Hazel McHaffie

Mrs Death Misses Death

Wigtown Book Festival 2021

Here I am again like a pig in muck! Another book festival; another opportunity to attend online; hours spent listening to writers talking about their writing. What’s not to love?

And because I’ve visited Wigtown (Scotland’s National Book Town), walked its streets, and met some of its characters, I feel to actually be there. Even the photos that precede each session take me to the independent bookshops and immerse me in the atmosphere of the place.

This year a particular bonus has beenĀ  topics very dear to my heart: death and dying, altruism, ethics, equality.

Salena Godden is one of the foremost performance poets in the UK, but on this occasion she was promoting her first novel, Mrs Death Misses Death, and wow! did she promote it! I’m not normally a huge fan of readings, but in this case the three short readings she did were a major selling point. The writing is lyrical in the best sense of the word, and only enhanced by Godden’s expressive voice and pacing. What’s more, she herself came across as deeply sensitive to the nuances of death and grief. Her own father took his life when she was only a young child, and she has recently lost someone dear to her to Covid 19. She was also unafraid to show her emotion in response to a question about closure from a widow in the audience who has had to leave her husband’s ashes on the other side of the world following his sudden unexpected death. The book is fiction, but explores grief and mourning, invisible missing women, and the relationship the living have with the dead. In the story, Mrs Death takes the form of a black, working class, shape-shifting woman, and she forms an alliance with Wolf, a young, bisexual, living writer well acquainted with death. Together they debate and document experiences and consequences and the meaning of death. The book gives breathing space for the reader to be part of the story too, and Godden has left six blank pages at the end for anyone to add photos or names or tributes to those they have personally loved and lost. She wants these books to be shared and inherited and passed on, to keep those names alive – much as she wants the names of those lost to Covid to be remembered and respected as individuals mourned by family and friends, not as stark numerical statistics. It’s inspired.

Larissa MacFarquhar was in New York but spoke to a live audience in Wigtown eloquently and with real feeling. Her book, Strangers Drowning: Impossible Idealism, Drastic Choices, and the Urge to Help, is about people who live morally-driven lives from choice, people with an extraordinary sense of duty and decency, people MacFarquhar found ‘unquestionably admirable’, who would challenge readers to think about their own attitudes and responses. The people she studied might be loosely described as ‘do-gooders’ (although she conceded that term tends to have a certain kind of stigma attached to it). The stories she shared included altruistic organ donors, an Indian aristocratic lawyer who founded a leper colony on the basis of a fellowship of suffering; a woman who fostered twenty children with special needs; a young couple who struggled with the question of how right/wrong it would be to have a child and spend money on them at the expense of the lives of many many children in underprivileged families; a man who made it his mission to save chickens. In the book she confronts wider issues, such as the conflict beneath how far a person is prepared to go at the expense of their families; how much we may devalue the quiet smaller efforts of those who work with small numbers or build on the work of others as opposed to the titans and entrepreneurs who blaze new trails. It was a fantastic session. And yes, immensely challenging.

Jill Hopper‘s book, The Mahogany Pod, is a memoir about her experience of falling in love in her twenties with a dying man and deciding not to walk away. Now around 50 and herself the mother of a teenage son, she felt ready, after 25 years, to analyse and probe and make sense of what happened to her young self, and in so doing to lay certain things to rest, to stop worrying about forgetting the detail, and to make peace with Arif’s mother. It’s a tender account of what it means to live and love fully in exceptional circumstances, and the changing quality of the grief that follows great loss, and which put her at odds with her peers. It’s surely a tribute to her present husband that he encouraged and supported her in this endeavour. The title comes from the only tangible gift from Arif she was left with once his family had removed everything of his after his death. It’s the distinctive pod of a tree which he picked up in his travels in Zimbabwe, but which is actually native to South America, and the misperception about its origins is symbolic of a number of things which were misunderstood or reinvented in their relationship. Hopper has a lovely gentle manner of speaking and the hour zipped by. Another superb event.

I feel so fortunate to have been able to attend this marvellous festival this week. And a big shout out for the amazing interviewers who were thoroughly well prepared and asked all the right questions. With a couple more sessions booked and still to come I might well be sharing more with you next Thursday too!

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