After three series focusing on a central author, Short Stop is taking a bit of a turn for the next run. Sometime last year, I found a copy of “The Vintage Book of Amnesia” that was compiled and edited by Jonathan Lethem. The theme is simple. He looks at authors throughout time and explores how they approach the subject of memory. Whereas previous series focused on exploring a writer finding their voice, I thought that it would be interesting to try and find something more thematic across the centuries. It’s a lengthy ordeal and one that will probably have more highs and lows than ever before. The hope though is finding a few diamonds in the rough that are worth committing to memory.
In theory, I went into this project liking Lethem’s idea. Exploring literature that dives into memory loss is a promising subject matter and having it from several different perspectives has been illuminating. For as much as I disliked the first entry, “Dream Science,” I found “The Night Face Up” to be a refreshing follow-up. In such short space, I was introduced to how expansive this could become. However, the third story “Other People” quickly found me realizing that Lethem’s eye may be zooming in on a few things that are fascinating, but they come at a certain expense to the casual reader.
So far, two of three stories featured are from lengthier works. Unless my research is flawed, I am discovering that “Other People” is a chapter to the eponymous text and once again forces the reader to ask, “Who are these people?” On the bright side, I think that this works much better as a standalone excerpt than “Dream Science,” though I must wonder why he hasn’t used more standalone works. Is there just not enough out there? Ironically, I may never know the answer to that question.
The reason that I think “Other People” works better is because the ambiguity doesn’t feel like threads to details we’ll never learn. For as many questions as I asked around Mary, they could all be chalked up to the greater theme of the piece. She is a recovering alcoholic who seems to be in some type of rehab. I’m not entirely sure of the venue, but it’s clear that Gavin is there to keep an eye on her. He reassures her and helps to restore her vision of the world around her. The story ends with her falling asleep amid horrific nightmares. Given the nature of addiction and trauma, I’m willing to buy this more than “Dream Science” having a random stranger constantly deny the protagonist information. The information is reflective of the self and dispensed according to how Mary, who in that moment is the only one who sees it, interacts with it. It should be noted that it’s not clear why this particular nightmare is occurring, but then again “The Night Face Up” was even more cryptic and I think it works perfectly.
From there, I would argue that the story’s author Martin Amis may provide some blocks for those wanting something more concrete. Part of it is simply the fun of not being fully aware of your environment. I am unsure how long Mary has been there or what her relationship to Gavin ultimately is, but there is enough persuasive language throughout to suggest that the indirection reflects the familiarity between them. If anything, it’s the reader’s job to interpret events in a way not dissimilar to an alcoholic coming to from a hangover.
Right off the bat, I would argue that it has a solid opening that reflects a certain kind of hopelessness. Mrs. Botham’s legs are irregularly sized and she limps around the room. She is nice, but seems to exist more for chatter. She doesn’t factor into the latter half of the story, save to provide us an entry point for Gavin. When first reading this, I was convinced that she was a recovering amputee victim, or at very least someone who had a severe leg injury. However, because none of this matters to the latter pages, I think it could just literally be a growth deformity. The best that can be said is that it helps to create something disorienting in an otherwise vanilla-looking place. Mary’s world may be innocuous, but because she gets to look at Mrs. Botham stumbling around, there is a visual metaphor for her internal struggle. She is capable of walking, but because of alcoholism, her ability to do it well is a bit lopsided.
Upon establishing her alcoholism, the reader is introduced to Gavin through a conversation that, like a lot of things, doesn’t really add anything to this story in a meaningful way. However, it’s eye-raising that a conversation between him and Mary leads to his dating life. Again, this suggests an intimacy that probably could work in a larger context, but as a distillation feels random and does little to build to the end of the chapter.
Gavin is queer. Specifically, he’s a man who loves men. As he describes, he’s not the gayest man in town as somehow having a certain type is more flamboyant. He likes too many types of men, specifically waiters. The best that can be assumed is that his job is reflective of this as he’s dedicated to serving Mary through this hard time. He is looking for a connection that she so clearly can’t provide, and yet he feels comfortable enough to break down things that could be perceived as taboo in 1981. I am unsure what he’s expecting from her other than complete rejection or a pat on the shoulder and a smile saying, “That’s nice.”
The biggest assumption that I could make is that this is supposed to parallel the role that alcoholics and queers played in America around 1981. Both were ostracized to different levels, and those who couldn’t comply with the system were forced to fend for themselves. Part of this could be derived from the fact that up until the 70s, being gay was seen as a mental illness. I can’t imagine how difficult it was within the first decade for society to accept this. I could imagine that Gavin’s life has its own form of isolation that ties him with Mary. Even if they have different views on people they love, they both are simply trying to survive.
Even then, I’m not entirely sure what Gavin is supposed to mean as a plot device here. He has a lengthy rundown of psychology around why a man would be gay. There’s the idea that he maybe loved his mother more than his father. Either that, or men were naturally less demanding. At most, I can assume this says that Mary’s alcoholism is from a lack of love and giving too much control to her impulses. It’s a stretch, sure, but outside of helping to move things forward, I am not totally sure why Gavin gets this much space.
As everything advances, the text becomes intrigued by the idea that people “build bodies.” Is this slang for rehabilitation and believing that muscle can return? Given that Mrs. Botham’s husband is revealed to be an alcoholic of nearly 30 years, it becomes clear that Mary may have it bad, but she stands to do better than a lot of people around her. Though again, I’m not sure what this all is saying except that Mr. Botham died from cancer. Is it that mortality comes for us all? Is it that Mary is fixated on pessimistic themes? Like everything else, I think her worldview is informed by those around her. It’s clear that while Gavin wants to believe there’s good in the world, he’s stuck presumably alone. Mrs. Botham is also old and alone. It’s a cruel world and learning not to use substances to cope may prove to be more difficult than simple inhibitions.
In the closing pages, Mary is given space to read books. They’re difficult for her to comprehend and I find Amis’ way of discussing them to be odd. She reads William Shakespeare and claims that they’re about women murdering with onions, riddles, handkerchiefs, and buttons. They’re not the most conventional items and was so disorienting on the page that I had to wonder if she read a book that just happened to have his name slapped on the cover. Amis makes the analysis confusing with purpose, and I think builds to a fascinating idea that the text ultimately doesn’t deliver for me.
Reading is hard not just because of the content. There’s also grappling with the idea that books are reflective of time vs. place. In theory, reading Shakespeare would transport you to prior centuries and dropped into a culture that no longer exists. The idea of exploring the way that fiction captures the past is a great idea. However, how does that compare to dropping us in a place? In theory, a place is not indebted to time, but also needs it to exist. For Mary, it’s clear that she’s fixated on escapism less from a nostalgic standpoint and more geographic. She wants to be in a world that is far from here. At the same time, I think Amis does a great job of making the surroundings ambiguous. There’s no clarity as to how much time passes, and the results make for a disorienting journey.
The fantasy of Mary walking around London adds that sense of escapism that could be beautiful. However, she is too codependent on Gavin to ever get there again. She is desperate to retrieve a memory that alcohol has removed from her. It’s tragic, and one that is difficult to overcome.
With all that said, I’d argue the ending works beautifully. It’s not necessarily one that summarizes everything that comes before, but presents the state of Mary on a deeper level. She is mostly described from an observant standpoint. However, the final push towards her dreams reveals how difficult it is to escape her past. The dream is filled with smoke. Not only that, but she ends by having somebody choke her willingly. Those final words, “And she asked for it, and wanted more,” says so much about how tortured she is. She wants something that harms her and will do anything for it. She could be happy, but this part of her will always exist.
Again, I think that this is a great idea but is not given due diligence. For as much as Amis gives space to delve into this world, I am left feeling like it’s part of a greater tapestry. I think it works very well to the theme of amnesia and slowly recovering memory, but so much is filler and goes nowhere without that context. As a study of alcoholism and the struggles of self, it has potential to grow into something grander, and that’s the thing I respond to most. It’s not an amazing story, but the way it deconstructs a person rediscovering the world and appreciating love and connection is a great idea. I’m just hoping that Lethem’s compilation is going to be less frustrating and allow readers to recognize the appeal in a condensed space without outside research.
Coming Up Next: Shirley Jackson’s “Nightmare”
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