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emlocke's review against another edition
3.0
"I remember intimacies of one kind or another . . . I remember that in winter, on the treadmill at the gym, if the runner on the machine beside me and I decided wordlessly to match our pace for a mile or two, I felt a certain intimacy." (90)
draig_dyke's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
reflective
sad
fast-paced
4.25
I had a slow start with this book but it became better and better.
I read about grief to understand my own grief. Or as the author states:
“I want to know about my particular grief, which is unknowable, just like everyone else's.”
She’s right and still I seek to know the unknowable.
kjboldon's review against another edition
4.0
Manguso, in minimalist prose, sketches out grief for the unexpected death of a friend. Artful and sad, but with an edge of Didion-esque chilliness that kept me at a distance.
zoemig's review against another edition
So the first thing I want to talk about is what I was afraid of when I first picked up The Guardians; and that was that it might get bogged down in science instead of lifted up by poetry, something Manguso's first memoir The Two Kinds of Decay suffered from a bit too much. And unfortunately it does, sometimes veering into too much fact, like describing side effects of certain anti-psychotics, going into a detailed history of akathisia, even quoting two paragraphs directly from a Czech doctor, Ladislav Haskovec. At the end of the description she links it back to her friend Harris, as the common outcome includes suicide, specifically by jumping, but by that point I was wondering why I was reading all of this info dump of facts.
The other major time info-dump happened was much later in the book, where there are several pages quoting three published cases on the same side effect. The Guardians is so short, barely past 100 pages, so that in a way I felt cheated having to read three full pages that weren't Manguso's; more science, more quotes. She even quotes herself at one point, a page from a novel she didn't finish.
But– the reason I felt the need to detail the fault of this memoir so precisely is that the rest of The Guardians, the part in Manguso's own words, it's absolutely breath-taking and original. There are countless times when I had to pause reading to write down a quote, something beautiful and heart-breaking that twisted inside me. At one point, Manguso writes:
"Then, when he dies, you’ll wonder how his death could have burned you entirely away– yet there you are, walking out of the fire in a form you no longer recognize."
Her powerful description of grief reminded me sometimes of The Long Goodbye by Meghan O'Rourke, another memoir and one I absolutely adored. Both O'Rourke and Manguso have this powerful, sharp and broken way of describing grief, of reminding the reader of the pain. The other author that comes to mind, because of the topic but also the fragmented way of writing, different memories combining into one tragic story– is Joan Didion, who dealt with grief in two memoirs, The Year of Magical Thinking and Blue Nights. It especially reminds me of Blue Nights because it is both the story of the person who died, in this case her friend Harris, and a story of a personal journey– as Manguso marries her husband.
Ultimately, Manguso's poetic prose is what make The Guardians such a wonderful yet heart-breaking book– she has a genuine and beautiful way of capturing moments and feelings, which is why I am disappointed every time she veers off into the scientific instead.
The other major time info-dump happened was much later in the book, where there are several pages quoting three published cases on the same side effect. The Guardians is so short, barely past 100 pages, so that in a way I felt cheated having to read three full pages that weren't Manguso's; more science, more quotes. She even quotes herself at one point, a page from a novel she didn't finish.
But– the reason I felt the need to detail the fault of this memoir so precisely is that the rest of The Guardians, the part in Manguso's own words, it's absolutely breath-taking and original. There are countless times when I had to pause reading to write down a quote, something beautiful and heart-breaking that twisted inside me. At one point, Manguso writes:
"Then, when he dies, you’ll wonder how his death could have burned you entirely away– yet there you are, walking out of the fire in a form you no longer recognize."
Her powerful description of grief reminded me sometimes of The Long Goodbye by Meghan O'Rourke, another memoir and one I absolutely adored. Both O'Rourke and Manguso have this powerful, sharp and broken way of describing grief, of reminding the reader of the pain. The other author that comes to mind, because of the topic but also the fragmented way of writing, different memories combining into one tragic story– is Joan Didion, who dealt with grief in two memoirs, The Year of Magical Thinking and Blue Nights. It especially reminds me of Blue Nights because it is both the story of the person who died, in this case her friend Harris, and a story of a personal journey– as Manguso marries her husband.
Ultimately, Manguso's poetic prose is what make The Guardians such a wonderful yet heart-breaking book– she has a genuine and beautiful way of capturing moments and feelings, which is why I am disappointed every time she veers off into the scientific instead.
rexpostfacto's review against another edition
4.0
Beautiful prose that discusses the nuances and complexities of grief and memory in a captivating and haunting way.
masmadalena's review against another edition
4.0
What I love most about Manguso's writing (this is my second read of her work, after Ongoingness, which to me is a little bible of sorts) is how she seems to write for none other than herself, and as such creates profoundly honest and vulnerable - and, for me, highly relatable - insights. It's always such a special experience to read her and feel a little less lonely.
alyciapais's review against another edition
5.0
This is the third, I think, Sarah Manguso book I’ve read, and my reaction after finishing each one has been the same: I want to reread it immediately. Maybe it’s because they’re relatively short books so that idea isn’t daunting or because so much is packed into the sparse pages that I need to revisit it to make sure I didn’t miss something. Really it’s because of her deliberate, beautiful writing.
This book is an elegy for a dear, dead friend of hers, and it’s just so sad and so good and so beautiful.
This book is an elegy for a dear, dead friend of hers, and it’s just so sad and so good and so beautiful.
bookish_sue's review against another edition
2.0
Not as thought-provoking at Two Kinds of Decay. I do want to read Ongoingness: The End of a Diary.