives, living through our sorrows and our joys, seeing the sun rise and set from our own little perch in our own little corner of the world. We know that one day we're going to die, and so spend the whole of our lives in a frantic search for happiness and substance and beauty and -- most of all -- meaning.
In the meantime, there are others on this planet. The people you rub elbows with on subway trains and at dinner parties. The strangers who become friends or remain strangers, depending on which side of the bed The Fates woke up on. Other people who are born and die and think thoughts just like we do. The ones we spend our entire lives trying to distinguish ourselves from.
Because if we can't live forever, we at least have to do our best to make our mark. We have to make sure that we're the one who makes people laugh loudest. That we're the one whose prize is announced in the paper. The one whose name was in the CD liner notes. The one with the most website hits. The one who was here on earth the most. Who took the most interest in a topic, expanded it to its furthest point, and published it in a massive book that will be sitting on a shelf after the body dies.
Posthumous permanence, with myths in our names.
Because if we're not the hero of the story, what good are we?
* * *
Back in July when I read Scarlett Thomas's Our Tragic Universe, I tried to put pen to paper to describe how the book had made me feel. But it was hard to put into words. It left a weighty lump in my stomach, even though it's not a weighty book to read; Thomas seems to read a lot of Wikipedia and how-to guides, is aware that worlds exist outside of literary criticism and hallowed halls of universities. She's not ramming lofty philosophy down your throat, but instead, sharing a description of a ferry, some knitting instructions, and a love triangle. And underneath the familiarity of scarves and self-help books lurks a deep, heavy T-R-U-T-H: we will not live forever, and we are not all heroes.
It was an intense sensation: the book is, at its heart, about convincing us that as much as we try to be the heroes of our own stories, sometimes we're just simply not. And there's no reason we should feel the need to try to be the hero. The best. The shining star. There is a difference, her lesson goes, between protagonist and hero, and there are also many other roles to play.
In these [self-help] books there was always some way for the individual to become a hero. No one was encouraged to be a monster or a dragon or a helper along the way. No one was encouraged to be a fool or a hermit. Whether you got to ascend to a thousand years of perfection or simply spend the rest of your mortal life being 'perfect' and giving the best PowerPoint presentations in the world, this self-perfection was assumed to be everyone's goal. The whole of Western society seemed to be turning itself into a reality TV show in which everyone was supposed to want to be the most popular, the most talented, the biggest celebrity.
Even though we might not be heroes, Thomas acknowledges, we still have stories. They can be the stories of hermits or of monsters, but we all have stories. Normal, everyday stories. All of us.
This past week, a small piece appeared in the St. Petersburg Times about a 48-year-old dishwasher at the Crab Shack who had been struck and killed while riding his bicycle by a hit-and-run driver. In the comments section of the online article about the incident, someone had written anonymously that if he was washing dishes at the Crab Shack at the age of 48, then maybe he was better off dead.
Yes. Someone wrote that. Let's all shake a forlorn pom-pon for internet anonymity.
In response, Times writer Andrew Meacham drew attention to the significance of every human life by writing a longer piece on the life of Neil Alan Smith, and how he affected the lives of those he left behind. I was extremely moved by this article, so much so that I wrote Mr. Meacham and thanked him for writing the piece. He responded, saying that he often writes stories of ordinary lives in the paper, and that the intent of this particular piece was to draw attention to way people commented on stories like this. And to highlight the fact that, as Meacham says and Thomas knows, every life matters.
Our Tragic Universe has just been released in the US, and I really think you should read it. You who read blogs and might be into crafting and have thoughts on books and things. You who have imperfections. You who might be the fool or the helper along the way. You who understand why we often, much to the chagrin of those around us, become obsessed with the weight of life, you who sometimes tire of trying shine so brightly.
You who have stories to tell too.
(A proper review can be found at The Second Pass.)
© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.
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Reader Comments (9)
Thank you for this post. I read your first entry about Neil the dishwasher and was moved by the story as well. I thought too how he continues to live on through the retelling of this incident and how we, and others, are connected by it. It's pretty cool, and also a nice reminder that while there are always a few miserable people who use the internet to spew their own unhappiness, there are many more who use it as a way to connect and to listen. I look forward to checking out that book too.
PS In case you're curious (I know I always am), I found your site through a link from Dooce.
I've just started this book, and after reading this, I can't wait to really get into it. And thanks for sharing the links on the Neil story.
i'll have to check the book out... sounds interesting at the very least. i think my greatest battle is in general with contentment... with time and space, etc.
if i can manage not to fall into the habit of observing myself at an existential distance, over my own shoulder, as it were, or watching myself in my own play... i seem to be fine. when i start to worry i've lost the "plot" is when i panic.
I think we all worry about losing the "plot," but that's when it helps to remember we're not carefully crafted fictional characters, we can't be drawn with straight lines, and there will be holes in the narrative. And that's okay.
(Sam, I can lend you my copy! We should meet up for coffee soon anyway.)
Deirdre, you're absolutely right about people living on through their stories. The mark we leave might not be perceptible while we're still here, but it creeps out in one way or another in the wide-reaching tapestry of life. Thanks for stopping by. You're more than welcome to come again.
Kerry, enjoy the book. I hope it lives up to the hyperbole I've spouted here...
I have to keep myself from reading the comments in my own local paper; the inflammatory accusations and anonymous hate is too great.
Thank you for sharing the life of Mr. Smith and I will be purchasing a copy of "Our Tragic Universe" this weekend.
thank you for this and for linking to that article, on behalf of all us just plain frogs, observant bushes, and people who say "he went that way!"
I found your site through the list of bloggers participating in the Mighty Summit (via Dooce.com) I really like the posts I have read so far, especially this one. I went to the article on Neil Smith and also wrote an email to Mr. Meacham thanking him for his story. I'm very curious about the book you have mentioned. Will definitely look for it. I often think about this concept. How many of us strive for purpose, perhaps something that will really matter when we are gone, but the majority of us will die a quiet death and life will continue on....it used to depress me but as I get older my appreciation grows for the simple, quiet, but GOOD people out there that I may have once thought of as boring.
Lisa, thanks for visiting. And I that's exactly the point: that no one should be dismissed for not being the BEST and the FIRST and the MOST. I think we all need to remember that, and we'll appreciate each other's simple, quiet and GOOD lives all the more.
Thank you for writing this. I feel like our cultural landscape is made up of so much "should" and "do" and "achieve", rather than (maybe) "be", "feel", "listen", "consider". We spend so much time beating ourselves up over what we did/didn't do in the past, and focusing on how much better the future will be if we could only commit to our own perfection, rather than realizing that we're pretty great right here, right in this moment.
Really moving. Thanks.