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<\/i>, and my sister Siobhan, who had told me to read Ferris’ book had told me a little bit about the second. The main thing I remember her saying is, “It’s really sad.”<\/p>\nAnd it is. The sadness is relentless. The Unnamed<\/i> tells the story of a partner in a successful law firm, wife, kid, home in Connecticut, who is afflicted by the desire to walk. He could be in the middle of a trial when the affliction comes over him, and it doesn’t matter: he will turn, walk out of the courtroom and continue walking until he collapses. He walks miles and miles. He gets frostbite. Toes are amputated. His wife is devastated. They go to specialists, they consult yogis and crackpots, he has to wear a helmet at one point to monitor his brain waves. No one knows what it is. Is it physical? Is it neurological? His wife, desperate, handcuffs him to the bed, so that at least he will be safe. But that is not a sustainable solution. I haven’t finished the book yet. It is short but it feels long. This is not entirely a complaint, although I do want to put this poor man out of his misery. This is a sentiment I relate to, and find disturbing – also, one might say, triggering<\/i>, and I have been doing my best to avoid triggers. The Unnamed<\/i>, so far, is the brutal journey of a man who cannot stop walking, and it destroys his career, his marriage (although the wife hangs in there, she starts drinking as a coping mechanism), and also the possibility of any relief. If they can’t tell you what’s wrong with you, if it can’t be seen on a CAT scan, then what are you supposed to do? In this, the book feels like a long metaphor for depression, or melancholy (a word I prefer). <\/p>\n
The following passage is one of the best I’ve read, in terms of describing what it actually feels like, to be overtaken by depression, as William Styron called it in his memoir of madness Darkness Visible<\/i><\/a>: “the despair beyond despair.”<\/p>\n He was informed that Jane was on vacation and wouldn’t be returning for another week. Did he care to speak to a different broker?<\/p>\n “How nice,” he said. “Where on vacation?”<\/p>\n “I want to say Paris, but don’t quote me,” said the voice. “The south of France, maybe?”<\/p>\n He stood in the snow-patched prairie with the ice-blue brook running toward the rafting centers and trailer parks, far from the south of France, far from Paris, and a wave of death washed over him. Not biological death, which brought relief, but the death that harrows the living by giving them a glimpse of the life they’ve been denied. Its sorrow was a thousandfold any typical dying.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n The other book I am reading is The Anatomy of Melancholy<\/a> Who knew that a giant tome about “Melancholy” could be so entertaining. It’s actually a page-turner. Who knew??<\/p>\n \n \n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I am reading two books concurrently, one on my various bus and train commutes, and the other before I go to bed, that are rather interesting in terms of melancholy. I’m not one for self-help books (although there are exceptions), … Continue reading ![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.assoc-amazon.com\/e\/ir?t=thesheivari-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0940322668\")
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