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jennifer's reviews
173 reviews
Proof of Loss by Sara Marchant
5.0
Sara Marchant's slim (110 pages) memoir, Proof of Loss, belies its emotional weight. Alongside a narrative centered on Marchant's role as caregiver to her ex-brother-in-law as he dies from cancer, she examines her own personal losses, including miscarriages and medical issues that prevented her from becoming the mother she longed to be.
Throughout, Marchant casts her steely gaze on the topic of loss, that lowest common denominator of human experience, and refuses to avert her eyes. The reader is safe in her hands as she examines, pokes, and prods this thorniest of subjects, always with skill, grace—and not an inconsiderable amount of wit.
Her sly charm, reminiscent of David Sedaris, makes regular, welcome appearances, as when she is accompanying Charles (the dying ex-brother-in-law) to the hospital and encounters another patient, a woman whose face has been sliced with a razor blade during a mugging, after overhearing her predicament from a hospital cubicle.
"As I push my brother-in-law out in his wheelchair, the mugged lady waves goodbye. 'Good luck,' she calls and smiles lopsidedly. There is a look of genuine pity on her sliced, bruised face.
She doesn't look as bad as I imagined she would. I think the resulting scar will lend her a jaunty air. I don't know why, but I blow her a kiss as we depart."
While the memoir is leavened with dark humor, Marchant's real gift to readers is not that she makes light of loss, but rather that she refuses to bow to the conventions of polite society when it comes to talking about common yet taboo topics like cancer, miscarriage, and family secrets. In doing so, she makes her readers feel less alone.
Throughout, Marchant casts her steely gaze on the topic of loss, that lowest common denominator of human experience, and refuses to avert her eyes. The reader is safe in her hands as she examines, pokes, and prods this thorniest of subjects, always with skill, grace—and not an inconsiderable amount of wit.
Her sly charm, reminiscent of David Sedaris, makes regular, welcome appearances, as when she is accompanying Charles (the dying ex-brother-in-law) to the hospital and encounters another patient, a woman whose face has been sliced with a razor blade during a mugging, after overhearing her predicament from a hospital cubicle.
"As I push my brother-in-law out in his wheelchair, the mugged lady waves goodbye. 'Good luck,' she calls and smiles lopsidedly. There is a look of genuine pity on her sliced, bruised face.
She doesn't look as bad as I imagined she would. I think the resulting scar will lend her a jaunty air. I don't know why, but I blow her a kiss as we depart."
While the memoir is leavened with dark humor, Marchant's real gift to readers is not that she makes light of loss, but rather that she refuses to bow to the conventions of polite society when it comes to talking about common yet taboo topics like cancer, miscarriage, and family secrets. In doing so, she makes her readers feel less alone.