In the afterword the author writes "I suppose that the closest description is an elegy in prose, together with a dream diary and some musings on catharsis and hero-worship in modern culture. ... On the death of a pop star, we usually read about their musical legacy, their force as performers. It seems to me that it’s uncommon to find such an overflow of testimonies of his or her kind-heartedness. In Flint’s case, though, both forms of praise came in equal abundance. I was touched, and curious."
She wasn't a fan. Yet she dreamt about Keith Flint (lead singer of The Prodigy) and went to his public funeral. She was in therapy, not feeling too happy about life at the time. Then she heard that someone she'd long knew had also committed suicide. She continues " It’s impossible for me not to dedicate this piece to them both. I don’t know whether if Armando liked The Prodigy. I don’t remember us ever talking about it, but I think they would both much enjoy the company.".
Paragraph 2 of the work itself contains "You were mute but your heart was crying—inarticulate heart-words, heart-sobs voiceless drawn on the dejected pallor of your face—, and you walked faintly, barely contained in flesh, disintegration’s disarray lashing out in all directions like liquid colours, substance, pain, eyes unseeing, wide open in sorrow and in fear." which gives you an idea of the general style. It's not one I'm keen on, and I don't like reading about dreams. But in the end such preferences are down to personal taste, and I can imagine many readers being seduced by the style. See what you think.
Later "I woke encircled in the radiance of the dream: its peace, its sadness, and entered the day troubled by questions: why should this soul visit me in dreams? Why should I walk along in a stranger’s last journey? ... The earth is turning. Feel. Sunshine steals early in our bed to stir us out of dream, hurl us into the rapture of clear skies, awake in light and birdsong. Every day and every hour the air more suffused with the dye of blossoms, buds opening on every single twig."
The character recalls those she has lost (father, etc) and her reactions. She wonders about the concert audiences - "Where do they go, when the show is over? Are they all misfits? Do they go back to disaffected lives, walking on the fringe? Back to their office? To their studies their lovers their mum and dad?"
We return to the beauty of nature - "Today I saw the magnolia tree. Each flower a perfectly rounded goblet of light and colour, full as fruits, their invisible growth a beckoning, miraculous becoming. Can you see how the swell of colour becomes shape? It soaks your eyes, expands, absorbs the air and sky around it, breathes against the pulse of everything that is."
We learn about Flint's funeral - "In your hometown, a festival. Schools are closing early, the whole town open for you. Pubs announce the rave to follow; there are walk-in tattoo parlours, in your honour, a bakery sale. ... But birds still fly above the church, and joy is theirs, joy and flight their blessing in the immaculate light. The light of timelessness, of childhood, of ‘Life begins here, now’. Wish you were here, sings Pink Floyd from the loudspeakers."
At the end "Wind and rain have shaken many blossoms as I write these final words. We’ve felt them shower on us, iridescent, their caress so soft it’s almost as if they weren’t there, and it’s so generous, that airy hand, that on stripping the boughs it lays a soft carpet of petals at our feet. Even with gaze downward, no difference between heaven and earth. ... It’s springtime. Breathe." ("Breathe" is a Prodigy video).
I'd have preferred a personal essay without the dreams and musing, without any light of timelessness. I'd be interested in knowing more about the interaction between private mental states and public mourning (the "Lady Di effect"), between memory and the rejuvenating spring, how it all combined to assist recovery.
Other reviews
- Chris Edgoose (I suspect, because of its unusual form and perhaps because of its use of a real-life deceased individual with relatives and presumably an estate, that this may be a pamphlet which continues to find full publication elusive, but I hope I am wrong because it is a profoundly moving piece of work which deserves a wide readership.)
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