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A Prayer for the Dying
Set just after the Civil War, A Prayer for the Dying is the story of a small Wisconsin town gripped by a mysterious, deadly epidemic, and one man desperate to save it. Torn between his loyalty to his family, his faith in God, and his terror of this vicious disease, Jacob Hansen struggles to preserve his sanity amid the chaos and violence around him.
208 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1999
About the author
Stewart O'Nan
71 books1,281 followersStewart O'Nan is the author of eighteen novels, including Emily, Alone; Last Night at the Lobster; A Prayer for the Dying; Snow Angels; and the forthcoming Ocean State, due out from Grove/Atlantic on March 8th, 2022.
With Stephen King, I’ve also co-written Faithful, a nonfiction account of the 2004 Boston Red Sox, and the e-story “A Face in the Crowd.”
You can catch me at stewart-onan.com, on Twitter @stewartonan and on Facebook @stewartONanAuthor
With Stephen King, I’ve also co-written Faithful, a nonfiction account of the 2004 Boston Red Sox, and the e-story “A Face in the Crowd.”
You can catch me at stewart-onan.com, on Twitter @stewartonan and on Facebook @stewartONanAuthor
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 500 reviews
September 2, 2018
this book is like boiling milk. at first, everything is nice and serene - a calm pool of pure silken whiteness. and then it starts to shimmer a little bit and you know things are happening, and you start to notice little bloopy bits of activity, but you don't want to stir it just yet. steam starts to rise from it, and it is almost magical, like tiny milk-ghosts. and then - bubbles! one or two at first, and then so many, too many to even play milk whack-a-mole with. and then - rolling boil! look at me - there is no going back from here, kiddies! and by the time you reach for the whisk, hypnotized by the spectacle, everything is burnt and smelly and ruined.
but you have learned something, even though it was an unpleasant lesson.
this is jacob's story - a civil war vet living in wisconsin and acting as his town's constable/pastor/undertaker. if you are interested in his philosophy about how all three professions are connected, he will surely tell you. he is married with a new baby, and a reputation for being a little...skewed. do you like jacob as a character? it doesn't really matter, because this is told in second-person, so to not like him is to not like yourself, in a manner of reading.
but even if you don't like him, you will like the story. because it is haunting as shit.
jen fisher, light of my life, pressed this book into my hands when she unexpectedly turned up in my neck of the woods a month or so back. this present was nearly as good as her visit itself. it is such a nice edition - an undersized hardcover that just feels so perfect in the hand, able to be held open with one hand while clutching the disease-ridden subway pole with t'other.
because this book is about horrible, contagious disease.
diptheria, to be precise.
and it ravages the town, spreading from person to person without sympathy or malice, just doing what a disease does, and causing jacob (you) no end of spiritual unease.
this book is about faith. it is about love. it is about sacrifice. it is about trying to always make the right decision in desperate times. it is about frequently making the wrong decision. it is about a man (you) trying not to lose the part of him that trusts in the the mysterious ways of god.
in the middle of the outbreak, just to add more awful to the awful-pile, a fire begins to creep closer and closer to town, thwarting old-timey "firefighters." the town is in quarantine - no one in or out, but that fire doesn't care if you are sick or healthy, and the unsick members of the town start to get a little antsy...what are you, the spiritual adviser and the law combined, going to do about it?
oh, dear.
for such a short book, the pacing in this is marvelous. i marvel at it. as more and more "normalcy" collapses, more background is exposed. things that used to be done with a certain amount of care and reverence are, by necessity, done more quickly, sometimes with horrifying consequences. but always in this beautiful prose that makes my heart clench. i have never before read a passage about a horse being put down with more ache in me.
o'nan does everything with a delicate touch of writerly panache.
the whole idea of deathbed conversion strikes you as false, a sop for the dying. it's when you are happiest, sure of your own strength, that you need to bow down and talk with god. you wonder if that's lax or fanatic. you know marta worries when you make too much of your faith, so you've taken to praying in your office when the cell's empty, the stone cold and hard on your knees. there's nothing desperate about it, just a comfort you rely on time to time, but you've given up trying to explain it. you can't, really. it's a feeling of almost knowing something, of being close to some grand yet utterly simple answer. but what the answer is, you don't know. it's easier to hide it, keep it private, which makes you ashamed. you don't trust people with secrets.
ahh, jacob, but you have secrets, too, dontcha?
this is a dark, dark book. and a perfect antidote to that harry turtledove book, which contained some of the worst writing i have ever read. this is brilliant. this book wants me to read it again, i can tell.
oh, jacob. oh, me.
our lives are now intertwined.
and it is scary in there...
come to my blog!
but you have learned something, even though it was an unpleasant lesson.
this is jacob's story - a civil war vet living in wisconsin and acting as his town's constable/pastor/undertaker. if you are interested in his philosophy about how all three professions are connected, he will surely tell you. he is married with a new baby, and a reputation for being a little...skewed. do you like jacob as a character? it doesn't really matter, because this is told in second-person, so to not like him is to not like yourself, in a manner of reading.
but even if you don't like him, you will like the story. because it is haunting as shit.
jen fisher, light of my life, pressed this book into my hands when she unexpectedly turned up in my neck of the woods a month or so back. this present was nearly as good as her visit itself. it is such a nice edition - an undersized hardcover that just feels so perfect in the hand, able to be held open with one hand while clutching the disease-ridden subway pole with t'other.
because this book is about horrible, contagious disease.
diptheria, to be precise.
and it ravages the town, spreading from person to person without sympathy or malice, just doing what a disease does, and causing jacob (you) no end of spiritual unease.
this book is about faith. it is about love. it is about sacrifice. it is about trying to always make the right decision in desperate times. it is about frequently making the wrong decision. it is about a man (you) trying not to lose the part of him that trusts in the the mysterious ways of god.
in the middle of the outbreak, just to add more awful to the awful-pile, a fire begins to creep closer and closer to town, thwarting old-timey "firefighters." the town is in quarantine - no one in or out, but that fire doesn't care if you are sick or healthy, and the unsick members of the town start to get a little antsy...what are you, the spiritual adviser and the law combined, going to do about it?
oh, dear.
for such a short book, the pacing in this is marvelous. i marvel at it. as more and more "normalcy" collapses, more background is exposed. things that used to be done with a certain amount of care and reverence are, by necessity, done more quickly, sometimes with horrifying consequences. but always in this beautiful prose that makes my heart clench. i have never before read a passage about a horse being put down with more ache in me.
o'nan does everything with a delicate touch of writerly panache.
the whole idea of deathbed conversion strikes you as false, a sop for the dying. it's when you are happiest, sure of your own strength, that you need to bow down and talk with god. you wonder if that's lax or fanatic. you know marta worries when you make too much of your faith, so you've taken to praying in your office when the cell's empty, the stone cold and hard on your knees. there's nothing desperate about it, just a comfort you rely on time to time, but you've given up trying to explain it. you can't, really. it's a feeling of almost knowing something, of being close to some grand yet utterly simple answer. but what the answer is, you don't know. it's easier to hide it, keep it private, which makes you ashamed. you don't trust people with secrets.
ahh, jacob, but you have secrets, too, dontcha?
this is a dark, dark book. and a perfect antidote to that harry turtledove book, which contained some of the worst writing i have ever read. this is brilliant. this book wants me to read it again, i can tell.
oh, jacob. oh, me.
our lives are now intertwined.
and it is scary in there...
come to my blog!
March 17, 2012
Stewart O'Nan's A Prayer for the Dying, A Reminiscence for the Living
It is slightly after 12:30 a.m. But I am not sleeping. I have just completed A Prayer for the Dying by Stewart O'Nan. Rarely have I read a novel that I am compelled to review immediately upon completing it. But this is one.
Much has gone on in my personal life since a killer tornado passed through our town, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, on April 27th. Shortly afterward, my mother developed a serious case of pneumonia. Although the pneumonia was cured, she was immediately diagnosed with emphysema. A spot on the lung in an x-ray, which might have been a mere shadow was cancer. Next she was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension. The diagnoses were numbing. However the prognosis was good. She was released from the hospital on a relatively small amount of oxygen, small enough to allow her to travel about with one of those portable units that you've perhaps seen people walking around with, nothing more than what you might see in a stylish shoulder bag.
In August, my mother had her second bout of pneumonia. She came home with an oxygen concentrator delivering nine liters of oxygen per minute. Our traveling days were over. I promised her that she would remain in her home as long as possible. My wife and I moved into my Mother's home. From August till now, I put my law practice on hold. I am an only child. The duty of being the primary caregiver was mine and mine alone.
The oncologist said that it appeared the radiation treatment had done its job. When she returned the end of this month, she expected to find nothing but a small amount of scar tissue. We were all optimistic.
Last week, something was obviously wrong. The shortest walk, even tethered to nine liters of oxygen wasn't enough to keep her from being physically exhausted. I got one of those small flyweight wheelchairs to get her from den to bath and bedroom.
On last Thursday evening, my mother began to choke. She was gasping for breath. Although she had stubbornly insisted that she would ride out this long journey at home, she told me to call 911. The front of the house was reflected in reds and blues from the emergency vehicles that parked alongside the front of the house and filled the driveway.
It was a trip by ambulance to our hospital. It was a long night in the emergency room. About 3:30 am. she was admitted to the acute stroke unit. It was not that she had a stroke, it was the only monitored bed available in the entire hospital.
On Saturday, she was moved to a regular respiratory floor monitored bed. I was glad. So was she. Visiting hours were limited to only thirty minutes every four hours on the stroke unit. On the floor, my wife and I, my aunt and two of her grandchildren were able to keep her company.
But, I couldn't help but notice that what had been 9 liters of oxygen was now 15, an incredibly significant increase. Yesterday, about 8:25 am, mother was admitted to intensive care. The fifteen liters were not holding her.
The irony of the situation is that I had begun reading O'Nan's "A Prayer for the Dying" that very morning. I carried it with me to the hospital during the long visiting hours.
I read sporadically through the day. A day of hospital visiting is not conducive to uninterrupted reading. Most of the day passed in conversation with my mother as her breathing allowed. But when I came home that night, I was immersed in O'Nan's novel about a small Wisconsin Township called Friendship.
It begins on a beautiful summer day. It is 1866. The American Civil War is still fresh on the minds of the citizens of Friendship. Jacob Hansen, himself, a veteran, who fought extensively in the Kentucky campaigns, has returned to Friendship where, seen as a natural leader, he is the town constable, undertaker and deacon of his church, where he frequently fills in as preacher.
Jacob carries out his duties with great satisfaction over a job well done. He has a happy home life, married to the beautiful Marta, and the proud father of their young daughter Amelia, who has just gotten her first tooth.
1866 is a year when it is still not unusual to see veterans of the war looking for their next meal, or next place to sleep. When Jacob is summoned to a nearby farm of a bee keeper, his attention is first diverted to the drone of the bees and the keepers industry in gathering honey from the hives, raking the sweet from the combs rich with the golden treat. It is a beautiful day, blue skies, bright sunshine, with dots of clouds scudding across the sky in the hot summer breeze.
The bee keeper calmly tells Jacob that there is a deadman behind the hives down in the woods. One of his sons will carry him to the body's location. Jacob immediately recognizes him as one of the many wandering veterans homeless,bivouacking wherever he can find a spot. Jacob notes that his pockets have been turned inside out. One of his few belongings, a tin cup, frequently issued to troops is readily recognized by Jacob.
The farmer and his children all deny having touched anything. But Jacob suspects that the bee keeper who has lost his wife recently would not be above picking the pockets of a dead soldier to search for anythng of value. Jacob notes the odd coloration of the dead soldier's skin and the presence of blood about his nose and lips. Doc Cox must take a look at the dead man. There's not a mark on his body.
Jacob enlists one of the bee keeper's sons to carry the body into the Doctor's Office. Jacob drops the soldier's tin cup. The youngest child "Bitsy" politely hands Jacob the cup. On the ride into town, Jacob spies the body of a woman in a pasture. Upon checking on her, she is alive, but mad. She is obviously a resident of the Colony outside of Friendship, run by the Reverend Grace. Rumors abound around Friendship concerning the possibility of lewd behavior of the women residents there, with the Reverend Grace as their satanic leader in all possible improprities.
Upon arriving in town, the dead man and the mad woman are placed into the care of the local Doctor. The Doc rapidly diagnoses the soldier's deat as being caused by diptheria. At that time, diptheria was a dreaded disease, highly contagious, that spread like wild fire. The Colony resident also shows signs of infection as well. The Doctor cautions Jacob not to drain the body for preservation, but to bury it, not exposing himself to any possibility of infection. Yet, Jacob, out of his respect for the dead, properly drains the soldier's body, filling him with formaldehyde to properly prepare the body for burial.
Jacob continues to enjoy his idyllic life with Marta and daughter Amelia. However, it is evident that Diptheria is spreading rapidly throughout Friendship, its source unknown. Marta begs Jacob to allow her to take Amelia and seek safety with relatives in a nearby town. But Jacob reassures her that all will be well and cautions her that it would serve as a poor example to the Township were he to allow his wife and child to seek safety elsewhere.
Soon, Jacob is dealing with a full blown epidemic of Diptheria, resulting in the quarantine of the town--no one leaves and no one comes in.
What begins as an idyllic summer day turns Friendship into Hell itself. Although Jacob's personal life may disintegrate around him, he will continue to perform his duties as constable, deacon and undertaker.
Interestingly, each of Jacob's honorable judgments lead to more dire circumstances for the people of Friendship. Jacob's effort to do the honorable thing lead him from being beloved of the town, to despised, as he enforces the quarantine. Tension mounts as a wild fire burns out of control towards Friendship. Jacob must save those untouched by the sickness and leave those infected to the flames. It is a decision that will tear him apart.
This afternoon, I presented my mother's living will to the nurse's station directing a do not resuscitate order on her chart. My mother's primary physician met with us to tell us that all that could be done had been done. Mother reiterated no ventilator, that she did not wish to prolong her illness. I shared a special friendship with my mother. She always rode shotgun on my rambling day trips no matter how boring it may have been for her. Those trips ended in May of 2011. I will miss them greatly.
Any work of an author is a living thing. It serves as an interaction between author and reader. O'Nan will never have any idea of how he spoke to me of bravery, duty, responsibility, love and sacrifice. Nor will he ever know how I have come to appreciate the growing loneliness of Jacob Hansen. I am thankful for the comfort of the company of my wife. But I owe Stewart O'Nan a debt of gratitude. It is in this interaction between reader and author that books continue to live long after they have gone into print. It is this connection between reader and writer that gives life to books and causes them to breathe.
For my Mother, Ann M. Sullivan, August 27, 1935 till time stops. Prl
It is slightly after 12:30 a.m. But I am not sleeping. I have just completed A Prayer for the Dying by Stewart O'Nan. Rarely have I read a novel that I am compelled to review immediately upon completing it. But this is one.
Much has gone on in my personal life since a killer tornado passed through our town, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, on April 27th. Shortly afterward, my mother developed a serious case of pneumonia. Although the pneumonia was cured, she was immediately diagnosed with emphysema. A spot on the lung in an x-ray, which might have been a mere shadow was cancer. Next she was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension. The diagnoses were numbing. However the prognosis was good. She was released from the hospital on a relatively small amount of oxygen, small enough to allow her to travel about with one of those portable units that you've perhaps seen people walking around with, nothing more than what you might see in a stylish shoulder bag.
In August, my mother had her second bout of pneumonia. She came home with an oxygen concentrator delivering nine liters of oxygen per minute. Our traveling days were over. I promised her that she would remain in her home as long as possible. My wife and I moved into my Mother's home. From August till now, I put my law practice on hold. I am an only child. The duty of being the primary caregiver was mine and mine alone.
The oncologist said that it appeared the radiation treatment had done its job. When she returned the end of this month, she expected to find nothing but a small amount of scar tissue. We were all optimistic.
Last week, something was obviously wrong. The shortest walk, even tethered to nine liters of oxygen wasn't enough to keep her from being physically exhausted. I got one of those small flyweight wheelchairs to get her from den to bath and bedroom.
On last Thursday evening, my mother began to choke. She was gasping for breath. Although she had stubbornly insisted that she would ride out this long journey at home, she told me to call 911. The front of the house was reflected in reds and blues from the emergency vehicles that parked alongside the front of the house and filled the driveway.
It was a trip by ambulance to our hospital. It was a long night in the emergency room. About 3:30 am. she was admitted to the acute stroke unit. It was not that she had a stroke, it was the only monitored bed available in the entire hospital.
On Saturday, she was moved to a regular respiratory floor monitored bed. I was glad. So was she. Visiting hours were limited to only thirty minutes every four hours on the stroke unit. On the floor, my wife and I, my aunt and two of her grandchildren were able to keep her company.
But, I couldn't help but notice that what had been 9 liters of oxygen was now 15, an incredibly significant increase. Yesterday, about 8:25 am, mother was admitted to intensive care. The fifteen liters were not holding her.
The irony of the situation is that I had begun reading O'Nan's "A Prayer for the Dying" that very morning. I carried it with me to the hospital during the long visiting hours.
I read sporadically through the day. A day of hospital visiting is not conducive to uninterrupted reading. Most of the day passed in conversation with my mother as her breathing allowed. But when I came home that night, I was immersed in O'Nan's novel about a small Wisconsin Township called Friendship.
It begins on a beautiful summer day. It is 1866. The American Civil War is still fresh on the minds of the citizens of Friendship. Jacob Hansen, himself, a veteran, who fought extensively in the Kentucky campaigns, has returned to Friendship where, seen as a natural leader, he is the town constable, undertaker and deacon of his church, where he frequently fills in as preacher.
Jacob carries out his duties with great satisfaction over a job well done. He has a happy home life, married to the beautiful Marta, and the proud father of their young daughter Amelia, who has just gotten her first tooth.
1866 is a year when it is still not unusual to see veterans of the war looking for their next meal, or next place to sleep. When Jacob is summoned to a nearby farm of a bee keeper, his attention is first diverted to the drone of the bees and the keepers industry in gathering honey from the hives, raking the sweet from the combs rich with the golden treat. It is a beautiful day, blue skies, bright sunshine, with dots of clouds scudding across the sky in the hot summer breeze.
The bee keeper calmly tells Jacob that there is a deadman behind the hives down in the woods. One of his sons will carry him to the body's location. Jacob immediately recognizes him as one of the many wandering veterans homeless,bivouacking wherever he can find a spot. Jacob notes that his pockets have been turned inside out. One of his few belongings, a tin cup, frequently issued to troops is readily recognized by Jacob.
The farmer and his children all deny having touched anything. But Jacob suspects that the bee keeper who has lost his wife recently would not be above picking the pockets of a dead soldier to search for anythng of value. Jacob notes the odd coloration of the dead soldier's skin and the presence of blood about his nose and lips. Doc Cox must take a look at the dead man. There's not a mark on his body.
Jacob enlists one of the bee keeper's sons to carry the body into the Doctor's Office. Jacob drops the soldier's tin cup. The youngest child "Bitsy" politely hands Jacob the cup. On the ride into town, Jacob spies the body of a woman in a pasture. Upon checking on her, she is alive, but mad. She is obviously a resident of the Colony outside of Friendship, run by the Reverend Grace. Rumors abound around Friendship concerning the possibility of lewd behavior of the women residents there, with the Reverend Grace as their satanic leader in all possible improprities.
Upon arriving in town, the dead man and the mad woman are placed into the care of the local Doctor. The Doc rapidly diagnoses the soldier's deat as being caused by diptheria. At that time, diptheria was a dreaded disease, highly contagious, that spread like wild fire. The Colony resident also shows signs of infection as well. The Doctor cautions Jacob not to drain the body for preservation, but to bury it, not exposing himself to any possibility of infection. Yet, Jacob, out of his respect for the dead, properly drains the soldier's body, filling him with formaldehyde to properly prepare the body for burial.
Jacob continues to enjoy his idyllic life with Marta and daughter Amelia. However, it is evident that Diptheria is spreading rapidly throughout Friendship, its source unknown. Marta begs Jacob to allow her to take Amelia and seek safety with relatives in a nearby town. But Jacob reassures her that all will be well and cautions her that it would serve as a poor example to the Township were he to allow his wife and child to seek safety elsewhere.
Soon, Jacob is dealing with a full blown epidemic of Diptheria, resulting in the quarantine of the town--no one leaves and no one comes in.
What begins as an idyllic summer day turns Friendship into Hell itself. Although Jacob's personal life may disintegrate around him, he will continue to perform his duties as constable, deacon and undertaker.
Interestingly, each of Jacob's honorable judgments lead to more dire circumstances for the people of Friendship. Jacob's effort to do the honorable thing lead him from being beloved of the town, to despised, as he enforces the quarantine. Tension mounts as a wild fire burns out of control towards Friendship. Jacob must save those untouched by the sickness and leave those infected to the flames. It is a decision that will tear him apart.
This afternoon, I presented my mother's living will to the nurse's station directing a do not resuscitate order on her chart. My mother's primary physician met with us to tell us that all that could be done had been done. Mother reiterated no ventilator, that she did not wish to prolong her illness. I shared a special friendship with my mother. She always rode shotgun on my rambling day trips no matter how boring it may have been for her. Those trips ended in May of 2011. I will miss them greatly.
Any work of an author is a living thing. It serves as an interaction between author and reader. O'Nan will never have any idea of how he spoke to me of bravery, duty, responsibility, love and sacrifice. Nor will he ever know how I have come to appreciate the growing loneliness of Jacob Hansen. I am thankful for the comfort of the company of my wife. But I owe Stewart O'Nan a debt of gratitude. It is in this interaction between reader and author that books continue to live long after they have gone into print. It is this connection between reader and writer that gives life to books and causes them to breathe.
For my Mother, Ann M. Sullivan, August 27, 1935 till time stops. Prl
March 22, 2022
My God, Stewart O'Nan has to be the most underrated writer in the world. I cannot fathom how his talent is not more widely recognized.
Sure, plenty of people know about him, but nowhere near the number he deserves. He's an absolute beast of a novelist, one who exhibits total control of his craft. A gifted writer, master storyteller, and brilliant imagination all rolled into one; an author who has such an uncanny ability to get under your skin, that he can actually wear you with a book like 'A Prayer For The Dying'.
Told in the rare second person (Trust me, that's a truly incredible feat) this book is one of the best I have ever read. Hell, it made it on to my Top 10 list before I'd even got through a hundred pages. It is just that riveting and well-written. In lesser hands, this could easily be categorized as a horror novel, but in the steady strong grip of O'Nan it transcends labels or genres. Harrowing and heartbreaking, 'Prayer' possesses a tenderness only matched by the bleak reality of the story's circumstances. Your jaw will drop more than once as you read about how an uneasy peace between townsfolk falls to pieces amid a terrible infection that invades homes and heads and hearts. You're drawn in, unable to free yourself from the pages, becoming the man trapped at it's center, impossibly tasked with trying to save the living, while overwhelmingly compelled to take care of the dead.
There is not a word wasted in this short, but brilliant piece of fiction based on historical fact. Put this on your list, make it the next book you buy. I want to punch myself in the teeth for missing out on this novel for as long as I did.
Sure, plenty of people know about him, but nowhere near the number he deserves. He's an absolute beast of a novelist, one who exhibits total control of his craft. A gifted writer, master storyteller, and brilliant imagination all rolled into one; an author who has such an uncanny ability to get under your skin, that he can actually wear you with a book like 'A Prayer For The Dying'.
Told in the rare second person (Trust me, that's a truly incredible feat) this book is one of the best I have ever read. Hell, it made it on to my Top 10 list before I'd even got through a hundred pages. It is just that riveting and well-written. In lesser hands, this could easily be categorized as a horror novel, but in the steady strong grip of O'Nan it transcends labels or genres. Harrowing and heartbreaking, 'Prayer' possesses a tenderness only matched by the bleak reality of the story's circumstances. Your jaw will drop more than once as you read about how an uneasy peace between townsfolk falls to pieces amid a terrible infection that invades homes and heads and hearts. You're drawn in, unable to free yourself from the pages, becoming the man trapped at it's center, impossibly tasked with trying to save the living, while overwhelmingly compelled to take care of the dead.
There is not a word wasted in this short, but brilliant piece of fiction based on historical fact. Put this on your list, make it the next book you buy. I want to punch myself in the teeth for missing out on this novel for as long as I did.
April 8, 2019
This very bleak but beautifully written novel ( a novella, really).. by Stewart O'Nan takes place in the time period following the end of the Civil War in Friendship, Wisconsin. Jacob Hansen has just returned from the war and is struggling to fit back into the town that he loves. Jacob is Friendship's sheriff, undertaker and pastor; and he takes all of those roles very seriously. He is married to Marta and they have a baby girl, Amelia. The two are the anchor in Jacob's life. The story is told through Jacob's eyes but is told in the second person.... which I have to admit was a little off putting to me at first but ends up being a very effective means of narration.
This story begins on a very hot July day. Jacob is making his rounds as sheriff when he is told that a dead man has been found in the woods outside of town. Thinking it may be one of the many soldiers who are not yet aware that the war has ended and wander around trying to find their regiment, he heads out to have a look. Not only does he end up discovering a deceased soldier, but he also comes across a delirious woman, lying in a field and burning up with fever. He manages to get the soldier's body back to town and delivers the very ill woman to the town's doctor, Doc. What started out as a hot, still, end of July day begins what will be a nightmare for Jacob, Doc and the town of Friendship.
Doc confirms that the deceased soldier and the seriously ill woman have contracted diphtheria and there is no available cure.The discovery of this epidemic is only the first test of faith that Jacob will endure. Jacob believes that the right thing to do is to put the town under quarantine but Doc is afraid that panic and hysteria will occur so the two decide to wait and see what happens. Unfortunately, this turns out to be the wrong judgement call. Within the matter of a few short days, many of the town's residents are sick or have already succumbed to diphtheria.... sadly,including Jacob's wife, Marta and their baby, Amelia. And this is just the beginning of the trials that Jacob will face. He also receives word that a fast moving wildfire has started in a neighboring town; and with the hot, dry weather and the parched vegetation, the wildfire is headed for Friendship. What should Jacob do? Does he force a quarantine of his town's residents, knowing a fire is headed straight for them? Or does he allow them to flee, knowing they will spread diphtheria to unsuspecting people?
In a story that plays out in ways that seems reminiscent of the Biblical stories of Abraham and Job, Jacob is faced over and over with difficult.. even impossible.. situations which require him to make decisions where there are no good solutions or answers... and there certainly were to be no happy endings.
When reading this story, you couldn't help but ask yourself just how much one man could handle without completely breaking? Jacob was a man haunted by his experiences in the war and battling his conscience over the decisions he had made regarding his beloved town and its citizens. He so much wanted to be a good and righteous man.... he preached the scripture to his congregation, scriptures that he wholeheartedly believed in; he went out of his way to make sure that every person sent to him for burial, in his role as undertaker, was treated respectfully. His actions exemplified all that is good in human beings and yet.... he couldn't help but feel that he was lost spiritually .. he couldn't save his family or his town. And this story was ultimately about that age old struggle that human beings face.. are we essentially good or are we evil? The truth, I believe,... and which was demonstrated by Jacob.... is that all human beings are a combination of the two.... we have potential to do great good and we also have the potential to do great harm. After all, are there really any decisions that can really be seen as 'black' or 'white' in this world which seems so many shades of 'gray'?
Mr.O'Nan wrote an amazing novel that explored some powerful spiritual and philosophical questions and he accomplished this through a completely credible and sympathetic character. His beautiful language appealed to my senses in a way that I have only occasionally experienced while reading.. An example of this was a moving scene which occurred after Jacob had prepared his baby girl for burial.When thinking about her death, he said....
"The empty crib sends you to the backyard. The crab apple bows. The sun's going down and it's all in shadow. The dirt in the corner is dried
and cracked, and ant struggling across it, carrying another ant bent double.Glance over the fences on both sides; there's no one. You press
your hand to the cool earth as if spreading on her chest, cover your eyes. What do you see when you remember her? Marta bathing her in the
tub, a hand cupping her head. Playing on the floor, holding her above you and watching her tiny feet kick. Her one tooth. She never said a word."
This passage eloquently describes the agony of a father who lost his little girl.. visiting her grave and recalling the moments of a life that was way too short. Mr. O'Nan used beautiful language throughout the story to create this stark and very powerful story. Reading this novel reminded me of just why Stewart O'Nan is one of my favorite authors.
This story begins on a very hot July day. Jacob is making his rounds as sheriff when he is told that a dead man has been found in the woods outside of town. Thinking it may be one of the many soldiers who are not yet aware that the war has ended and wander around trying to find their regiment, he heads out to have a look. Not only does he end up discovering a deceased soldier, but he also comes across a delirious woman, lying in a field and burning up with fever. He manages to get the soldier's body back to town and delivers the very ill woman to the town's doctor, Doc. What started out as a hot, still, end of July day begins what will be a nightmare for Jacob, Doc and the town of Friendship.
Doc confirms that the deceased soldier and the seriously ill woman have contracted diphtheria and there is no available cure.The discovery of this epidemic is only the first test of faith that Jacob will endure. Jacob believes that the right thing to do is to put the town under quarantine but Doc is afraid that panic and hysteria will occur so the two decide to wait and see what happens. Unfortunately, this turns out to be the wrong judgement call. Within the matter of a few short days, many of the town's residents are sick or have already succumbed to diphtheria.... sadly,including Jacob's wife, Marta and their baby, Amelia. And this is just the beginning of the trials that Jacob will face. He also receives word that a fast moving wildfire has started in a neighboring town; and with the hot, dry weather and the parched vegetation, the wildfire is headed for Friendship. What should Jacob do? Does he force a quarantine of his town's residents, knowing a fire is headed straight for them? Or does he allow them to flee, knowing they will spread diphtheria to unsuspecting people?
In a story that plays out in ways that seems reminiscent of the Biblical stories of Abraham and Job, Jacob is faced over and over with difficult.. even impossible.. situations which require him to make decisions where there are no good solutions or answers... and there certainly were to be no happy endings.
When reading this story, you couldn't help but ask yourself just how much one man could handle without completely breaking? Jacob was a man haunted by his experiences in the war and battling his conscience over the decisions he had made regarding his beloved town and its citizens. He so much wanted to be a good and righteous man.... he preached the scripture to his congregation, scriptures that he wholeheartedly believed in; he went out of his way to make sure that every person sent to him for burial, in his role as undertaker, was treated respectfully. His actions exemplified all that is good in human beings and yet.... he couldn't help but feel that he was lost spiritually .. he couldn't save his family or his town. And this story was ultimately about that age old struggle that human beings face.. are we essentially good or are we evil? The truth, I believe,... and which was demonstrated by Jacob.... is that all human beings are a combination of the two.... we have potential to do great good and we also have the potential to do great harm. After all, are there really any decisions that can really be seen as 'black' or 'white' in this world which seems so many shades of 'gray'?
Mr.O'Nan wrote an amazing novel that explored some powerful spiritual and philosophical questions and he accomplished this through a completely credible and sympathetic character. His beautiful language appealed to my senses in a way that I have only occasionally experienced while reading.. An example of this was a moving scene which occurred after Jacob had prepared his baby girl for burial.When thinking about her death, he said....
"The empty crib sends you to the backyard. The crab apple bows. The sun's going down and it's all in shadow. The dirt in the corner is dried
and cracked, and ant struggling across it, carrying another ant bent double.Glance over the fences on both sides; there's no one. You press
your hand to the cool earth as if spreading on her chest, cover your eyes. What do you see when you remember her? Marta bathing her in the
tub, a hand cupping her head. Playing on the floor, holding her above you and watching her tiny feet kick. Her one tooth. She never said a word."
This passage eloquently describes the agony of a father who lost his little girl.. visiting her grave and recalling the moments of a life that was way too short. Mr. O'Nan used beautiful language throughout the story to create this stark and very powerful story. Reading this novel reminded me of just why Stewart O'Nan is one of my favorite authors.
April 27, 2016
There are times you don’t like something, but can’t really put your finger on the reason. Take Mexican food. No matter how well it is prepared, how fresh the ingredients, or how wonderful the recipe, it’s all pretty average to me. You can place before me the finest Mexican feast in all the land, and I will respond with a resounding meh. And to the consternation of my wife, who loves Mexican food, I can’t explain the reason why. The other night, I went with some friends to a popular new Mexican place in my neighborhood. After what everyone agreed was an exemplary repast, I received quizzical stares when I declared the establishment to be no better than Taco Bell.
That sums up my experience with Stuart O’Nan’s A Prayer for the Dying. It is a well-reviewed book by an underappreciated writer whose previous works I have thoroughly enjoyed. Yet for some reason, not easily diagnosed, it failed to make a dent in my consciousness. When I finished, I beheld the novel as an elegant but impractical artifact: structurally sound, expertly crafted, yet somehow empty, a meaningless exercise.
O’Nan is known as a literary shape-shifter. He plays with different genres and archetypes and subtly shapes them to his own ends. He has a gift for taking on a tried-and-true story from an oblique angle. He has used his talents to spin familiar, yet unique stories about missing children, murders, ghosts, and a down-on-its-luck Red Lobster.
For all his genre dabbling, O’Nan has a pretty consistent style and template. His books are slim, usually less than three hundred pages. He writes in a spare, understated style, though with a keen eye for precise, telling details. The pages of his novels are shot through with humanism. He is never as interested in plot action as he is in the character reactions to that plot.
In Dying, O’Nan, known more for his contemporary settings, takes on historical fiction. The setting is the town of Friendship, Wisconsin, in 1868. It is a place still haunted by the recently-ended Civil War. Friendship is populated with veterans, and the surrounding countryside is still full of wandering soldiers trying to make their ways home.
The main character is Jacob Hansen, who holds three jobs: sheriff, pastor, and undertaker. All these jobs are fraught with symbolism, as is just about every other aspect of this story. Following a brief introduction to the town and its citizens, Friendship’s quaint and peaceful existence is shattered by the outbreak of a virulent and deadly epidemic, perhaps borne by those wandering Union soldiers. Jacob and the doctor (helpfully known as Doc) attempt to enforce a quarantine, with varying degrees of success. If that wasn’t bad enough, the woods erupt in flames, and soon a forest fire is surging towards the virus-ridden village. Yep, that’s right. Not one, but two Biblical plagues! Both in less than 200 pages! Now, I’m no literary theorist, but I think that makes Jacob into Job: a man of faith beset by tragedies.
The trouble, or perhaps the fear, I’ve always had in openly discussing books (whether in high school English or the Internet) is the uncomfortable sensation that I’m missing some profound point. I don’t want to come off as a slack-jawed yokel who can only read and understand back issues of Guns & Ammo (Though I’m sure my pans of Dostoyevsky and Melville have already marked me as a hopeless philistine).
With this novel, I wasn’t sure if I was reading too deep, or not deep enough. The writing is so barebones and skeletal I was inclined to think it was the former, and that any philosophical insights I conjured were the result of projection, rather than authorial intent. However, the evident care and craft taken with Dying has convinced me that O’Nan probably was shooting for a greater resonance than anything I experienced.
As I noted above, this isn’t a book that is easy to critique. There is no obvious flaws. There isn’t any hackneyed writing or tone-deaf dialogue or shoddy plotting. To the contrary, I got the sense that everything in Dying was exactly as O’Nan wanted it. In terms of execution, I really believe he put his vision on the page.
If I had to put my finger on the source of my disquiet – and I probably should, at this point, instead of stalling and expanding on a tired Mexican food metaphor – it would probably be the yawning distance I sensed between myself and the characters in the story.
This distance comes, partially, as a result of O’Nan’s decision to write in the second person. The story is addressed to you, with the reader standing in for the main character, Jacob. The second person is a rare point of view, but in certain situations, it can be really effective at creating a sense of immediacy, of making the reader part of the story. Here, though, I think it does just the opposite. It felt like I was being held at arm’s length.
Perhaps this is as much a function of O’Nan’s tone as it is of the point of view he employs. O’Nan’s style has never been vigorous or descriptive. Rather, it is economical, relying on perception and insight rather than a thesaurus and fancy syntax.
In Dying, unfortunately, O’Nan’s understated style nearly flat-lines. It is almost deadpan. I mean, there are some wild things that happen in this novel. There is a hijacked train racing a forest fire; there are gruesome deaths from a mysterious illness; there are murders; there is even necrophilia! Essentially, all the elements exist for a shamelessly entertaining summer read. (Is entertaining the word I'm looking for? I'll stick with it, and leave it to the mental health professionals to sort out the rest). O’Nan, though, narrates these goings-on with an unwaveringly moribund voice. He may be describing a man having carnal relations with a corpse, but the tenor of his writing remains appropriate for a treatise on federal estate tax law.
There are themes and leitmotifs swirling around A Prayer for the Dying. Questions are raised about good and evil and faith. The trouble with a book like this, marked by its brevity and terseness, is that it only really gets around to raising these questions, rather than expounding upon them or – gasp – attempting an answer or two. It could be that I’m too dumb to understand this book. It’s just as likely that its fans are projecting too much upon its slender spine.
In any event, this is a novel that I certainly respect, from an aesthetic standpoint, if no other. On the other hand, it is certainly not a novel I enjoyed.
That sums up my experience with Stuart O’Nan’s A Prayer for the Dying. It is a well-reviewed book by an underappreciated writer whose previous works I have thoroughly enjoyed. Yet for some reason, not easily diagnosed, it failed to make a dent in my consciousness. When I finished, I beheld the novel as an elegant but impractical artifact: structurally sound, expertly crafted, yet somehow empty, a meaningless exercise.
O’Nan is known as a literary shape-shifter. He plays with different genres and archetypes and subtly shapes them to his own ends. He has a gift for taking on a tried-and-true story from an oblique angle. He has used his talents to spin familiar, yet unique stories about missing children, murders, ghosts, and a down-on-its-luck Red Lobster.
For all his genre dabbling, O’Nan has a pretty consistent style and template. His books are slim, usually less than three hundred pages. He writes in a spare, understated style, though with a keen eye for precise, telling details. The pages of his novels are shot through with humanism. He is never as interested in plot action as he is in the character reactions to that plot.
In Dying, O’Nan, known more for his contemporary settings, takes on historical fiction. The setting is the town of Friendship, Wisconsin, in 1868. It is a place still haunted by the recently-ended Civil War. Friendship is populated with veterans, and the surrounding countryside is still full of wandering soldiers trying to make their ways home.
The main character is Jacob Hansen, who holds three jobs: sheriff, pastor, and undertaker. All these jobs are fraught with symbolism, as is just about every other aspect of this story. Following a brief introduction to the town and its citizens, Friendship’s quaint and peaceful existence is shattered by the outbreak of a virulent and deadly epidemic, perhaps borne by those wandering Union soldiers. Jacob and the doctor (helpfully known as Doc) attempt to enforce a quarantine, with varying degrees of success. If that wasn’t bad enough, the woods erupt in flames, and soon a forest fire is surging towards the virus-ridden village. Yep, that’s right. Not one, but two Biblical plagues! Both in less than 200 pages! Now, I’m no literary theorist, but I think that makes Jacob into Job: a man of faith beset by tragedies.
The trouble, or perhaps the fear, I’ve always had in openly discussing books (whether in high school English or the Internet) is the uncomfortable sensation that I’m missing some profound point. I don’t want to come off as a slack-jawed yokel who can only read and understand back issues of Guns & Ammo (Though I’m sure my pans of Dostoyevsky and Melville have already marked me as a hopeless philistine).
With this novel, I wasn’t sure if I was reading too deep, or not deep enough. The writing is so barebones and skeletal I was inclined to think it was the former, and that any philosophical insights I conjured were the result of projection, rather than authorial intent. However, the evident care and craft taken with Dying has convinced me that O’Nan probably was shooting for a greater resonance than anything I experienced.
As I noted above, this isn’t a book that is easy to critique. There is no obvious flaws. There isn’t any hackneyed writing or tone-deaf dialogue or shoddy plotting. To the contrary, I got the sense that everything in Dying was exactly as O’Nan wanted it. In terms of execution, I really believe he put his vision on the page.
If I had to put my finger on the source of my disquiet – and I probably should, at this point, instead of stalling and expanding on a tired Mexican food metaphor – it would probably be the yawning distance I sensed between myself and the characters in the story.
This distance comes, partially, as a result of O’Nan’s decision to write in the second person. The story is addressed to you, with the reader standing in for the main character, Jacob. The second person is a rare point of view, but in certain situations, it can be really effective at creating a sense of immediacy, of making the reader part of the story. Here, though, I think it does just the opposite. It felt like I was being held at arm’s length.
Perhaps this is as much a function of O’Nan’s tone as it is of the point of view he employs. O’Nan’s style has never been vigorous or descriptive. Rather, it is economical, relying on perception and insight rather than a thesaurus and fancy syntax.
In Dying, unfortunately, O’Nan’s understated style nearly flat-lines. It is almost deadpan. I mean, there are some wild things that happen in this novel. There is a hijacked train racing a forest fire; there are gruesome deaths from a mysterious illness; there are murders; there is even necrophilia! Essentially, all the elements exist for a shamelessly entertaining summer read. (Is entertaining the word I'm looking for? I'll stick with it, and leave it to the mental health professionals to sort out the rest). O’Nan, though, narrates these goings-on with an unwaveringly moribund voice. He may be describing a man having carnal relations with a corpse, but the tenor of his writing remains appropriate for a treatise on federal estate tax law.
There are themes and leitmotifs swirling around A Prayer for the Dying. Questions are raised about good and evil and faith. The trouble with a book like this, marked by its brevity and terseness, is that it only really gets around to raising these questions, rather than expounding upon them or – gasp – attempting an answer or two. It could be that I’m too dumb to understand this book. It’s just as likely that its fans are projecting too much upon its slender spine.
In any event, this is a novel that I certainly respect, from an aesthetic standpoint, if no other. On the other hand, it is certainly not a novel I enjoyed.
February 26, 2019
It's a bleak book but it's Stewart O'Nan so 4.5 Stars.
December 19, 2013
I finished this book last night, but tired as I was, could not sleep for thinking about it. There are several lifetimes packed into these 195 pages. Jacob is the sherriff, undertaker and minister to the small town of Friendship, Wisconsin. The Civil War has been over for 6 years, but his memories of the dead and dying persist. His life is a good one, with a loving wife and 6 month old daughter, the respect of his townspeople, and a sense of responsibility for their care and protection.
Then a diptheria epidemic breaks out.
In the midst of the dying, fire threatens the town.
This book starts out almost idyllic in it's portrayal of a summer day, and quickly descends into the complete hell that the disease and the fire create. Jacob's sense of responsibility and need to do the right thing for his family and town make it even worse for him. His realization in the last pages left me gasping with sympathy for this man, whose need to do the right thing would haunt him for the rest of his life.
This book goes on my lifetime favorite list. The single criteria for this list is a book that stays in my mind and heart, and whose characters remain a part of me.
Then a diptheria epidemic breaks out.
In the midst of the dying, fire threatens the town.
This book starts out almost idyllic in it's portrayal of a summer day, and quickly descends into the complete hell that the disease and the fire create. Jacob's sense of responsibility and need to do the right thing for his family and town make it even worse for him. His realization in the last pages left me gasping with sympathy for this man, whose need to do the right thing would haunt him for the rest of his life.
This book goes on my lifetime favorite list. The single criteria for this list is a book that stays in my mind and heart, and whose characters remain a part of me.
February 8, 2022
I think I read this years ago, but my memory is like a sieve, so it was like reading it anew.
Certainly, the read was timely, given it was about an epidemic.
Can’t say this was an uplifting read but I think the name of the book was forewarning as well as the spooky character on the front cover. 😐 😑 😬
Reviews:
• https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytim...
• https://www.fantasticfiction.com/o/st...
Certainly, the read was timely, given it was about an epidemic.
Can’t say this was an uplifting read but I think the name of the book was forewarning as well as the spooky character on the front cover. 😐 😑 😬
Reviews:
• https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytim...
• https://www.fantasticfiction.com/o/st...
April 29, 2019
“Where do your responsibilities stop? Sometimes you have to choose.” ~ Jacob Hansen
“Jake” Hansen, a Union veteran of the United States Civil War, now serves as undertaker, constable and part-time preacher in Friendship, Wisconsin, “a dying old lead town.” The word “dying” takes on enormous significance in this small prairie outpost when a young homeless soldier is found facedown beside a campfire, dead without a scratch. A woman, ranting and frothing, is soon found lying in the stubble by the roadside. The town’s only doctor determines diphtheria has made its killing journey to Friendship and what comes next is an apocalypse that pushes Jacob to the brink of insanity. This novel will make you question everything you think you know about personal responsibility and human endurance. Bleak. Dark. And soul-searing.
“Isn’t love a kind of prayer, an act of faith?” ~ Jacob Hansen
Yes it is, Jacob. And all we can ever do in this life is cherish those who matter and hold true to who we are and have faith in the decisions we make. When you’ve done the best you can, never look back. Ever.
“Jake” Hansen, a Union veteran of the United States Civil War, now serves as undertaker, constable and part-time preacher in Friendship, Wisconsin, “a dying old lead town.” The word “dying” takes on enormous significance in this small prairie outpost when a young homeless soldier is found facedown beside a campfire, dead without a scratch. A woman, ranting and frothing, is soon found lying in the stubble by the roadside. The town’s only doctor determines diphtheria has made its killing journey to Friendship and what comes next is an apocalypse that pushes Jacob to the brink of insanity. This novel will make you question everything you think you know about personal responsibility and human endurance. Bleak. Dark. And soul-searing.
“Isn’t love a kind of prayer, an act of faith?” ~ Jacob Hansen
Yes it is, Jacob. And all we can ever do in this life is cherish those who matter and hold true to who we are and have faith in the decisions we make. When you’ve done the best you can, never look back. Ever.
March 20, 2020
The beginning is like watching a fuse burn. The rest was an explosion of death and fire. Not bad.
June 23, 2012
It is short. It will grab you by the neck and pull you under. Readitreaditreadit. I want that to be my whole review but I'm a wordy bitch, so here goes:
When things go bad, how do you know they don't go bad because of you and not just in spite of you (or your efforts)? And when things go bad, so bad that you aren't sure any more what goodness is or was, does that first question even matter? And if it doesn't matter, why make an effort?
If questions like these make you want to steer the kayak of your mind closer to the vortex of this story, then go ahead. Readitreaditreadit.
That is all.
When things go bad, how do you know they don't go bad because of you and not just in spite of you (or your efforts)? And when things go bad, so bad that you aren't sure any more what goodness is or was, does that first question even matter? And if it doesn't matter, why make an effort?
If questions like these make you want to steer the kayak of your mind closer to the vortex of this story, then go ahead. Readitreaditreadit.
That is all.
September 24, 2016
Jacob Hansen is a civil war veteran and the sheriff, pastor and undertaker of the small town of Friendship. On an ordinary summer day people begin to fall ill, first one, then more. Jacob watches his beloved town unravel as diphtheria takes hold while a fire simultaneously bears down on Friendship. He struggles to balance his various roles in the town, as well as that of husband and father, as he faces these twin challenges. There is a very calm, subtle, matter-of-fact tone to this book which somehow still manages to convincingly convey the mounting despair that Jacob feels. It is really a masterful work.
September 14, 2008
My first experience with Stewart O'Nan and not entirely sure what to expect. My knowledge of him is sparse: He grew up here in Pittsburgh and went on to write about the Red Sox with Stephen King and is often compared to Flannery O'Connor, Edgar Allan Poe and Shirley Jackson, all of which piqued my interest and helped convince me to pick up a book of his.
Postbellum Friendship, Wisconsin - Jacob Hansen is the town's constable, undertaker and pastor as his town is threatened by two simultaneous dangers: diphtheria and a raging fire. His job is to keep the peace in the town as the disease destroys lives around him and make the right decisions, always; though which decision is always the right, the best? - does one think as a constable, as an undertaker or as a pastor in times like those?
Written from a second person perspective (a point-of-view I have not been a fan of in the past, though it clearly serves an incredible power here), the reader becomes Jacob as he tries to make the best choices for his family and for his town, all with the additional threat of insanity tickling at his brain.
This was a wonderful surprise, though not suggested for the weak-stomached or easily sensitive. It's a quick read (easy to read on a lazy summer Sunday afternoon), mostly because of O'Nan's writing and how hard it is to put it down for more than a few minutes. I wanted to know how it ended and when I did I wanted even more. It's rare that a book hits me like that, so clearly I'm bumping more of O'Nan's books up to the top of my list.
Postbellum Friendship, Wisconsin - Jacob Hansen is the town's constable, undertaker and pastor as his town is threatened by two simultaneous dangers: diphtheria and a raging fire. His job is to keep the peace in the town as the disease destroys lives around him and make the right decisions, always; though which decision is always the right, the best? - does one think as a constable, as an undertaker or as a pastor in times like those?
Written from a second person perspective (a point-of-view I have not been a fan of in the past, though it clearly serves an incredible power here), the reader becomes Jacob as he tries to make the best choices for his family and for his town, all with the additional threat of insanity tickling at his brain.
This was a wonderful surprise, though not suggested for the weak-stomached or easily sensitive. It's a quick read (easy to read on a lazy summer Sunday afternoon), mostly because of O'Nan's writing and how hard it is to put it down for more than a few minutes. I wanted to know how it ended and when I did I wanted even more. It's rare that a book hits me like that, so clearly I'm bumping more of O'Nan's books up to the top of my list.
February 13, 2019
Muy crudo y, aunque cuesta entrar, merece la pena.
April 22, 2020
Another excellent pandemic reading material.
Set in a town called Friendship in Wisconsin, USA just after the Civil War, the principal protagonist, Jacob Hansen, was a former soldier who is now the town’s Sheriff (so he carries a gun and maintains peace and order), Undertaker (so he fixes the dead for burial and consoles the grieving) and Deacon (so he reads the Bible and delivers the sermons during worship days). He has a wife, Martha, and they have a baby daughter, Amelia, who is a delight to them both. He is an upright man.
Then one day, a dead man was found in the backyard of one of the town dwellers. And an obviously sick woman. They do not know where they came from. Jacob attended to them both. Upon examination, the lone town physician made a chilling finding: Diphtheria—a highly communicable disease which kills quick and had no known cure yet at that time. Both Jacob and the doctor knew that in a nearby town which had been afflicted before, about half of the population perished from the disease. They did some quarantine measures but without announcing what they’ve found for fear of triggering a mass exodus out of the town and possibly spreading the disease in other places.
About midway through this novel I was getting bored. The language is sparse, laconic, like Clint Eastwood playing a cowboy who doesn’t say much. But then the baby, Amelia, becomes sick. Then Marta, too, starts coughing. From then on, I raced through the end, my heart palpitating in every page. I finished reading past midnight.
Dark, haunting and gripping, it shows what faith perhaps really is, and what happens to a man when he finds himself in the middle of hell.
What a masterpiece!
Set in a town called Friendship in Wisconsin, USA just after the Civil War, the principal protagonist, Jacob Hansen, was a former soldier who is now the town’s Sheriff (so he carries a gun and maintains peace and order), Undertaker (so he fixes the dead for burial and consoles the grieving) and Deacon (so he reads the Bible and delivers the sermons during worship days). He has a wife, Martha, and they have a baby daughter, Amelia, who is a delight to them both. He is an upright man.
Then one day, a dead man was found in the backyard of one of the town dwellers. And an obviously sick woman. They do not know where they came from. Jacob attended to them both. Upon examination, the lone town physician made a chilling finding: Diphtheria—a highly communicable disease which kills quick and had no known cure yet at that time. Both Jacob and the doctor knew that in a nearby town which had been afflicted before, about half of the population perished from the disease. They did some quarantine measures but without announcing what they’ve found for fear of triggering a mass exodus out of the town and possibly spreading the disease in other places.
About midway through this novel I was getting bored. The language is sparse, laconic, like Clint Eastwood playing a cowboy who doesn’t say much. But then the baby, Amelia, becomes sick. Then Marta, too, starts coughing. From then on, I raced through the end, my heart palpitating in every page. I finished reading past midnight.
Dark, haunting and gripping, it shows what faith perhaps really is, and what happens to a man when he finds himself in the middle of hell.
What a masterpiece!
June 17, 2007
This book is mind-blowingly awesome. Written in the disconcerting second-person voice, the book finds its spiritually-conflicted preacher/sheriff/mortician facing the apocalypse of his world. Weaving together scraps of the protagonist's Civil war memories with his current situation of disease and raging fire, the book grabs the reader for a terrifying ride and does not let go, not even after the story has ended.
August 28, 2020
[ACHTUNG: SPOILER]
Sieben Jahre nach dem Bürgerkrieg, den er als regulärer Soldat bei den Truppen des Nordens gekämpft hat, dabei vor allem in Kentucky gegen irreguläre Truppen des Südens, bemüht Jacob Hansen sich, in der kleinen Stadt Friendship Ruhe zu finden und die Erinnerungen zurück zu drängen. Er bekleidet das Amt des Sheriffs, ist zugleich aber auch Leichenbestatter und Prediger in seiner Gemeinde. Als eine Seuche ausbricht, die sein Verbündeter, der Arzt der Stadt, als Diphterie ausmacht, beginnt für Hansen ein verzweifelter Kampf. Immer mehr Menschen erliegen der Krankheit, darunter auch seine kleine Tochter und schließlich seine Frau. Doch die wahre Apokalypse kommt über die Stadt, als ringsum Präriefeuer ausbrechen und langsam alles verschlingen, was den Flammen Nahrung gibt.
Das ist, roh zusammengefasst, das Handlungsgerüst von Stewart O´Nans Roman DAS GLÜCK DER ANDEREN (Dt. 2003; Original A PRAYER FOR THE DYING; 1999). In den Tagen, die die Handlung umfasst, muß Hansen sich nicht nur damit auseinandersetzen, daß der Mensch, so sehr er auch an ihn und das Gute in ihm glauben will, sich immer selbst am nächsten steht, sondern er muß vor allem den eigenen Dämonen entgegentreten. Tief geprägt und traumatisiert von seinen Kriegserlebnissen, ist ihm vor allem der Job als Leichenbestatter zu einer Art dauerhaften Katharsis geworden. Während er „seine“ Toten zurecht macht, spricht er mit ihnen, befragt sie, bittet sie um Nachsicht mit den Lebenden. Der Job als Prediger ist sozusagen die Beigabe, kann er hier das Wort doch an die Lebenden selbst richten, die ihm dabei eine gewisse Autorität zubilligen. Die Arbeit als Sheriff ist mehr oder weniger folgerichtig, denn sie gibt ihm die Möglichkeit, der Gemeinde auch tätig zu dienen. Er kümmert sich um entlaufene Kühe und darum, daß ein toter Hund nicht auf der Hauptstraße liegen bleibt, er schlichtet Streit und versucht, den Leuten in der Stadt klarzumachen, daß die „Kolonie“, eine Erweckungsgemeinschaft, die sich außerhalb der Stadt niedergelassen hat, keine Bedrohung darstellt. Die Krankheit und das Feuer nehmen für Hansen zunehmend biblische, alttestamentarische Formen an. Ist es Strafe für mangelnde Demut, die über ihn und die Seinen kommt? Ein Fegefeuer? Eine Prüfung? Er fühlt sich an Hiob und andere Geschichten des Verlusts aus der Bibel erinnert, während er versucht, das Richtige zu tun. Soll man die Stadt evakuieren? Soll man die Bewohner warnen, daß eine Seuche wütet? Oder soll man, wie der Doc meint, erst einmal abwarten und schauen, wie die Dinge sich entwickeln? Und soll Hansen Frau und Kind fortschicken? Sie retten, weil er weiß, daß die Gefahr tödlich ist?
O´Nan schreibt seinen Roman weder in der Ich-Form, noch als auktorialer Erzähler, sondern er nutzt die seltene Du-Form. Dadurch wird die Distanz zwischen Jacob Hansen, seiner Geschichte und dem Leser vermindert. Zugleich wird der Leser aber auch unmittelbarer Zeuge der immer schrecklicheren Zerwürfnisse, die Hansen mit sich selbst auszutragen hat. Seine Entscheidungen sind nie falsch, aber eben auch nie richtig. Nur kann er in Anbetracht der Katastrophen, die über seine Stadt gekommen sind – die Seuche – und zu kommen drohen – das Feuer – letztlich keine eindeutigen Entscheidungen mehr treffen. Die einen laufen den andern zuwider. Er sperrt die Stadt ab, damit niemand die Krankheit ins Umland trägt, er bittet seinen alten Waffengefährten Bart, Sheriff der nächstgelegenen Stadt, um Amtshilfe, tötet diesen aber mit erstaunlicher Kälte, als er die noch lebenden und nicht erkrankten Bürger seiner Stadt vor dem Feuer in Sicherheit bringen will.
O´Nan gelingt da ein kleines Meisterstück, wenn er uns den ununterbrochen mit sich selbst ins Gericht gehenden Sheriff – es ist hauptsächlich diese Tätigkeit, bei der wie ihn erleben – als einen Gehetzten präsentiert, der die Gespenster seiner Vergangenheit zu bändigen versucht, indem er tätige Nächstenliebe übt, nur um uns nach und nach jemanden zu offenbaren, der mit einem Teil seines Wesens so oder so bereits im Wahnsinn haust. Und je schwieriger die Lage wird, je weniger Hansen seinen eigenen Ansprüchen gerecht werden kann, desto mehr greift der Wahnsinn auf ihn über. Die Toten sind nicht mehr zu beerdigen, er kann sie bestenfalls verscharren, meist aber übergibt er sie den Flammen, wenn er die von der Krankheit heimgesuchten Häuser niederbrennt. Er kann den Infizierten nicht helfen, also greift er zu immer drastischeren Maßnahmen, um sich ihrer zu erwehren. Einige sperrt er in ihren Häusern ein, andere überlässt er ihrem Schicksal, sobald er sieht, daß sie zu schwach sind, um sich noch fort zu bewegen. Dabei versichert er sich ununterbrochen seiner Menschenliebe und der Sorge, die er sich um jeden einzelnen macht. Die Verzweiflung entwächst der Erkenntnis, daß es letztendlich vollkommen gleich ist, wie man sich entscheidet. Denn das, was Hansen, der sich bemüht, äußerst rational zu handeln, als Gottes Gericht wahrnimmt, ist zu groß, als daß menschliches Handeln, menschliche Entscheidungen noch relevant wären.
Wie weit der Wahnsinn geht, wird dem Leser in jenen Momenten deutlich, wenn Hansen gelegentlich nachhause kommt, wo seine sterbende und schließlich tote Frau auf ihn wartet, die er, gemeinsam mit der längst toten Tochter, beide einbalsamiert, an den Tisch setzt und seine Mahlzeiten in ihrer Gegenwart zu sich nimmt. Und schließlich auch das Bett mit seiner toten Frau teilt. Da wir all dies aber immer durch die Augen des Sheriffs wahrnehmen, verlieren diese Handlungen zunächst ihren Schrecken, mehr noch: Sie wirken wie geradezu heilende Handlungen, aus denen er die Stärke schöpft, weiterzumachen, sich und die anderen anzutreiben, durchzuhalten, gegen Seuche und Feuer anzukämpfen. Für alle sichtbar wird seine ganze geistige Versehrtheit erst in jenem Moment, da er seinen Freund Bart und einen von dessen Helfern einfach über den Haufen schießt.
O´Nan evoziert wahrlich apokalyptische Bilder, wenn er die Kranken beschreibt, vor allem aber, wenn er den Ascheregen beschreibt, der unablässig auf die Stadt niedergeht, Spuren verwischt, alles uniform werden lässt, die Lungen verätzt und den Blick nimmt. Je stärker die Asche, desto unklarer Hansens Geist. Der Wahnsinn bemächtigt sich dieses Mannes, aber die Frage ist, ob er nicht schon lange in ihm lauert? Und darüber hinaus stellt sich die Frage, ob es nicht ein Wahnsinn ist, der bereits die ganze Gesellschaft befallen hat? O´Nan greift zur Inspiration auf reale Begebenheiten zurück, die er jedoch stark entfremdet und damit vollkommen fiktionalisiert. Er bedankt sich aber explizit bei Michael Lesy, dessen Buch WISCONSIN DEATH TRIP (1973) ein Klassiker und mittlerweile auch ein wahres Kultbuch geworden ist.
Lesy nutzte Photographien des späten 19. Jahrhunderts, größtenteils in der kleinen Stadt Black River Falls, Wisconsin, aufgenommen, die für das seltsame Verhalten ihrer Bürger über einen gewissen Zeitraum (ca. 1890 bis 1910) bekannt geworden ist. Diese fügt er mit Auszügen aus Zeitungen und Tagebüchern zusammen, um so ein eigenes Bild dessen zu schaffen, was er für die Realität hinter den Geschichten von Seuchen, Wahnsinn, Gewalt und Mord hält, für die die Kleinstadt und ihre Umgebung berühmt-berüchtigt wurden. So entstand ein Kompendium des Lebens von Farmern und Siedlern in einem Land, das extreme Härten bot und seinen Bewohnern alles abverlangte. Lesy ist der Auffassung, daß es diese Bedingungen waren, die den Menschen so zusetzten, daß einige schließlich den Verstand verloren. Er widerspricht jedoch den zeitgenössischen Annahmen, daß es sich um eine kollektive Psychose o.ä. gehandelt habe.
O´Nan nennt Lesys Buch seine Inspirationsquelle, ohne dabei aber auf die realen Ereignisse einzugehen. Vielmehr nimmt er mit Jacob Hansen einen dieser Menschen, bietet dem Leser so viel von dessen Geschichte, wie nötig ist, um zu begreifen, und lässt uns in der eben seltenen Form, die er nutzt, daran teilhaben, wie innerer und äußerer Druck, wie eigene Ansprüche und Gottgefälligkeit zu einem üblen Gemisch werden können, in dem man vielleicht meint, rational zu handeln, längst aber keine wirkliche Entscheidungsmacht mehr besitzt. Und das schließlich zu Gewalt führt, die vielleicht rationale Gründe haben mag, in ihrer Abruptheit jedoch völlig unvermittelt und irrational wirkt.
O´Nan, ein Bewunderer Stephen Kings, geht aber noch einen Schritt weiter. In jenen Szenen, in denen Hansen mit seiner toten Familie am Esstisch sitzt, mehr natürlich noch in jener, in der er beschreibt, wie er mit seiner toten Frau schläft, nutzt O´Nan nahezu das Potential des Horrorromans, um das ganze Ausmaß der Zerrüttung im Geist dieses Mannes zu verdeutlichen. Dabei wird er nie ekelerregend oder explizit. Es reicht, daß der Leser versteht, was geschieht – und daß Hansen in diesen Momenten absolut mit sich im Reinen ist, handelt er doch nach seinen eigenen Maßstäben voller Liebe und Zuneigung. Mit diesen Szenen evoziert O´Nan aber noch ein ganz anderes Bild: Das des Serienmörders, Nekrophilen und mutmaßlichen Sadisten Ed Gein. Gein, der nahe Plainfield, Wisconsin, lebte, flog 1957 auf, als sein Haus durchsucht wurde und dort nicht nur die ausgeweidete Leiche einer tags zuvor entführten Frau, sondern auch allerhand seltsame, ekelerregende Gegenstände aus menschlichen Knochen und menschlicher Haut gefunden wurden. Gein wurde das Vorbild des jungen Norman Bates inRobert Blochs PSYCHO (1959), welches die Vorlage für den berühmten Film von Alfred Hitchcock war, aber auch für die seltsame Familie in Tobe Hoopers Horrorfilm THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (1974) und für Buffalo Bill, jenen Serienmörder, den die junge Clarence Starling in Thomas Harris´ Roman DAS SCHWEIGEN DER LÄMMER (1988) mit Hilfe des Kannibalen Hannibal Lecter fangen soll. Auch aus diesem Buch destillierte der Regisseur Jonathan Demme einen überaus erfolgreichen Film. All diese Werke erzählen auf mal seriösere, mal eher unappetitliche Weise aber auch etwas über die Verfasstheit Amerikas und seiner Gesellschaft.
So schreibt sich Stewart O´Nan in eine fortlaufende Chronik des Wahns ein, zeigt Kontinuitäten auf, verdeutlicht einige diesem Land, seiner Gesellschaft, seiner Verfasstheit zugrundeliegende Konstanten. Die Härte, die Religiosität, die Gewalt als steter Begleiter des Lebens, nicht zuletzt der Bürgerkrieg und die fürchterlichen Verwerfungen, die er nicht nur in der Gesellschaft, sondern in jedem einzelnen hinterließ – all das ist in O´Nans Roman spürbar, fast schon erfahrbar, wozu die Form eines ununterbrochenen Selbstgesprächs, die er wählt, maßgeblich beiträgt. O´Nan schreibt sich und seine Protagonisten auch in eine größere, weiter gefasste Geschichte ein, in einen kollektiven Wahnsinn, der diese Gesellschaft immer wieder zu erfassen scheint. DAS GLÜCK DER ANDEREN erzählt also in der Fiktion vom „ganz normalen Wahnsinn“, der Amerika – leider – oft ausmacht.
Sieben Jahre nach dem Bürgerkrieg, den er als regulärer Soldat bei den Truppen des Nordens gekämpft hat, dabei vor allem in Kentucky gegen irreguläre Truppen des Südens, bemüht Jacob Hansen sich, in der kleinen Stadt Friendship Ruhe zu finden und die Erinnerungen zurück zu drängen. Er bekleidet das Amt des Sheriffs, ist zugleich aber auch Leichenbestatter und Prediger in seiner Gemeinde. Als eine Seuche ausbricht, die sein Verbündeter, der Arzt der Stadt, als Diphterie ausmacht, beginnt für Hansen ein verzweifelter Kampf. Immer mehr Menschen erliegen der Krankheit, darunter auch seine kleine Tochter und schließlich seine Frau. Doch die wahre Apokalypse kommt über die Stadt, als ringsum Präriefeuer ausbrechen und langsam alles verschlingen, was den Flammen Nahrung gibt.
Das ist, roh zusammengefasst, das Handlungsgerüst von Stewart O´Nans Roman DAS GLÜCK DER ANDEREN (Dt. 2003; Original A PRAYER FOR THE DYING; 1999). In den Tagen, die die Handlung umfasst, muß Hansen sich nicht nur damit auseinandersetzen, daß der Mensch, so sehr er auch an ihn und das Gute in ihm glauben will, sich immer selbst am nächsten steht, sondern er muß vor allem den eigenen Dämonen entgegentreten. Tief geprägt und traumatisiert von seinen Kriegserlebnissen, ist ihm vor allem der Job als Leichenbestatter zu einer Art dauerhaften Katharsis geworden. Während er „seine“ Toten zurecht macht, spricht er mit ihnen, befragt sie, bittet sie um Nachsicht mit den Lebenden. Der Job als Prediger ist sozusagen die Beigabe, kann er hier das Wort doch an die Lebenden selbst richten, die ihm dabei eine gewisse Autorität zubilligen. Die Arbeit als Sheriff ist mehr oder weniger folgerichtig, denn sie gibt ihm die Möglichkeit, der Gemeinde auch tätig zu dienen. Er kümmert sich um entlaufene Kühe und darum, daß ein toter Hund nicht auf der Hauptstraße liegen bleibt, er schlichtet Streit und versucht, den Leuten in der Stadt klarzumachen, daß die „Kolonie“, eine Erweckungsgemeinschaft, die sich außerhalb der Stadt niedergelassen hat, keine Bedrohung darstellt. Die Krankheit und das Feuer nehmen für Hansen zunehmend biblische, alttestamentarische Formen an. Ist es Strafe für mangelnde Demut, die über ihn und die Seinen kommt? Ein Fegefeuer? Eine Prüfung? Er fühlt sich an Hiob und andere Geschichten des Verlusts aus der Bibel erinnert, während er versucht, das Richtige zu tun. Soll man die Stadt evakuieren? Soll man die Bewohner warnen, daß eine Seuche wütet? Oder soll man, wie der Doc meint, erst einmal abwarten und schauen, wie die Dinge sich entwickeln? Und soll Hansen Frau und Kind fortschicken? Sie retten, weil er weiß, daß die Gefahr tödlich ist?
O´Nan schreibt seinen Roman weder in der Ich-Form, noch als auktorialer Erzähler, sondern er nutzt die seltene Du-Form. Dadurch wird die Distanz zwischen Jacob Hansen, seiner Geschichte und dem Leser vermindert. Zugleich wird der Leser aber auch unmittelbarer Zeuge der immer schrecklicheren Zerwürfnisse, die Hansen mit sich selbst auszutragen hat. Seine Entscheidungen sind nie falsch, aber eben auch nie richtig. Nur kann er in Anbetracht der Katastrophen, die über seine Stadt gekommen sind – die Seuche – und zu kommen drohen – das Feuer – letztlich keine eindeutigen Entscheidungen mehr treffen. Die einen laufen den andern zuwider. Er sperrt die Stadt ab, damit niemand die Krankheit ins Umland trägt, er bittet seinen alten Waffengefährten Bart, Sheriff der nächstgelegenen Stadt, um Amtshilfe, tötet diesen aber mit erstaunlicher Kälte, als er die noch lebenden und nicht erkrankten Bürger seiner Stadt vor dem Feuer in Sicherheit bringen will.
O´Nan gelingt da ein kleines Meisterstück, wenn er uns den ununterbrochen mit sich selbst ins Gericht gehenden Sheriff – es ist hauptsächlich diese Tätigkeit, bei der wie ihn erleben – als einen Gehetzten präsentiert, der die Gespenster seiner Vergangenheit zu bändigen versucht, indem er tätige Nächstenliebe übt, nur um uns nach und nach jemanden zu offenbaren, der mit einem Teil seines Wesens so oder so bereits im Wahnsinn haust. Und je schwieriger die Lage wird, je weniger Hansen seinen eigenen Ansprüchen gerecht werden kann, desto mehr greift der Wahnsinn auf ihn über. Die Toten sind nicht mehr zu beerdigen, er kann sie bestenfalls verscharren, meist aber übergibt er sie den Flammen, wenn er die von der Krankheit heimgesuchten Häuser niederbrennt. Er kann den Infizierten nicht helfen, also greift er zu immer drastischeren Maßnahmen, um sich ihrer zu erwehren. Einige sperrt er in ihren Häusern ein, andere überlässt er ihrem Schicksal, sobald er sieht, daß sie zu schwach sind, um sich noch fort zu bewegen. Dabei versichert er sich ununterbrochen seiner Menschenliebe und der Sorge, die er sich um jeden einzelnen macht. Die Verzweiflung entwächst der Erkenntnis, daß es letztendlich vollkommen gleich ist, wie man sich entscheidet. Denn das, was Hansen, der sich bemüht, äußerst rational zu handeln, als Gottes Gericht wahrnimmt, ist zu groß, als daß menschliches Handeln, menschliche Entscheidungen noch relevant wären.
Wie weit der Wahnsinn geht, wird dem Leser in jenen Momenten deutlich, wenn Hansen gelegentlich nachhause kommt, wo seine sterbende und schließlich tote Frau auf ihn wartet, die er, gemeinsam mit der längst toten Tochter, beide einbalsamiert, an den Tisch setzt und seine Mahlzeiten in ihrer Gegenwart zu sich nimmt. Und schließlich auch das Bett mit seiner toten Frau teilt. Da wir all dies aber immer durch die Augen des Sheriffs wahrnehmen, verlieren diese Handlungen zunächst ihren Schrecken, mehr noch: Sie wirken wie geradezu heilende Handlungen, aus denen er die Stärke schöpft, weiterzumachen, sich und die anderen anzutreiben, durchzuhalten, gegen Seuche und Feuer anzukämpfen. Für alle sichtbar wird seine ganze geistige Versehrtheit erst in jenem Moment, da er seinen Freund Bart und einen von dessen Helfern einfach über den Haufen schießt.
O´Nan evoziert wahrlich apokalyptische Bilder, wenn er die Kranken beschreibt, vor allem aber, wenn er den Ascheregen beschreibt, der unablässig auf die Stadt niedergeht, Spuren verwischt, alles uniform werden lässt, die Lungen verätzt und den Blick nimmt. Je stärker die Asche, desto unklarer Hansens Geist. Der Wahnsinn bemächtigt sich dieses Mannes, aber die Frage ist, ob er nicht schon lange in ihm lauert? Und darüber hinaus stellt sich die Frage, ob es nicht ein Wahnsinn ist, der bereits die ganze Gesellschaft befallen hat? O´Nan greift zur Inspiration auf reale Begebenheiten zurück, die er jedoch stark entfremdet und damit vollkommen fiktionalisiert. Er bedankt sich aber explizit bei Michael Lesy, dessen Buch WISCONSIN DEATH TRIP (1973) ein Klassiker und mittlerweile auch ein wahres Kultbuch geworden ist.
Lesy nutzte Photographien des späten 19. Jahrhunderts, größtenteils in der kleinen Stadt Black River Falls, Wisconsin, aufgenommen, die für das seltsame Verhalten ihrer Bürger über einen gewissen Zeitraum (ca. 1890 bis 1910) bekannt geworden ist. Diese fügt er mit Auszügen aus Zeitungen und Tagebüchern zusammen, um so ein eigenes Bild dessen zu schaffen, was er für die Realität hinter den Geschichten von Seuchen, Wahnsinn, Gewalt und Mord hält, für die die Kleinstadt und ihre Umgebung berühmt-berüchtigt wurden. So entstand ein Kompendium des Lebens von Farmern und Siedlern in einem Land, das extreme Härten bot und seinen Bewohnern alles abverlangte. Lesy ist der Auffassung, daß es diese Bedingungen waren, die den Menschen so zusetzten, daß einige schließlich den Verstand verloren. Er widerspricht jedoch den zeitgenössischen Annahmen, daß es sich um eine kollektive Psychose o.ä. gehandelt habe.
O´Nan nennt Lesys Buch seine Inspirationsquelle, ohne dabei aber auf die realen Ereignisse einzugehen. Vielmehr nimmt er mit Jacob Hansen einen dieser Menschen, bietet dem Leser so viel von dessen Geschichte, wie nötig ist, um zu begreifen, und lässt uns in der eben seltenen Form, die er nutzt, daran teilhaben, wie innerer und äußerer Druck, wie eigene Ansprüche und Gottgefälligkeit zu einem üblen Gemisch werden können, in dem man vielleicht meint, rational zu handeln, längst aber keine wirkliche Entscheidungsmacht mehr besitzt. Und das schließlich zu Gewalt führt, die vielleicht rationale Gründe haben mag, in ihrer Abruptheit jedoch völlig unvermittelt und irrational wirkt.
O´Nan, ein Bewunderer Stephen Kings, geht aber noch einen Schritt weiter. In jenen Szenen, in denen Hansen mit seiner toten Familie am Esstisch sitzt, mehr natürlich noch in jener, in der er beschreibt, wie er mit seiner toten Frau schläft, nutzt O´Nan nahezu das Potential des Horrorromans, um das ganze Ausmaß der Zerrüttung im Geist dieses Mannes zu verdeutlichen. Dabei wird er nie ekelerregend oder explizit. Es reicht, daß der Leser versteht, was geschieht – und daß Hansen in diesen Momenten absolut mit sich im Reinen ist, handelt er doch nach seinen eigenen Maßstäben voller Liebe und Zuneigung. Mit diesen Szenen evoziert O´Nan aber noch ein ganz anderes Bild: Das des Serienmörders, Nekrophilen und mutmaßlichen Sadisten Ed Gein. Gein, der nahe Plainfield, Wisconsin, lebte, flog 1957 auf, als sein Haus durchsucht wurde und dort nicht nur die ausgeweidete Leiche einer tags zuvor entführten Frau, sondern auch allerhand seltsame, ekelerregende Gegenstände aus menschlichen Knochen und menschlicher Haut gefunden wurden. Gein wurde das Vorbild des jungen Norman Bates inRobert Blochs PSYCHO (1959), welches die Vorlage für den berühmten Film von Alfred Hitchcock war, aber auch für die seltsame Familie in Tobe Hoopers Horrorfilm THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (1974) und für Buffalo Bill, jenen Serienmörder, den die junge Clarence Starling in Thomas Harris´ Roman DAS SCHWEIGEN DER LÄMMER (1988) mit Hilfe des Kannibalen Hannibal Lecter fangen soll. Auch aus diesem Buch destillierte der Regisseur Jonathan Demme einen überaus erfolgreichen Film. All diese Werke erzählen auf mal seriösere, mal eher unappetitliche Weise aber auch etwas über die Verfasstheit Amerikas und seiner Gesellschaft.
So schreibt sich Stewart O´Nan in eine fortlaufende Chronik des Wahns ein, zeigt Kontinuitäten auf, verdeutlicht einige diesem Land, seiner Gesellschaft, seiner Verfasstheit zugrundeliegende Konstanten. Die Härte, die Religiosität, die Gewalt als steter Begleiter des Lebens, nicht zuletzt der Bürgerkrieg und die fürchterlichen Verwerfungen, die er nicht nur in der Gesellschaft, sondern in jedem einzelnen hinterließ – all das ist in O´Nans Roman spürbar, fast schon erfahrbar, wozu die Form eines ununterbrochenen Selbstgesprächs, die er wählt, maßgeblich beiträgt. O´Nan schreibt sich und seine Protagonisten auch in eine größere, weiter gefasste Geschichte ein, in einen kollektiven Wahnsinn, der diese Gesellschaft immer wieder zu erfassen scheint. DAS GLÜCK DER ANDEREN erzählt also in der Fiktion vom „ganz normalen Wahnsinn“, der Amerika – leider – oft ausmacht.
March 5, 2023
Oh, my, this wasn't for me! I almost threw in the towel, but with only 40 pages to go, I stuck with it. This was a very slow start for me, but it picked up in that last part. I see in my review of O'Nan's Emily, Alone, which I loved, that I said:
Not much happens, but that's usually the case in O'Nan's books, which are definitely character-driven.
I felt A Prayer was the opposite! So much happening as a Wisconsin small town deals with a diphtheria epidemic immediately after the civil war, but not so much character development. This book has a major creepiness factor which I'm not a fan of. I should have paid more attention when the blurb compared it to Stephen King! I wonder what my friend, Susie, and her book club will think.
Why I'm reading this: IRL reading friend, Susie, picked this for her book club, so I'm tagging along since I have liked the two books of O'Nan's that I've read.
Not much happens, but that's usually the case in O'Nan's books, which are definitely character-driven.
I felt A Prayer was the opposite! So much happening as a Wisconsin small town deals with a diphtheria epidemic immediately after the civil war, but not so much character development. This book has a major creepiness factor which I'm not a fan of. I should have paid more attention when the blurb compared it to Stephen King! I wonder what my friend, Susie, and her book club will think.
Why I'm reading this: IRL reading friend, Susie, picked this for her book club, so I'm tagging along since I have liked the two books of O'Nan's that I've read.
September 20, 2018
El libro me ha gustado, cómo está escrito, la historia que narra.. y eso que a priori no me convencía, pensaba que iba a ser un Westworld de zombies (pienso más en la segunda temporada), pero no.
Más humano de lo que me esperaba, para mí ha sido una especie de viaje al horror, como si nos llevara Conrad de la mano, al horror del hombre y su desesperación ante el mundo que desaparece.
Si ya no quedara nadie, si solo quedaras tú, ¿ seguirías siendo el mismo? ¿Qué parte de nosotros desaparece cuando deja de existir todo lo demás? ¿Qué parte de humanidad perdura?
Más humano de lo que me esperaba, para mí ha sido una especie de viaje al horror, como si nos llevara Conrad de la mano, al horror del hombre y su desesperación ante el mundo que desaparece.
Si ya no quedara nadie, si solo quedaras tú, ¿ seguirías siendo el mismo? ¿Qué parte de nosotros desaparece cuando deja de existir todo lo demás? ¿Qué parte de humanidad perdura?
April 13, 2020
This is the novel written for pandemic reading. I'd read it years ago and kept thinking of it during this Coronavirus quarantine, so re-read it. Set in the late 1800s, the constable of a Wisconsin village, who also happens to be the local undertaker and minister, is notified of a dead man in the woods. Shortly after, it becomes clear that Diptheria killed the man and has stricken several people in the village, including the constable's family. One of the unique parts about this short novel is that it's written in the second person, which gives the reader an added feeling of unease. The novel is a heartbreaking look at our own mortality.
September 17, 2018
Una oración por los que mueren se cuenta en segunda persona, una perspectiva que requiere cierto acomodo y batallé al principio con ello. Comienza casi idílico en su descripción de un día de verano y rápidamente desciende al infierno completo que crean la enfermedad y el fuego. El sentido de responsabilidad de Jacob y la necesidad de hacer lo correcto para su familia y pueblo lo hacen aún peor para él. Su realización en las últimas páginas me dejó sin aliento por este hombre, cuya necesidad de hacer lo correcto lo perseguiría por el resto de su vida.
Cafetería de Audrey La isla Perdida
Cafetería de Audrey La isla Perdida
March 29, 2011
Stewart O’Nan’s A Prayer for the Dying may be praised by the literary community, but it’s nothing but dead pages full of dead words to me.
Jacob Hansen has recently stepped out of the Civil War and into juggling several roles (that of preacher, sheriff and undertaker) in the small town of Friendship, Wisconsin. However, Friendship soon finds itself trapped in a Catch-22, where they should stay quarantined due to a diphtheria epidemic, yet should be fleeing from the great incoming fire. Jacob struggles with the past horrors in his present circumstance, his responsibility to the town versus his concern for his wife and infant child, and the desire to do good while the choice to do so seems to be slipping away.
The book is told in second-person singular (so it’s about what ‘you’ are doing, not what ‘I’ am doing). While many would argue this is basically the same as first-person, I usually take this move as an indication of the need for distance in the narrative, a twist that will yank and contort further away as the ending nears. A Prayer for the Dying doesn’t waste this narrative choice, but it’s one more aspect of the novel that’s boring and predictable in its execution. I’m bored with authors who use Biblical ties in a (failed) attempt to spark intrigue around their use of plagues, natural disasters and crime. I’m bored with secular authors writing pastors losing their faith over familial tragedy (and Christian authors writing pastors regaining their faith in the face of familial tragedy) and O’Nan keeps this boring simplification of faith going. It doesn’t bother me if a character winds up going towards or away from God—it’s going to depend on the character and the storyline—but O’Nan leaves so much of the emotions and thought process out that it falls flat. The ending is boring and predictable, too. It’d be one thing if it were some fatalistic sledgehammer smashing through everything that hopes the blunt object would somehow change its trajectory, but it’s nothing but a final, pathetic tap from a powerless novel.
I just read this article the other day about parents who had lost children (I’ll link it in the comments). The father went into his daughter’s room after she was shot to death and pulled an embroidered picture from the wall. He flipped this picture over where it was nothing but threads and said he felt like this was the part he was seeing right now, but that somehow, maybe even naively, he still trusted God to one day have it make sense. Now that’s an interesting take on faith and losing kids, so for fictional efforts to not even try just makes it feel like one more attempt to incorporate larger elements (God, Biblical disasters, etc.) to prop up plot points that haven’t got the weight to stand on their own. It’s so boring that I can’t even be bothered to go find a thesaurus to look up a better word, so boring boring boring it is. Even when the prose is lyrical and well-crafted (and O’Nan’s often is), even with the good scenes (like where Jacob has to board a woman into her home), A Prayer for the Dying didn’t make me feel anything save the desire to quit reading after fifteen minutes at a time. I can think my way through how the parts work, maybe feel smart that I sussed out how the tension and dissonance plays in, but the book has no heartbeat. Not for me. One star, but reaching higher.
Jacob Hansen has recently stepped out of the Civil War and into juggling several roles (that of preacher, sheriff and undertaker) in the small town of Friendship, Wisconsin. However, Friendship soon finds itself trapped in a Catch-22, where they should stay quarantined due to a diphtheria epidemic, yet should be fleeing from the great incoming fire. Jacob struggles with the past horrors in his present circumstance, his responsibility to the town versus his concern for his wife and infant child, and the desire to do good while the choice to do so seems to be slipping away.
The book is told in second-person singular (so it’s about what ‘you’ are doing, not what ‘I’ am doing). While many would argue this is basically the same as first-person, I usually take this move as an indication of the need for distance in the narrative, a twist that will yank and contort further away as the ending nears. A Prayer for the Dying doesn’t waste this narrative choice, but it’s one more aspect of the novel that’s boring and predictable in its execution. I’m bored with authors who use Biblical ties in a (failed) attempt to spark intrigue around their use of plagues, natural disasters and crime. I’m bored with secular authors writing pastors losing their faith over familial tragedy (and Christian authors writing pastors regaining their faith in the face of familial tragedy) and O’Nan keeps this boring simplification of faith going. It doesn’t bother me if a character winds up going towards or away from God—it’s going to depend on the character and the storyline—but O’Nan leaves so much of the emotions and thought process out that it falls flat. The ending is boring and predictable, too. It’d be one thing if it were some fatalistic sledgehammer smashing through everything that hopes the blunt object would somehow change its trajectory, but it’s nothing but a final, pathetic tap from a powerless novel.
I just read this article the other day about parents who had lost children (I’ll link it in the comments). The father went into his daughter’s room after she was shot to death and pulled an embroidered picture from the wall. He flipped this picture over where it was nothing but threads and said he felt like this was the part he was seeing right now, but that somehow, maybe even naively, he still trusted God to one day have it make sense. Now that’s an interesting take on faith and losing kids, so for fictional efforts to not even try just makes it feel like one more attempt to incorporate larger elements (God, Biblical disasters, etc.) to prop up plot points that haven’t got the weight to stand on their own. It’s so boring that I can’t even be bothered to go find a thesaurus to look up a better word, so boring boring boring it is. Even when the prose is lyrical and well-crafted (and O’Nan’s often is), even with the good scenes (like where Jacob has to board a woman into her home), A Prayer for the Dying didn’t make me feel anything save the desire to quit reading after fifteen minutes at a time. I can think my way through how the parts work, maybe feel smart that I sussed out how the tension and dissonance plays in, but the book has no heartbeat. Not for me. One star, but reaching higher.
November 15, 2019
I expect to be haunted by this book.
It is brilliantly written, but it is dark. I suppose a story about a town that finds itself in the grip of an epidemic couldn’t be otherwise.
Stewart O’Nan wrote this story in second-person perspective. I can’t think of anything I’ve read in second-person POV, besides Choose Your Own Adventure when I was 12. (Of course, A Prayer for the Dying is not a corny kids’ adventure, and “you” are not meant to be the main character here.) I had thought this stylistic choice by O’Nan would be an impediment; it’s the reason the book has sat unread on my shelf for so long. But it quickly became transparent. The narration felt like the main character telling the story to himself. Or thinking out loud, for the reader’s benefit. Whatever it was, I was mesmerized by the second chapter.
Jacob Hansen is part-time undertaker/preacher/sheriff (constable, if you please) of Friendship, Wisconsin, just after the Civil War. His office – with a single jail cell, and an embalming room in the cellar – is next door to Doc Guterson. Together they take care of most of what goes awry in Friendship.
A veteran of the war, Jacob is himself haunted; and I believe this is part of what makes his story so compelling. For example, we learn up front that Jacob rides a bicycle around town, because of how he came to dislike horses as a soldier. Indeed, Jacob’s running account of life in Friendship is peppered with musings on war-time hardships. So, we follow Jacob into the escalating crisis in his town, “listening to him think,” and watching helplessly as he grapples with faith and guilt and even his own sanity.
The book is short; my copy is 195 pages. O’Nan tells the whole thing in only 8 gripping chapters. The story takes a significantly uncomfortable turn by about the three-quarters mark. But by then it’s faaaarrr too late to look away. Though the story is devastating, it’s told so urgently I could hardly put it down despite its heft. I do recommended it. Well worth the read, even the harrowing bits.
It is brilliantly written, but it is dark. I suppose a story about a town that finds itself in the grip of an epidemic couldn’t be otherwise.
Stewart O’Nan wrote this story in second-person perspective. I can’t think of anything I’ve read in second-person POV, besides Choose Your Own Adventure when I was 12. (Of course, A Prayer for the Dying is not a corny kids’ adventure, and “you” are not meant to be the main character here.) I had thought this stylistic choice by O’Nan would be an impediment; it’s the reason the book has sat unread on my shelf for so long. But it quickly became transparent. The narration felt like the main character telling the story to himself. Or thinking out loud, for the reader’s benefit. Whatever it was, I was mesmerized by the second chapter.
Jacob Hansen is part-time undertaker/preacher/sheriff (constable, if you please) of Friendship, Wisconsin, just after the Civil War. His office – with a single jail cell, and an embalming room in the cellar – is next door to Doc Guterson. Together they take care of most of what goes awry in Friendship.
A veteran of the war, Jacob is himself haunted; and I believe this is part of what makes his story so compelling. For example, we learn up front that Jacob rides a bicycle around town, because of how he came to dislike horses as a soldier. Indeed, Jacob’s running account of life in Friendship is peppered with musings on war-time hardships. So, we follow Jacob into the escalating crisis in his town, “listening to him think,” and watching helplessly as he grapples with faith and guilt and even his own sanity.
The book is short; my copy is 195 pages. O’Nan tells the whole thing in only 8 gripping chapters. The story takes a significantly uncomfortable turn by about the three-quarters mark. But by then it’s faaaarrr too late to look away. Though the story is devastating, it’s told so urgently I could hardly put it down despite its heft. I do recommended it. Well worth the read, even the harrowing bits.
June 6, 2010
This is likely my favorite novel of all time. I'm currently on my fourth time through, and it gets better every time.
I've seen a lot of reviews that address the second person narrative in this text. Apparently, some find it difficult to follow. However, I did not. In fact, I found it to be one of the strengths of O'Nan's writing. It is not truly second person - rather, first person perspective using second person pronouns. (Instead of "I", he uses "you")
I think this is particularly effective as the reader is immersed in the perspective of a protagonist who has to continuously talk himself into sanity with questionable success. After all, this is how we often talk ourselves into things - by addressing ourselves in second person.
This narrative demonstrates sanity as a continuum and not the dichotomy that the terms we use (sanity and insanity) would suggest. It raises more questions than it answers - in the spirit of the biblical story of Job. Unlike common interpretations of Job, it is not a story of hope and, like the story of Job, it is questionably a story of faith and the reader's interpretation is largely dependent on the set of beliefs one holds when approaching the text.
I also appreciate O'Nan's restraint from using a neat denouement. A story that is so dark, bleak, and painfully honest cannot and should not be wrapped up in a pretty way.
I've seen a lot of reviews that address the second person narrative in this text. Apparently, some find it difficult to follow. However, I did not. In fact, I found it to be one of the strengths of O'Nan's writing. It is not truly second person - rather, first person perspective using second person pronouns. (Instead of "I", he uses "you")
I think this is particularly effective as the reader is immersed in the perspective of a protagonist who has to continuously talk himself into sanity with questionable success. After all, this is how we often talk ourselves into things - by addressing ourselves in second person.
This narrative demonstrates sanity as a continuum and not the dichotomy that the terms we use (sanity and insanity) would suggest. It raises more questions than it answers - in the spirit of the biblical story of Job. Unlike common interpretations of Job, it is not a story of hope and, like the story of Job, it is questionably a story of faith and the reader's interpretation is largely dependent on the set of beliefs one holds when approaching the text.
I also appreciate O'Nan's restraint from using a neat denouement. A story that is so dark, bleak, and painfully honest cannot and should not be wrapped up in a pretty way.
May 9, 2013
Haunting... Fast-paced. Macabre...A post- Civil war town succumbs to a diphtheria epidemic. This book will force you to search your own soul about what you would during an epidemic, compared to the book's protagonist. Would you protect your own family at all costs, or would you do your duty to your neighbors. Would your faith in God crumble at the first sign of real hardship, or would you remain a true believer? The author's descriptive powers will transport you to this quaint town, which becomes a place of terrible horror. Our modern society is so innocent of the human destruction caused by contagion. Hopefully, our children and our children's children will be spared such knowing. Don't read this if you are medically squeamish. I would read more by this author.
September 18, 2018
Un poco difícil el inicio con la narración en segunda persona pero me aconstumbré rapidamente. En verdad fue muy interesante ver como todo empieza bien y se va desmoronando, hace que no puedas dejar el libro. El final fue muy sorpresivo y me sentí mal por Jacob.
September 19, 2018
Buena historia narrada de una forma peculiar.
La narración en segunda persona perjudica el disfrutar de una historia de descenso a los infiernos de un pueblo infectado por una enfermedad mortal y rodeado por un gran incendio pero que no es más que el marco para narrarnos la misma caída a los infiernos del protagonista, que empieza pareciendo un hombre justo y acaba sumido en la locura aunque con la sospecha de que esa locura ya estaba ahí antes de que comenzara esta narración
La narración en segunda persona pretende que el lector asuma el papel del protagonista como suyo propio y eso es difícil de lograr si no logras empatizar ni por un momento con ese protagonista. Solo al final logras comprender el verdadero origen de sus traumas y fanatismos.
Lo más logrado del libro es transmitir el sentimiento de agobio, fatalidad y la sensación de que todo va ir a peor mientras se avanza con la lectura.
La narración en segunda persona perjudica el disfrutar de una historia de descenso a los infiernos de un pueblo infectado por una enfermedad mortal y rodeado por un gran incendio pero que no es más que el marco para narrarnos la misma caída a los infiernos del protagonista, que empieza pareciendo un hombre justo y acaba sumido en la locura aunque con la sospecha de que esa locura ya estaba ahí antes de que comenzara esta narración
La narración en segunda persona pretende que el lector asuma el papel del protagonista como suyo propio y eso es difícil de lograr si no logras empatizar ni por un momento con ese protagonista. Solo al final logras comprender el verdadero origen de sus traumas y fanatismos.
Lo más logrado del libro es transmitir el sentimiento de agobio, fatalidad y la sensación de que todo va ir a peor mientras se avanza con la lectura.
March 25, 2011
This is the kind of novel you end a little stunned. I have a friend whose literary tastes I greatly respect, a gifted writer herself, who raved about O'Nan to me--this is the first novel of his I've ever read, but won't be the last. She actually gave me her copy of this book when I mentioned I couldn't find it in stores. It was recommended in a horror recommendation list, and my friend expressed surprise it would be thought of that way.
Having now read it I understand what she means. Inside a blurb boasts this won the International Horror Guild Novel of the Year. But this reads more like literary fiction in its prose style, and there's not a whiff of the supernatural in content. The monster roaming the small Wisconsin town of Friendship, Wisconsin in 1871 isn't a vampire, a werewolf or zombie--it's diphtheria.
This story is in the rare second person, through the perspective of Jacob Hansen, a union civil war veteran who acts as the town's sheriff, pastor and undertaker. I have another writer friend who considers second person a gimmick and unbearable to read. The thing is I can't imagine this story written any other way. Telling this story through first person or third would be too normal, sound too down home. But something about that second person voice tells us there's something a bit askew from the beginning. Second person, especially given it's always in present tense, almost always sounds lyrical. Somehow, O'Nan's prose is more muscular than that. It's the kind often described as "spare." A lot of sentence fragments and short declarative sentences. It comes across as more stark than spare considering the tone and the short novel--I'd say it's no more than about 60,000 words--reads very quickly; I read it in almost one sitting.
The novel is harrowing. That deceptively simple seeming style doesn't spare you the horror of the epidemic or how it unravels Jacob's mind, heart and spirit. Indeed, there's an aspect to the book that might be too much for many, that pushed it over the line (and some might find over the top) into the grotesque, and for me saved only by the restraint of the writing. I think the blurb from the Wall Street Journal review got it right: As eloquent as it is unsettling.
Having now read it I understand what she means. Inside a blurb boasts this won the International Horror Guild Novel of the Year. But this reads more like literary fiction in its prose style, and there's not a whiff of the supernatural in content. The monster roaming the small Wisconsin town of Friendship, Wisconsin in 1871 isn't a vampire, a werewolf or zombie--it's diphtheria.
This story is in the rare second person, through the perspective of Jacob Hansen, a union civil war veteran who acts as the town's sheriff, pastor and undertaker. I have another writer friend who considers second person a gimmick and unbearable to read. The thing is I can't imagine this story written any other way. Telling this story through first person or third would be too normal, sound too down home. But something about that second person voice tells us there's something a bit askew from the beginning. Second person, especially given it's always in present tense, almost always sounds lyrical. Somehow, O'Nan's prose is more muscular than that. It's the kind often described as "spare." A lot of sentence fragments and short declarative sentences. It comes across as more stark than spare considering the tone and the short novel--I'd say it's no more than about 60,000 words--reads very quickly; I read it in almost one sitting.
The novel is harrowing. That deceptively simple seeming style doesn't spare you the horror of the epidemic or how it unravels Jacob's mind, heart and spirit. Indeed, there's an aspect to the book that might be too much for many, that pushed it over the line (and some might find over the top) into the grotesque, and for me saved only by the restraint of the writing. I think the blurb from the Wall Street Journal review got it right: As eloquent as it is unsettling.
May 25, 2012
You know it's not going to be a feel-good book of the year when the credit page says "The author would like to acknowledge his great dept to Michael Levy, whose Wisconsin Death Trip inspired this book." That happens to be one of my favorite books, and there has been an armed tramp and suicide by Paris green, but now it's feeling so real it's scary. I like the characters and I fear for them.
I'm thinking about what else to say about why I liked this so much. It starts out slow and builds fast, like a train or a fire or an epidemic, all featured in the book. The protagonist, the constable/undertaker/pastor of the town of Friendship, takes us with him through hell. Is he reliable? I'm not sure yet.
Less than a week ago a dear friend died, and I'm feeling raw with grief about her and about her husband and how awful it would be to lose one's beloved spouse, so the images of home and marriage and safety really resonated with me. Because the truth is, there is no safety, really, and even if we aren't in a village where everyone is dying of an incurable disease with a fire bearing down on us.... think again.
I'm thinking about what else to say about why I liked this so much. It starts out slow and builds fast, like a train or a fire or an epidemic, all featured in the book. The protagonist, the constable/undertaker/pastor of the town of Friendship, takes us with him through hell. Is he reliable? I'm not sure yet.
Less than a week ago a dear friend died, and I'm feeling raw with grief about her and about her husband and how awful it would be to lose one's beloved spouse, so the images of home and marriage and safety really resonated with me. Because the truth is, there is no safety, really, and even if we aren't in a village where everyone is dying of an incurable disease with a fire bearing down on us.... think again.
August 9, 2020
O'Nan follows the trail of a 19th-century pandemic (diphtheria) from patient zero to its conclusion as it cuts a swath through a tiny Midwestern town. The author focuses on the town's straight-arrow sheriff as he tries to save even a small piece of his town. Gripping, timely, and tragic. Not for the squeamish, the sick, nor those grieving.
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