"You Could Make This Place Beautiful," by Maggie Smith

Bereavement is one kind of loss, one that I have written several times about (e.g., 12/22/22) because of my own grieving the death of my beloved husband. I just finished a book about the grieving of a different kind of loss: the end of a marriage. Maggie Smith (“Not that one,” as she writes!) has written an affecting, painful, but ultimately hopeful memoir titled “You Could Make This Place Beautiful” (One Signal/Atria, 2023) about the end of her marriage. She writes the story of the marriage itself, as well as its end, and of the time after. She tries hard to be fair to her ex-husband, and preserves his privacy as much as possible. But she is first in disbelief, then very angry and very sad for a long time. A thread running through the book is not only her own pain, but her worry about how the divorce affects her two children. Another thread is her realization that throughout her marriage, she had tried so hard to make herself small, to allow her husband’s needs to come first, and to minimize the time and energy that her writing and editing career took. Afterward, she is angry at her ex-spouse and, to some extent, herself for this unspoken agreement the two of them seem to have had, and for his expectation that she would always put the roles of wife and mother before any of her own work and personal needs. He doesn’t put the same demands upon himself, giving the rationale that he is making more money than she is. The story is written in short vignettes that have a poetic feel (Smith is in fact a poet), and the author’s experiences, told this way, feel very immediate. She takes us through her journey, and we are happy for her that -- eventually -- she works her way toward a kind of acceptance and peace, and even joy in her new life. But of course there are scars. I admire the writer’s candor, and her generosity in sharing her experiences and feelings -- both visceral and thoughtful -- in a way that many people -- women especially, but not only --will relate to.

The Power of Story; the Power of "Charlotte's Web"

I have written often about the power of narrative, of story, and how stories have always drawn me (as they do most human beings). I have also written here (12/22/22, for example) about the comfort of reading memoirs and novels during times of great loss. I thought about both of these ideas when recently, I am not sure why, the great children’s book, “Charlotte’s Web” (1952), written by E.B. White and illustrated by Garth Williams, came to mind. I remembered that when my mother read this book to me when I was about 5 or 6 years old, I would love it, but also would weep at the sad parts near the end, and then I would ask her to read it again, and again, and again. The sadness was part of the story, and painful as it was, the power of the story made me want to hear it again and again. And although sad, it is a lovely story, a story about love, nature, respect, and kindness. I can remember so clearly my feelings during those readings. As I said: the power of story. I am still absolutely and completely in thrall to that same power of story, these many decades and countless stories later. (P.S. Even if you are an adult, if you have never read “Charlotte’s Web,” please do! I am sure you will be moved by the words, the illustrations, the characters, the gentle humor, the pathos, and most of all, the story.)