Gail Godwin has had a long writing career that began with her first novel, The Perfectionists, published in 1970. Her most recent 2020 novel is titled Old Lovegood Girls. In between, she’s published 12 novels, two story collections and books of nonfiction.
When she was nearly 85 years old, the prolific writer took a hard spill just outside her house. She was intent on watering a dogwood tree in her backyard when she tripped. She broke her neck.
The serious injury meant a protracted stay at a rehabilitation facility. She was not able to live independently as she had been. She had to rely on nurses and others to help her.
And yet, even as she lost her autonomy and the routines of her daily life at home, she somehow remained curious about everyone around her, including nurses and doctors and roommates—and her past.
Incredibly, she begins to mine this small and limited space of her small room in the rehab for stories–new ones but also reminiscences and past experiences.
What emerges from so much time to remember and reminisce is her latest book Getting to Know Death: A Meditation.
We learn a lot about her childhood, her family and friendships.
She calls forth memories of Pat, her childhood friend. She thinks about people. But she also thinks about poetry and poets—Phillip Larkin among them. She ruminates on Henry James, on Samuel Beckett, and on her own creative work.
We see that even though she might not be able to move the way she used to, she is all there—alive, thoughtful, creative.
In the book, Getting to Know Death: A Meditation, Gail Godwin has meditated on a number of things, including, yes, death, but also—life. Living.
The book is part epistolary in that we are privy to letters Godwin sends to Pat—even after Pat’s death.
Godwin writes early on in the book, “I have been close to people who one day found themselves in the desperate place and didn’t make it out.”
She recalls a time when she wrote a letter of condolence to a young man whose father (a man who had helped build her house) died. The man had killed himself. She describes the struggle she feels to say anything consoling or positive or hopeful. She had no words at all for that—but she had words.
She says in the letter to the son, “No, you’ll never get over it, but the time will come when you will be glad you can’t get over it because the loved one remains alive in your heart as you continue to engage with the who and why of him.”
Godwin also shares stories about the times her father and half-brother were also in these “desperate” places.
Alas, Godwin had once been there, too. She shares a story about a time when she was 18, a good student—but one without any hope of going to college. She felt a sad hopelessness when she learned other girls from her class were on their way to prestigious universities. She feels utterly alone.
This brings about a crisis of faith as Godwin realizes that God “had ceased being the attentive heavenly father who was always aware of me.”
From there, reading and writing become a way she can feel a sense of control of her life. When she probes the difficult riddles of life, she finds her way to words as the softest place to land.
This slim book is a very rich memoir. It’s poignant and resonant. We see how the author struggles to continue to manage a creative life and to negotiate new ways to hold on to the passions from a long life and shape them in ways that allow her to continue to write stories with new beginnings—but also with endings that she can continue to accept through her thoughtful meditation.
No spoilers, but Godwin outlives the dogwood tree—the one she was trying to water when she fell and broke her neck.
While she might not see God’s hand in any of the events that she documents surrounding her accident and the year that follows, we see the ways her meditations on life help her to get to know death, to stare it in the face and to stare it down—and to arrive at a sense of an answer for how to continue to live.
