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purelykara's review
5.0
Drawing upon writers, poets, essayists, and her own journey with death Edwidge gives us the final story as a form therapy, of grieving. Each chapter focuses on some aspect of dying; those that commit suicide, those condemned to die, or those living dyingly, preparing for death, as her mom was with a cancer diagnosis. In a way we are all aware that there will be an end it’s what we do during this journey that will tell our story. As a lover of books this was a wonderful read.
indalauryn's review
5.0
As always will write more later on the blog but beautiful and eloquent meditation on death and the ways we write/think about it. If you like Toni Morrison's Playing in the Dark, this is definitely the type of book you'll love.
alinaborger's review
4.0
Danticat is brilliant and takes us on a tour of literary death that is nonpareil, examining death, suicide, and near-death with a lens both personal and extremely literary (heavy on Morrison and Hurston, and justufiably so). She tells us what great art does to bring death near and to keep it at bay, and her insight is some of the best craft advice I could have gotten writing a book whose protagonist lost her mom and is losing her dad.
But it is the final chapters of this book in which she begins to _show_ us the art of death by writing the deaths of her parents in prayer, story, poem, and ritual. I wept openly as the book moved from theory and analysis into mastery of the form—not because it was artful, though it was, but because it did what all great writing about death does. It brought me closer to my deaths: both the losses I’ve survived and my own future expiration date.
But it is the final chapters of this book in which she begins to _show_ us the art of death by writing the deaths of her parents in prayer, story, poem, and ritual. I wept openly as the book moved from theory and analysis into mastery of the form—not because it was artful, though it was, but because it did what all great writing about death does. It brought me closer to my deaths: both the losses I’ve survived and my own future expiration date.
mc_easton's review
4.0
This is a beautiful memoir of grief after a mother’s death. And because writing is at the core of Danticat’s experience of her grief, it’s also a concise compendium of the literature that has helped her approach and make sense of death and grief. The passages where Danticat examines Toni Morrison’s or Gabriel García Márquez’s portrayals of death are rich, packed with the stylistic insights of a woman who is not only a master writer but also a master reader.
She quotes García Márquez as he explains that he knew how to write Remedios the Beauty’s death only once he had the detail of the sheets flapping on the clothesline. Danticat also breaks down the scene where Morrison writes an infanticide in BELOVED, examining where Morrison’s word choice allows children and mothers to be children and mothers, and where it does not, as well as how her use of the slave catchers’ point of view renders the scene’s horror more effectively, focusing our gaze on the moment of violence rather than Sethe’s internal experience. These are the passages I picked up the book for, and Danticat doesn’t disappoint.
However, it is a departure from “The Art of” series in several significant ways. The first and most noticeable is the prevalence of memoir. It is as much, often more, about Danticat’s grief and the literature she finds solace in, as it is about literature itself. At root, it is a book about a writer trying to make sense of grief after a loved one’s death, not a volume exploring the technical how’s and why’s of death‘s depictions in literature.
And while the book is divided into chapters addressing different types of death in literature (suicide, executions, natural disasters), there are no chapters centered on two of the most common death scenes in literature: murder and illness. This may be due to the fact that Danticat collected essays published elsewhere and repurposed them for this volume. Whatever the reason, it is a regrettable omission, in a book whose title promises a broader investigation of how novelists “write the final story.”
Finally, much of the book—perhaps all, from a certain vantage point—is about grief, not death. It is a wonderful meditation on grief, its circularity, and the way it permeates our world. For those experiencing grief, it can offer solace. But for those looking to read about literary craft, it teases, more than satisfies.
Ultimately, it is a book of two minds, torn between death and grief, literary craft and memoir, and by the final chapters, it comes down firmly on the side of memoir and grief. If I’d picked it up knowing this, or if the title had been more accurate, my reading experience would have been quite different, less frustrating and more pleasurable. A magnificent meditation on our mortality that simply needed better packaging or a clearer focus.
She quotes García Márquez as he explains that he knew how to write Remedios the Beauty’s death only once he had the detail of the sheets flapping on the clothesline. Danticat also breaks down the scene where Morrison writes an infanticide in BELOVED, examining where Morrison’s word choice allows children and mothers to be children and mothers, and where it does not, as well as how her use of the slave catchers’ point of view renders the scene’s horror more effectively, focusing our gaze on the moment of violence rather than Sethe’s internal experience. These are the passages I picked up the book for, and Danticat doesn’t disappoint.
However, it is a departure from “The Art of” series in several significant ways. The first and most noticeable is the prevalence of memoir. It is as much, often more, about Danticat’s grief and the literature she finds solace in, as it is about literature itself. At root, it is a book about a writer trying to make sense of grief after a loved one’s death, not a volume exploring the technical how’s and why’s of death‘s depictions in literature.
And while the book is divided into chapters addressing different types of death in literature (suicide, executions, natural disasters), there are no chapters centered on two of the most common death scenes in literature: murder and illness. This may be due to the fact that Danticat collected essays published elsewhere and repurposed them for this volume. Whatever the reason, it is a regrettable omission, in a book whose title promises a broader investigation of how novelists “write the final story.”
Finally, much of the book—perhaps all, from a certain vantage point—is about grief, not death. It is a wonderful meditation on grief, its circularity, and the way it permeates our world. For those experiencing grief, it can offer solace. But for those looking to read about literary craft, it teases, more than satisfies.
Ultimately, it is a book of two minds, torn between death and grief, literary craft and memoir, and by the final chapters, it comes down firmly on the side of memoir and grief. If I’d picked it up knowing this, or if the title had been more accurate, my reading experience would have been quite different, less frustrating and more pleasurable. A magnificent meditation on our mortality that simply needed better packaging or a clearer focus.
itsnkbitch's review
5.0
I read The Art of Death: Writing the Final Story while I was working on my own essay about maternal death. This was somewhat serendipitously as I wasn’t in the SoHo bookstore searching for inspiration. I was only killing time. Using the air conditioned space, lingering as I was waiting for my dinner plans to text me.
Only an hour earlier, I had finished a therapy appointment, leaving me scattered and narcissistic. So obsessed with my own deficiencies, I lacked energy to connect to the tomes surrounding me. A bookshop, ordinarily a technicolor experience, was dull and distant.
Thirty minutes later, that twinge of excitement reminding me that I’m still bibliophilic and alive. Attracted to the morose to embarrassing levels, I lit up when I saw the title: The Art of Death: Writing the Final Story. The book’s appeal is directly linked to my longing for more honest, long-form dialogue about death. Needless to say, I left the bookshop with a new companion that day.
Like me, Danticat recently lost her mother to a fast-moving cancer, a trauma she memoirs throughout the short, but punchy, volume. She explains that writing and reading about death have given her the personal insights that has helped her take a swing at grasping mortality. She’s been writing about death for as long as she’s been writing, taking great inspiration from other writers attempts at the subject. The Art of Death isn’t a declaration of the right way to write about death. The thesis is more that, for writers and readers, the subject can be so much more than a plot point. Danticat encourages writers to engage with the bigger conversation when death is in their narrative(s), fictional or autobiographical.
The Art of Death is broken into 8 subjects, each with their own chapter:
Her explanations on how to write death are far from technical. She uses emotional understanding as her ruler as she passionately deconstructs prose and plot that tackles the subject. As a writer, her examples really helped clarify how to be succinct and careful when describing the morbidities of my internal world. As a reader, these examples were extremely valuable as they provided understanding and connection on the isolating subject, even if my TBR shelf is creaking with the additional weight of her recommendations.
Overall, I would recommend this book to anyone interested in contemplating death or anyone who has a connection to death and is looking for solace. It’s a writing advice book, and the writing advice is very valuable, but it is also Danticat’s personal memoir or an ode to her belated mother.
Five decomposing hearts.
Only an hour earlier, I had finished a therapy appointment, leaving me scattered and narcissistic. So obsessed with my own deficiencies, I lacked energy to connect to the tomes surrounding me. A bookshop, ordinarily a technicolor experience, was dull and distant.
Thirty minutes later, that twinge of excitement reminding me that I’m still bibliophilic and alive. Attracted to the morose to embarrassing levels, I lit up when I saw the title: The Art of Death: Writing the Final Story. The book’s appeal is directly linked to my longing for more honest, long-form dialogue about death. Needless to say, I left the bookshop with a new companion that day.
Like me, Danticat recently lost her mother to a fast-moving cancer, a trauma she memoirs throughout the short, but punchy, volume. She explains that writing and reading about death have given her the personal insights that has helped her take a swing at grasping mortality. She’s been writing about death for as long as she’s been writing, taking great inspiration from other writers attempts at the subject. The Art of Death isn’t a declaration of the right way to write about death. The thesis is more that, for writers and readers, the subject can be so much more than a plot point. Danticat encourages writers to engage with the bigger conversation when death is in their narrative(s), fictional or autobiographical.
The Art of Death is broken into 8 subjects, each with their own chapter:
Living Dyingly
Ars Moriendi
Dying Together
Wanting to Die
Condemned to Die
Close Calls
Circles and Circles of Sorrow
Feetfirst
Her explanations on how to write death are far from technical. She uses emotional understanding as her ruler as she passionately deconstructs prose and plot that tackles the subject. As a writer, her examples really helped clarify how to be succinct and careful when describing the morbidities of my internal world. As a reader, these examples were extremely valuable as they provided understanding and connection on the isolating subject, even if my TBR shelf is creaking with the additional weight of her recommendations.
Overall, I would recommend this book to anyone interested in contemplating death or anyone who has a connection to death and is looking for solace. It’s a writing advice book, and the writing advice is very valuable, but it is also Danticat’s personal memoir or an ode to her belated mother.
Five decomposing hearts.
alexanderp's review
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
4.5
This was a wonderful examination of how we tell stories about death and dying. I especially appreciated Danticat's memoirish asides and the deep reflection and intimacy that she allowed the reader to see through these pages.
In other ways, it feels that I now have "permission" to write about my mother's death and what I took from it. Not that it didn't before, but Danticat was able to put to words my own hang-ups and fears with delving into that pain that can be grief, loss, and regret. Part craft book, memoir, and literary criticism, this is not a book to skip when wanting to write about death.
In other ways, it feels that I now have "permission" to write about my mother's death and what I took from it. Not that it didn't before, but Danticat was able to put to words my own hang-ups and fears with delving into that pain that can be grief, loss, and regret. Part craft book, memoir, and literary criticism, this is not a book to skip when wanting to write about death.