At a certain point, cold is not cold anymore. The temperature is negative and the windchill is extra-negative and then everything shuts down and everyone stays inside. We all become one, part of a bright and windy light. Forty degrees negative is the same in Celsius and Fahrenheit. The Big Crunch theory posits that the universe will end the way it began, in reverse, and then it will start all over again, an infinite span of seasons. The end and the beginning are the same. It all loops back around.
On Seth’s birthday, we had planned to walk aimlessly around Milwaukee—wandering city streets is Seth’s favorite outdoor activity. But the cold changed our plans, so we went to an indoor waterpark instead, one that advertised “84 degrees!” on every webpage. It wasn’t the exact same waterpark that I went to as a teen with my friends when we’d just gotten our drivers’ licenses and wanted to exert our newfound independence, but it was similar. In fact, it was right across the street.
Before we went to the waterpark, we checked into our hotel. But then we had to dance in the hotel room to all the high school greats. We had to. Ludacris, Lil’ Jon, and the Ying Yang Twins. High school me would be so proud: I had still memorized many of the lyrics, and here I was, singing them to my husband, who was, he assured me, duly impressed. High school me: You did it. You remembered every lyric to “Shake.” And you got a boy. Those two things are not unconnected. What next? Next I apply for a college on the East Coast just to compete with my brother, leave for sixteen years? Come back once more?
I’ve been interviewing authors more regularly lately and a couple times the question has come up: is suffering necessary for Great Art? And the answer seems to hover around: Suffering is a fact of life; the question is what you can do with it. The problem with that is: it’s much harder to make good art while you’re in the throes of it. I started writing this two and a half weeks ago, when the temperature was negative fourteen and the windchill was negative thirty. I finished yesterday, at thirty-two and twenty.
It’s been a hard month for various reasons, one involving a surgery that knocked me out for several days, recovery-wise. In times like these I am fully unable to write. When I’m feeling very ill is the only time I watch television because there’s nothing else I can do. So I watched the Food Network’s Holiday Baking Championship. Season two. I’d watched season one when I came down with the flu in late December and found myself getting far too emotionally invested in the contestants. I would fall in love with one, and they’d be axed right away. The Marasco brothers, a strange combination of Jewish and Italian? They had no chance. Madison-native Punky Egan? Nope. And the winner? Obviously my least favorite contestant. So I tried to keep an emotional distance during season two, but eventually my love landed on Chef Maeve, who was endearingly psychotic looking and also quite talented. I like the ones who are in it to win it, and you could see it in every piercing, protruding stare. Chef Maeve made it to the finale, which I watched with dismay, setting myself up for emotional devastation. During this episode she also relayed to the host that she had been diagnosed with a terminal kidney disease in her youth and was told she wouldn’t survive past her late twenties. Well, here she was in her mid-forties, very much alive.
I was watching this on the couch while Seth was cooking in the kitchen. I must have let out some sort of moan, because he looked over and saw my eyes water, my face redden. He asked me what was wrong.
I burst out in tears.
He rushed over and put his arm around me. “What is it?”
“Chef Maeve,” I said through sobs. “Our favorite.” I couldn’t get out the words.
“What about her?”
“She was supposed to die fifteen years ago… but she’s… still… baking!” She was told she would die. But she said no. And here she was, living out her dream. In my post-anesthesia haze, I cried harder than I’d ever cried in my life.
Living in a region with spells of extreme cold is a good reminder that suffering is a fact of life. No one really complains about the cold. We shut down our schools and go on our merry way and as soon as the windchill cracks -20 we’re back open again. All you can do is stay indoors, keep the heat on, and maybe put on an extra sweater. A frustrating part of surgery recovery was being told I couldn’t exercise. Running is a big part of my life. If I had my way, every day I’d be in the prairie, chasing away the pheasants. But I was forced to slow down and be gentle to myself. For two whole weeks. I was surprised at how actually, that was fine. It was something to get through, like a cold spell. I wished I felt better but knew I eventually would. And I eventually did. That’s the way it works.
Now the days are getting longer and the cold is less cold and the bald eagles are nesting again I can write again and I can run again. I can run! I can chase away the birds and I can keep running and running until they all come back.
And by the way, Chef Maeve won the baking championship.
-Denise
PS: Speaking of negativity, alongside some truly lovely positive reviews, I’ve had a few negative reviews come in on Netgalley for my debut novel, The Unmapping (which, for those who need a reminder, is about a mysterious phenomenon where each city’s buildings rearrange every day, causing all sorts of chaos). Negative reviews are a part of life, and I read the first handful because I was curious—this may sound egotistical, but I really couldn’t guess what negative reviews would dwell on when I first put it out, and I wanted to know. So I read enough to feel like I had a grip on what some people didn’t like about it, and then I stopped reading the reviews. But it might be helpful for you to know the general themes of the criticism, because it sort of illuminates what the book is about.
First, some people think the main characters are unlikable. At the end of the day, if readers don't connect with characters, I understand—it's like going on a date, not everyone will click. But I don’t think my characters are “unlikable”—I actually like them a lot! They’re certainly flawed, but they feel real and their struggles and challenges feel worthwhile. They have strong personalities and make interesting decisions, sometimes bad decisions, but they’re always trying their best. Crises bring out the best and worst in all of us, and I wanted to show the full and honest range of humanity, as much as I could in one book anyway.
Second, some people are disappointed that the phenomenon of the unmapping isn’t satisfactorily explained. I hope that’s not too much of a spoiler, but on the other hand, if you read the book looking for a clear explanation, you’re going to leave dissatisfied. Because this book is not really about the mechanics of an unreal phenomenon, it’s about how unpredictable disasters can affect people and society, and what sort of humans we need to become to adapt. I think this criticism partially comes from the book being classified as “science fiction” when it's really more what I'd call “literary speculative.” Science fiction tends to focus more on technology and the “how” of it all. Speculative fiction asks instead: “What if?” Because I wrote this as an analogy for global warming, where we basically know how and why catastrophic climate events keep happening, and how they keep getting more and more unpredictable, so the question is not “how did this happen” but “what will we do now?” And, again, that has less to do with technology and more to do with humanity. (Movie narrator voice: We have the technology!) So, I imagine some science fiction readers are picking this up and looking for a specific sort of story, and this book does not provide that.
But I don't regret the fact that the book doesn't fit easily into a genre category. I'm proud of it. It’s not a typical book—I took a lot of risks. It makes sense these risks won’t land with everyone. On the other hand, they land very well for some people! One reviewer wrote of it: “I love surrealism because it forces your brain into taking this obscene, absurd premise of a city shuffling its buildings around, as straight fact. You step over the initial hump of shock and awe and into the world with parallels to reality you can’t even fully grasp.” Another wrote: “I shivered! I ached. This book left me feeling thoughtful, and awed, and warm — it felt like waiting for spring.”
If you want to shiver and/or ache while reading a book with interesting characters and that doesn’t fit easily into a genre category, preorder The Unmapping on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Bookshop.
PPS: If you’d like to post a review on Goodreads, let me know and I can put in a request to share an advanced e-copy with you.
PPPS: To many P’s for a “recommendations” section this month, but I’ve had a few author interviews come out in January (sadly none of these discuss suffering, but they’re all quite interesting and fun, IMO):
“On the drive to learn and understand” - interview with author Chloe Benjamin for The Creative Independent
“Strangers in a Wisconsin bar inspired Nickolas Butler’s new novel” - Capitol Times
“Madison author Christina Clancy follows the sun in ‘The Snowbirds’” - Capitol Times
“Daniel Kenitz’s debut novel explores the dark side of reality TV” - Capitol Times
PPPPS CATS!
