by Christy O'Callaghan
January 23, 2024
Christy O’Callaghan is a writer and editor in Upstate, NY. She has spent a quarter of a century as a community organizer and educator. Strange stories, plants, and lore are her toast and jam. Her work has appeared in The Los Angeles Review, Great Weather for Media, Trolley Journal, Under the Gumtree, Chestnut Review, and more. Visit her website at christyflutterby.com.
Nonfiction by Julie Myerson; Tin House; 240 pages; $17.95.
Nonfiction: A Novel by Julie Myerson is a haunting fever dream told through the beauty of fiction and, as Myerson suggests throughout the pages , is a ghost story at its core. She brings a fresh take on the classic mother-daughter generational tale as the main character tells of her strained relationships as both the mother and daughter . These relationships feel natural and possess an aching vulnerability. What works well in telling these stories we’ve read so many times is how Myerson crafts the characters themselves and the non-traditional structure she uses to create the realness of memory and grief. She tells all these intertwining stories without naming the characters, allowing the almost memoir to be plugged into many lives.
The prose feels as if Meyerson took a pair of scissors to a straightforward narrative and threw all the pieces up in the air, then taped them together as they fell. She weaves through the plot points, jumping back and forth, taking her time to share the details of what happened. Meyerson tells this intertwined and complicated story in only four chapters, and in each, it moves between the various plot points. For example, chapter one opens in second person with the narrator talking to the daughter about locking her in the house with a hammer so the girl can break out in case of a fire as the parents leave for the evening. It’s a jolting setup because you don’t know the age of the child, the ability of the child, or why the parents are so desperate/cruel/disconcerted simply to attend a dinner. The book is about the mother trying to explain or justify decisions like that. As the chapter continues, the fear for their daughter’s safety over her unpredictable and dangerous behavior that often accompanies addiction is explained, as is the parent’s wish for a moment of mundane normalcy. Then, the chapter introduces the narrator’s mother by saying, “Yes, my mother is a bully.” She details the constant strain and misunderstanding between the main character and her mother’s judgment of the narrator’s parenting skills, her life choices, and her marriage. Myerson, whether intentional or not, shows the struggle so many people endure while still showing up for jobs and responsibilities. At the same time, their personal lives are full of difficult situations and struggles.
With each progressive chapter, new complications and characters are introduced. Nonfiction is also the classic telling of a long-term marriage and all that goes into being with someone through the hurts and shared experiences a marriage withstands. Another thread is of the newer classic tale of parents going through the horrible situation of watching their child get sucked into the dark pit of addiction like music building slowly, adding instruments with each movement, not all playing in unison, but adding the richness and intricacy of the piece. It feels like a mind running on overdrive, trying to piece it all together and find the answer as to what led to her daughter’s addiction. The jumping back and forth feels very much like a woman trying to show the evidence that she is both a good mother and it’s not her fault, but also a mother’s guilt and that it’s all her fault. The shattered effect of these memories and justifications, leaping from the mother telling the narrator that she’s a failed parent to the pharmacists telling her she’s a good mother, there is the suggestion that both are true and not true. These moments are why the title of the work is so fitting. She captures the questions many parents ask themselves and the answers they search for as they watch their children drown in substance abuse disorders or any number of troubles. Myerson takes a bold and effective approach in her attempt to share that experience of isolation, confusion, and self-loathing that rolls through the mind like waves hitting a shore.
The point of view moves between second and first depending on which part of the story is being told. The narrator directs her story to “you,” the daughter, telling her about the years of watching her be swallowed up by her addiction and explaining why the parents made the choices they did. She tries her best to explain who she is as an imperfect person and as a woman with all the roles that entails. Telling the story in these back-and-forth pieces has the vibes of a confessional, taking time to share all the things that happen because life is messy and complicated, but trying to relate all these things often takes a meandering route. As she confesses to an affair with a former boyfriend, she tells of leaving her family at home to meet with this man, who is also married and has children. Laying it out in drips and drabs evokes moments of sympathy, guilt, support, and frustration. At the same time, there are sprinklings of her husband’s infidelities, which add layers of understanding. The complicated structure is how we tell stories of memory, trauma, and grief to each other and ourselves about how we got here as a person, a thing often lost on children until it’s too late. While she’s explaining her life to her daughter, the narrator simultaneously understands and forgives her mother for being flawed.
Nonfiction is a story of a woman growing older and surviving loss, life, and relationships. The narrator walks the reader through her relationships with men: her father, her husband, and her ex-boyfriend turned lover, with an openness and an attempt to understand those tangled, sticky messes in her life. Meyerson seems to have chosen this less traditional structure that, at first glance, appears random but is well-formed to relay a grieving process as well as the pressures a woman faces in her many roles as daughter, mother, partner, and worker. This mimicry of chaos can cause the reader to lose their place as they ponder over the elements read earlier or even, at moments, question the narrator’s reliability. Is she telling this story to justify it to herself, the reader, the daughter, or all the ghosts in her life? Is it her, or is it me? The answer lies somewhere in between. Memory, grief, and trauma are complex stories to tell. Myerson shows they don’t have to be tied neatly into a little bow.
If the reader’s goal is to escape into the pages away from their reality and drift along on a plotted journey, this isn’t the novel for that, but if the reader wants the challenge and connection to the narrator on a jagged trail, Nonfiction is worth the bandwidth. Despite its non-traditional structure and challenging subject matter, Meyerson’s deft hand creates a well-crafted, quick-paced, and all-together good book. She gives heart to these characters by making them so real that you care about the narrator finding some sort of peace.
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Wondering Is It Her or Is It Me? Memory, Trauma, and Motherhood in Julie Myerson's Nonfiction: A Novel
©2024 Iron Oak Editions
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