"The Best Year of My Life"
I read a story by one of my favorite authors on Wednesday as I drove from SC to NC.
It's in the November 14 issue of The New Yorker: "The Best Year of My Life," by Paul Theroux
. As the title suggests, it's a kind of reminiscence, but for most of the story the year in question is considered the storyteller's "worst," not "best." Only in retrospect does he see the full picture of his experiences, and with the passage of time he understands what a shaping influence those events had on who he became, who he is.
The experience in question is his relationship with a lover who is pregnant, and his agreeing to "see her through" the time until she can hand the child over to an adoption agency. It changes their situations, their status in university, their individual experiences. And, certainly, it was difficult. Here's the passage that caught my eye: "Much worse than being thirty, with a wife and two small children and no money and recently fired from my teaching job in Singapore, struggling to find a house to live in; worse than being fucked up and far from home in India, or lost in China, or hard up and buried alive in London; worse than being cuckolded; worse than hearing 'I'm leaving you and I've found someone else' in a stifling and pissy phone booth on a crackling receiver stinking of cigareetes; worse than the miserable litigation of (so it seemed) the death sentence of divorce, or losting that house I had struggled to find earlier in this paragraph; worse still than the loss of my father, for an old man's death is a natural process, even if it has been hastened by a nagging wife and a quarrelling family - worse than anything I was ever to know...."
As I read and reflected on the story, I thought back on my own life and all of my own "worst" years. This year, 2005, has certainly been a difficult year for me professionally. BURRIS has morphed into a project house, and the uncertainty that has brought has, well, been an adjustment. Our banking relationship went to hell; there have been times when I'd have to make a call or two to cover payroll; I've paid much closer attention to cash flow, done a few projects some haven't been particularly proud of. I won't catalogue my own list of "worst" years and experiences here, but I will say that at times, I thought this year may be the worst in my life. But now that 2005 is coming to a close, nah, it's not close. In fact, it may turn out to be "the best year of my life."
All that retrospection aside, get your hands on Theroux's story. It's great reading. (Sorry, not on The New Yorker's web site.)
It's in the November 14 issue of The New Yorker: "The Best Year of My Life," by Paul Theroux
. As the title suggests, it's a kind of reminiscence, but for most of the story the year in question is considered the storyteller's "worst," not "best." Only in retrospect does he see the full picture of his experiences, and with the passage of time he understands what a shaping influence those events had on who he became, who he is.The experience in question is his relationship with a lover who is pregnant, and his agreeing to "see her through" the time until she can hand the child over to an adoption agency. It changes their situations, their status in university, their individual experiences. And, certainly, it was difficult. Here's the passage that caught my eye: "Much worse than being thirty, with a wife and two small children and no money and recently fired from my teaching job in Singapore, struggling to find a house to live in; worse than being fucked up and far from home in India, or lost in China, or hard up and buried alive in London; worse than being cuckolded; worse than hearing 'I'm leaving you and I've found someone else' in a stifling and pissy phone booth on a crackling receiver stinking of cigareetes; worse than the miserable litigation of (so it seemed) the death sentence of divorce, or losting that house I had struggled to find earlier in this paragraph; worse still than the loss of my father, for an old man's death is a natural process, even if it has been hastened by a nagging wife and a quarrelling family - worse than anything I was ever to know...."
As I read and reflected on the story, I thought back on my own life and all of my own "worst" years. This year, 2005, has certainly been a difficult year for me professionally. BURRIS has morphed into a project house, and the uncertainty that has brought has, well, been an adjustment. Our banking relationship went to hell; there have been times when I'd have to make a call or two to cover payroll; I've paid much closer attention to cash flow, done a few projects some haven't been particularly proud of. I won't catalogue my own list of "worst" years and experiences here, but I will say that at times, I thought this year may be the worst in my life. But now that 2005 is coming to a close, nah, it's not close. In fact, it may turn out to be "the best year of my life."
All that retrospection aside, get your hands on Theroux's story. It's great reading. (Sorry, not on The New Yorker's web site.)
posted by Mark Burris - BURRIS at 12/02/2005 05:00:00 PM
1 Comments:
Teaching this in my college lit class. Looking for discussion Qs online. None to be found. Thought I'd let you know that I read this and I liked your take. Right on! Keep on Blogging! : )
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