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The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells: A Novel
The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells: A Novel
The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells: A Novel
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The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells: A Novel

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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From the critically acclaimed author of the New York Times bestseller The Confessions of Max Tivoli comes The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells, a rapturously romantic story of a woman who finds herself transported to the “other lives” she might have lived.

After the death of her beloved twin brother and the abandonment of her long-time lover, Greta Wells undergoes electroshock therapy. Over the course of the treatment, Greta finds herself repeatedly sent to 1918, 1941, and back to the present. Whisked from the gas-lit streets and horse-drawn carriages of the West Village to a martini-fueled lunch at the Oak Room, in these other worlds, Greta finds her brother alive and well—though fearfully masking his true personality. And her former lover is now her devoted husband…but will he be unfaithful to her in this life as well? Greta Wells is fascinated by her alter egos: in 1941, she is a devoted mother; in 1918, she is a bohemian adulteress.

In this spellbinding novel by Andrew Sean Greer, each reality has its own losses, its own rewards; each extracts a different price. Which life will she choose as she wrestles with the unpredictability of love and the consequences of even her most carefully considered choices?

LanguageEnglish
PublisherHarperCollins
Release dateJun 25, 2013
ISBN9780062213846
The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells: A Novel
Author

Andrew Sean Greer

Andrew Sean Greer is the bestselling author of The Story of a Marriage and The Confessions of Max Tivoli, which was a Today book club selection and received a California Book Award. He lives in San Francisco.

Read more from Andrew Sean Greer

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Rating: 3.9838709677419355 out of 5 stars
4/5

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This was a really interesting book - I enjoyed the premise very much. Mr. Greer's prose can be a bit flowery at times, but the book is well researched and well-written. I confess, I want to know what happens next with Greta(s), Leo, et al.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    I love time travel but just couldn't get into this book.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    “The Impossible happens once to each of us.”I warn you now, I’m going to gush.The speaker of the above sentiment is the eponymous Greta Wells, the first-person narrator of Andrew Sean Greer’s fourth novel. We are introduced to her as the story opens. It’s New York City, circa 1985, the height of the AIDS crisis. She has just lost her twin brother, Felix—to whom we are introduced in a flashback that occurs not long before his death—at the age of thirty-two. Greta’s grief is almost more than she can bear. When, a few months later, her long-term relationship dissolves, it is more than she can bear. A pervading sadness leads her eventually to the door of Dr. Cerletti, who will administer a course of 25 electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) treatments over a span of 12 weeks. The doctor warns she “might experience some disorientation afterward.”What Greta experiences is more migration than disorientation. She awakens in a different time, a different life. A different Greta. After her first treatment, Greta finds herself in 1918. World War I is nearly over. Just as she finds herself inhabiting an altered version of herself there, so too she discovers alternate versions of the most important people in her life: Nathan, the lover who left her; her beloved, bohemian aunt, Ruth; and her brother, Felix. Alive. After her second ECT treatment, Greta awakens in yet another version of her life. It is 1941, and America is about to go to war. Here again are versions of those she loves and a new version of herself and the life she might have lived. So the months pass, spending a day or a week rotating through these different lives in 1985, 1918, and 1941, each with its own joys and sorrows. Because, as Greta learns, no life is perfect.That is the set-up of this moving masterpiece of a novel. Mr. Greer is rather brilliant in his choice of time periods. The beginning of a war is juxtaposed with the end of a war. The plague of AIDS is juxtaposed with the Spanish influenza of 1918. Changing social mores are examined, and our protagonist gets to explore the lives she might have known if some of her fondest wishes and greatest fears came true. Ultimately, it is up to her to decide the life she will lead, in an eerie echo of her lover’s words, “I leave it to you.” Greer writes:“A shrew, a wife, a whore. Those seemed to be my choices. I ask any man reading this, how could you decide whether to be a villain, a worker, or a plaything? A man would refuse to choose; a man would have that right. But I had only three worlds to choose from, and which of them was happiness? All I wanted was love. A simple thing, a timeless thing. When men want love they sing for it, or they smile for it, or pay for it. And what do women do? They choose. And their lives are struck like bronze medallions. So tell me, gentlemen, tell me the time and place where it was easy to be a woman?”At times, I found it difficult to believe this novel was written by a man, so convincing was the voice of his female protagonist. I’m not sure how much I related to Greta, but I believed in her—despite a premise that required significant suspension of disbelief. And I didn’t have to love her, because I fell in love with those she loved, none more so than warm and colorful Aunt Ruth, a veritable Mrs. Madrigal of a woman, complete with kimonos. And I was deeply moved by the relationship of these fraternal twins, so eloquently conveyed by the author, a twin himself.There are many echoes in this brief book. Echoes of other novels—though Greer’s tale is unique. I found myself reflecting upon stories as diverse as Ken Grimwood’s Replay, Jack Finney’s Time and Again, and even Baum’s Oz! Greta’s life had echoes of other lives, with lines of dialogue recurring like motifs in entirely different circumstances: “When you were a little girl, was this the woman you dreamed of becoming?”“I understood nothing! But it was a great show!”“If only we just loved who we’re supposed to love.”These are brief quotes, but I want to pull long passages from this novel. Greer’s prose is so beautiful it hurts. Indulge me once more:“They say there are many worlds. All around our own, packed tight as the cells of your heart. Each with its own logic, its own physics, moons, and stars. We cannot go there—we would not survive in most. But there are some, as I have seen, almost exactly like our own—like the fairy worlds my aunt used to tease us with. You make a wish, and another world is formed in which that wish comes true, though you may never see it. And in those other worlds, the places you love are there. Perhaps in one of them, all rights are wronged and life is as you wish it. So what if you found the door? And what if you had the key? Because everyone knows this:That the impossible happens once to each of us.”I was very fortunate to receive a review copy of this extraordinary novel from the publisher in late 2012. I held on to it and made it my very first read of 2013. Will it make my top 10 list for the year? Absolutely. Will it be the single best novel I read in 2013? Very likely. But more than that, this is the book I will be foisting on friends 20 years from now. My love of Greta Wells will last a lifetime.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    i loved every minute of it and couldn't put it down. Two phrases that stood out were "no ordinary life" and "first love."
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    'The impossible happens once to each of us.'Greta Wells is devastated after losing her twin brother Felix to AIDS and after her long term partner Nathan also leaves her. Burdened by a deep depression that is slowly getting the better of her, she takes the advice of her Aunt Ruth and visists a doctor who recommends electroconvulsive therapy. Ironically, right before her first session she considers, "How I longed to live in any time but this one. It seemed cursed with sorrow and death." The night following her first session she goes to sleep in 1985 and arises the next day in 1918. She wakes up as herself just under slightly different circumstances: her brother is alive and she is married to Nathan but is in love with a younger man named Leo. She discovers that her 1918 self is also undergoing electroconvulsive therapy and again, the night following her session she arises the next day in another time; this time in 1941. The cycle continues: 1985, 1918, 1941 and so on for 25 treatments."You’re all the same, you’re all Greta. You’re all trying to make things better, whatever that means to you. For you, it’s Felix you want to save. For another, it’s Nathan. For this one, it’s Leo she wants to resurrect. I understand. Don’t we all have someone we’d like to save from the wreckage?"This is a time travel story, yet it's not really. It touches on the possibilities of past lives and how your actions resonate to future lives and reincarnations of a sort. Because while 1985 Greta is traveling to her past selves, these individuals she's 'taking over' for are also on the same adventure and they're all trying to correct past mistakes and secure their own happiness. "Is there any greater pain to know what could be, and yet be powerless to make it be?"The heart of the story is of course Greta, her lives, and the individuals she loves in these lives. It's a tale of romance and how each Greta found (and loved) Nathan but after experiencing each of these lives a wrench gets thrown into the works as she is forced to consider the possibility that he is not her one true love, that she's been blinded into repetition and is only resorting to what she knows.While each life could easily showcase the historical detailing of the time, this is glazed over. In 1918, we have the flu epidemic and World War I is ending. In 1941, World War II is beginning. In 1985, we have the AIDS epidemic. While living in these time periods, Greta maintains a certain absence as if she's truly just a visitor and isn't quite experiencing the moments around her. For someone who said, "...not all lives are equal, that the time we live in affects the person we are, more than I had ever though" I really wished to see the transformation of her character due to her environment and the impacts her surroundings had on her as a person.The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells is treated as a serious tale of time travel yet is rife with flaws in its design. A definite suspension of disbelief is required because of how truly 'Impossible' the story is. Despite this (and the crazy unraveling that occurred at the end), it all managed to still work. It would be easy to nitpick it to death but in all actuality, time travel is not an exact science and different variations are definitely possible and this was quite an original interpretation of it. The story of Greta Wells is an imaginative tale about past lives and the implausible impossibility of "what if".
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I really enjoyed this book. It was a bit confusing here and there - I had to stop and think several times about which character was in which era. However, that is a minor complaint; the story is funny, sad, bittersweet and the writing is excellent. The characters are well drawn and I especially liked the protagonist's eccentric, lovable aunt.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This was a well written book on an interesting look at the subject of time travel. It took a bit to get use to the rhythm of the story but once it was established it flowed nicely. This wasn't a book that I had to stay up late trying to finish but neither did I avoid it. I enjoyed the time spent reading and would recommend it to somebody who likes life stories and emotions. It is definitely not a thriller or true romance but it was a pleasing story.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    After her twin brother dies and her lover of many years abruptly leaves her, Greta Wells sinks into an unrelenting depression. Nothing she tries for it works. As a last ditch effort, she tries a series of shock treatments that have unexpected side effects: she finds herself first in 1918, then, after a second treatment, in 1941, before returning to 1985 after a third one. That she travels in time is weird enough, but in each era she is still Greta Wells, and the full cast of characters from her life is there, too: her aunt Ruth, lover Nathan, her brother Felix, Felix’s lover Alan as well as Dr. Cerletti to give her the shock treatments. Each era has differences, too; in both 1918 and 1941 Greta and Nathan are married, Felix is still alive but deeply closeted instead of living with Alan, one Greta has a child, one a lover. Yes, there are multiple Gretas- every time ‘our’ Greta changes eras, so do the other Gretas. This is not really a time travel story, because it makes no sense that the same set of people would exist in multiple times; it’s more a story of multiple universes. But that’s not the important part of the story. It’s the relationships that are important. In each era, Greta places a different relationship in the primary place. To one, it’s Nathan, To another Greta, it’s her lover. To the third, it’s brother Felix. Each Greta is dealing with loss and/or the possibility of loss; the 1918 influenza pandemic, World War 2 starting in 1941 and an auto accident, AIDS in 1985. In each era, the Gretas are trying to fix the relationships most important to them. But I had a hard time caring about Greta very much; she managed, despite her traveling in alternate worlds, to be boring. I didn’t like Nathan, who wasn’t much more than a cardboard cheater. Aunt Ruth was the most appealing but even she was sort of a generic eccentric, crazy enough to believe Greta’s tale of time travel. The book does, however, serve up a great line, uttered by Felix to a horrible rude woman: "When you were a little girl, Madam.....was this the woman you dreamed of becoming?" It’s a good question, one that propelled Greta to try and get things right in all three eras. It’s also a question we should all ask ourselves, before it’s too late to make things turn out better. I admit the ending surprised me, but that wasn’t enough to make me love the book.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A funny combination of a very slight-feeling book and a some serious topics, mainly death, loss, and plague years (the Spanish flu in 1918, AIDS in 1985, and a bunch of young men gearing up to go off to war in 1942). Greer writes nicely, and though in the end it came off a little simple given the subject matter, it was well written and engaging—and while I haven't lived through any of the other time periods, he surely nailed the terrible feeling of devastation in downtown New York's gay community in 1985.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This very readable novel explore how one would live a different but similar life in a different time and how a glimpse of that experience would change one's current life. The time travel, though treated as an actual result of shock therapy, seems more a construct for examining the variety of possibilities inherent in one's current life.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Past and different lives and time travel seem to be "trending" but I think the penultimate was Kate Atkinson's "Life After Life". This book never grabbed me, and I found the activities of the lead characters in their three lifespans (1918, 1941, 1985)not exciting nor inspirational.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    I generally love time travel literature, especially if it's well-written. I had heard a lot of great things about this book. I really wanted to like it but to be honest, by about half way through, I began to find the jumping around a bit *bumpy*. I found that either my own mind was wandering and I couldn't keep details straight, or maybe there were just holes in the action. Some things didn't make sense to me, and there came a point when I stopped caring. Oh well...
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    I wanted to like this book, but it's difficult to do so when I find the main character uninteresting and fairly unlikeable. I also got the sense that the author is in love with the sound and structure of words and sentences. In some books that can be great, but in this one I just kept thinking "oh, here he goes again, writing all these twirly sentences."

    After about 10 pages of wincing and wondering how the heck I'll get through this (it's a book club book), I gave up and downloaded a summary so at least I'll know what they're talking about at book club! Blech.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    It was a great experience reading this book because while in the middle of reading it I got to read Andrew Sean Greer. Talking to him helped me to focus me on aspects of the book that I was not sure of. He does a great job of using time travel as a way to deal with how we make choice in this world. It goes right to the heart of how the world and how it views us impacts us depending on what era we are living in. I strongly recommend this author no matter what book by him that you read.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells by Andrew Sean Greer
    289 pages

    ★★★

    Greta lives in 1985 and is incredibly depressed about her life, the hope that electroshock therapy will fix her is a last ditch effort that instead sends her to two earlier times (1918 and 1941) as similar but different Gretas. The time change gives it the feel of time travel while the jumping into similar lives with little differences here and there is the feel of parallel universes. These new lives will hand her obstacles and how she handles them is the question, along with where she choose to stay in the end?

    I liked this book but I can’t say I loved it. Perhaps my expectations were just too high after seeing many great reviews. Something just seemed to be missing for me when reading this. The premise was an interesting one but fell short somewhere in there for me. I wasn’t overly fond of any of the characters, including the main character of Greta (not all male authors can write good female characters). The people within the book seemed a little flat to me. I know the whole point was the changes that were made throughout the times but I had trouble really getting into those changes, I just wanted to yell “live the life you have and stop meddling to make others the way you want it!” but alas there wouldn’t be much of a book in that case. I did enjoy it, it kept my attention, it was a quick read and it even managed to get me out of my reading slump but I just didn’t like it as much as I had hoped.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    An interesting concept: that who we are, how we behave and interact with the people in our lives depends on the external circumstances and era we happen to be born into. Unfortunately, it wore a little thin for me by the end, possibly because I can only seem to deal, in fiction, with things that could really happen.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Greta Wells is an unhappy woman in 1985, having been lost her brother to AIDS and get lover to another woman. Electroshock therapy has the unexpected effect of sending her by turns into two alternate worlds: in 1918, Greta's brother is lonely and closeted, and her lover is her angry, wounded husband freshly returned from war; in 1941, Greta is a housewife and mother, and her husband is loving but still unfaithful.
    Science-fiction and time-travel affects of electroshock aside, this novel was primarily a vibrant reflection on the metaphysical impact of forces beyond our cultural, the way people and events shadow us. It's hard to explain without sounding trite, but this was a dramatization of the ways in which we might be different people if our lives had unfolded differently--and so might those we love be different, too.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I thoroughly enjoyed this book and the premise behind it. Imagine having more than one choice for the life you want to live, all with different challenges jos and sorrows
    Then to be able to choose which suits your strengths and your needs while knowing what you're scraficing to choose that life.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Greta Wells has slipped into a depression. Her twin brother, Felix, has recently died from the 1980's AIDS epidemic. Her ten year companion, Nathan, has left her after a long period of intention from her. After antidepressants fail to help, her psychiatrist refers her for ECT. After the initial treatment, she wakes to discover that she is experiencing another Greta's life but in 1918. In this time, she is married to the Nathan who is off to war and Felix is alive. Concurrently, 1918 Greta, who has also been receiving a form of convulsive therapy has jumped to live a 1941 Greta's life where Nathan has returned, Felix is struggling with his sexuality, and she has a son. The 1941 Greta is now inhabiting 1985 Greta. Is this a delusion, dream, or reality? The prevent the novel from becoming too confusing, it is only told from the perspective of the 1985 Greta. It also helps that the chapters are entitled with the respective dates. The Gretas will continue to jump from one time period to the other for the 30 ECT treatments that each experiences. As the 1985 Greta jumps to each time, she views herself from different perspectives learning a bit more about herself each time. As confusing as this novel seems, it was an enjoyable read.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A sarcastic, cynical female protagonist, history, and time travel? Yes please! I jumped at this immediately when it went on sale.I have this bad habit of quickly scanning through the first few reviews on Goodreads when I first add a book. I know I shouldn’t do it, and I know I have what you could call an “easily influence-able personality”. But it’s hard to stop myself, and I did it again with this book. And reviews were mixed. And I went into the book with a heavy heart, not wanting to again be let down by a female-driven story. Especially written by a man.But I’ve just come out on the other side and I am pleased to report this book lived up to my excited expectations. It is dark and grisly, not only emotionally, but also when dealing with war and illness and death. It does a fantastic job of illustrating the different lived experiences of a woman in 1918, 1941, and 1984 and contrasting them with how Greta deals with them. Not that it’s heavy on feminist theory (you get a feeling Greta would call herself a feminist, but it’s not her focus), but due to the issues she deals with in each time period, it’s noticeable.It would be easy to say this book was written by one of those people that think “I would have rather been alive in the 20s!” and that’s where the story ends, but I think there is more to this story than that. There are nuances about twin siblings, about the AIDS epidemic, about war, about heartbreak, about friendship, about stereotypes, about choices. They are all simmering underneath. The only reason I can think that someone wouldn’t enjoy this book is because none of these things are fully realized - but I think that’s fair enough. Because these are all things Greta is dealing with and no one fully realizes anything in one calendar year of their lives (no matter the time period).Either that or they don’t like where she ended up, which is ludicrous, because she absolutely made the right choice.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Psychiatric treatment, a clever mechanism to tell a time-travel tale. Reader/narrator, Orlagh Cassidy, kept me interested in the three different twentieth-century time periods and Greta's experiences when transported into and out of those eras.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I found this book to be entertaining and interesting but not one to read with distractions. I really had to keep my mind in this one to keep up with everything going on. It is worth the time and it gives you things to ponder but might put some readers off by the switching back and forth in time.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    As we meet Greta she has just suffered two life altering losses … her long time lover has left her for another woman and her twin brother has died. Needless to say Greta feels like her life is falling apart and quite possibly taking her sanity along. At the suggestion of her doctor she decides on a mild form of electro-shock therapy. The therapy comes with a few unexpected side effects. At the completion of each treatment she finds herself transported to 1918, 1941 and then back to the present. In each incarnation she finds a reality slightly different from her own. On one she is happily married to her now ex-lover and her brother is alive and well. In another her lover is off at war, her brother is alive but her beloved aunt is dead and then back to the present. Each life comes at a cost, and as Greta tries to manipulate each incarnation to her idea of her own perfect world, her alter egos in the other years are doing the same. Can Greta manipulate her own fate and stay in the era she prefers?

    Time travel is always a tricky situation because the author has to make it plausible. Mr. Greer succeeds. Not only that, but he brings each period to life through accurate portrayal of timely events and their impact on Greta. I have heard this book favorably compared to Audrey Neffinger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife. It deserves the comparison as they are both excellent books, but other than the fact that they both deal with time travel impacting their character’s lives they are two completely different stories. Mr. Greer succeeded in making Greta’s story both plausible and enjoyable. Kudos!
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    This book was a mess. I wavered between 1 and 2 stars because I felt like I should like it more than I did. In the end I didn’t care about anything in it and there wasn’t a moment where I perked up and thought anything of interest was being said to me.A woman in 1985 is depressed over the death of her gay twin brother and loss of her lover and starts electro shock treatment, which makes her experience alternate lives in 1918 and 1941.There isn’t really a plot, there’s a setup and then a bunch of rambling. There are no spoilers to give because nothing much happens. It sounds like an interesting if not original idea, but if you’ve read the blurb you’ve read the book. Seemingly a third of the book is the main character repeating the setting and the premise (which still doesn’t make much sense and isn’t really so complicated that the reader needs it spoon fed to them repeatedly) and going over what just happened, what’s going to happen, and what might happen. Greta seems to take all of this in stride, figures it out immediately and seems to know what will happen next for reasons that are not clear. There is not even the tiniest bit of mystery, or story unfolding in this book, it is all spelled out repeatedly and immediately. At least another third of the book is flowery, trite, and frankly terrible musings on life, love, and whatever. I’ve sometimes picked up books and been confused because I didn’t realize the genre I was reading. This happens a lot with ebooks because I don’t have the clues the physical book would give. At some point I stopped and thought "Is this like a Harlequin Romance or something?" It certainly reads like one, but I’m not afraid of Chick Lit or even Romance novels and frankly most of the ones I’ve read were much better written.That leaves maybe a third of the book for plot. Or plot-ish type stuff. It’s not really time travel because all of Greta’s friends, family, and even acquaintances are present in the other worlds she visits. Alternate universes? Everything is exactly the same as our world in the other places she visits, as far as we can tell, except for Greta and her friends. I say "as far as we can tell" because the historical settings are really glossed over cheap window dressing and don’t add much. So why do different time periods at all if it’s really just alternate worlds? Is it all in her head? It would seem the most likely conclusion, but there is no hint of it and everything is played totally straight even though it doesn’t make much sense. That would be fine if there was a payoff, but this is a soap opera.The characters are cardboard cutouts. All the descriptions and rambling about feelings and such gave me no feel for the people or places. Greta is self absorbed and shallow, a description that also fits the book. We know she’s depressed because she tells us so. Her 1918 husband is not as good as his counterparts because we are told this. We are told "in this world X is good, in this one X is bad" for various things without being shown why. Greta is sanctimonious in ways the would make you tell her to STFU and mind her own business in 2015, much less 1985, 1941, or 1918, with no sense of historical perspective in her, or the book for that matter. Her actions make little sense, although the other characters mostly do, but she repeatedly tries to change them anyway. In the end there is very little insight to anything, nothing much learned by us or Greta, and I seemed to have missed the point altogether. Since all my books are packed and gone for the upcoming move I’ve been reading mostly ebooks. Sometimes you don’t know what you’re getting into and I’ve bought some things I shouldn’t have, but there are a lot of good reviews for this book out there. Baffling.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Another time travel novel. In this novel time travel is induced by electroshock treatments which lead the protagonist to repeated visits to parallel lives. Bland.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Loved this----going back and forth in time and with a result at the end!!! Great story-telling!
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    Eine Frau zwischen drei Lebenhttp://literaturundfeuilleton.wordpress.com/2014/04/24/eine-frau-zwischen-drei-leben/„Was wäre, wenn?“ Eine Frage, die interessante und verrückte Ideen zu Tage bringen kann. Ein unmögliches Leben ist das Szenario einer in der Zeit ‚verrückten‘ Frau: Eine genetisch gleiche, 36jährige Greta Wells gibt es jeweils in den Jahren 1985, 1918, 1941. Drei Existenzen, die hier miteinander verschlungen werden. Was wäre, wenn eine Frau all diese Leben in all diesen Zeiten erleben könnte? Was wäre anders? Was wäre gleich? Und die wichtigste Frage: Wäre es ein besseres Leben?von ANNA-LENA THIEL1985: Greta Wells hat Felix, ihren homosexuellen Zwillingsbruder, an AIDS verloren. Nathan, ihr langjähriger Lebensgefährte, hat sie für eine andere Frau verlassen. Die Mittdreißigerin verfällt in eine schwere Depression, aus der sie nichts herauszureißen mag. Den letzten Versuch stellt eine Elektroschocktherapie dar. Die Stromstöße sollen Gretas Gehirn neu starten, aus ihr wieder ‚die alte‘ machen.1918: Doch statt der angekündigten leichten Nebenwirkungen erlebt Greta das scheinbar Unmögliche, denn sie wacht zwar im selben Zimmer auf, in dem sie zu Bett gegangen war, jedoch in einer anderen Zeit und sogar in einem anderen Körper. Sie ist in die Haut einer anderen Greta geschlüpft, geboren im letzten Jahrhundert. In ein rüschiges Nachthemd gehüllt und von langen Haaren umwallt sieht sie sich, wie sie auch hätte werden können. Was sie zunächst für eine Mischung aus Halluzinationen und einem Halloween-Scherz ihrer flamboyanten Tante Ruth hält, stellt sich als eine unwahrscheinliche, jedoch nicht weiter hinterfragte Zeitreise heraus. In diesem Leben hat die 1918-Greta nicht nur Nathan geheiratet (und ihn in den Ersten Weltkrieg geschickt), sie ist auch im Begriff, sich einen jüngeren Mann zum Liebhaber zu nehmen. Noch wichtiger ist jedoch zunächst, dass hier ihr geliebter Bruder noch lebt. Doch auch diese Greta ist depressiv, denn auch sie wurde von Nathan betrogen und wird mit Elektroschocks behandelt.1941: Nach einer weiteren Behandlung wacht die Protagonistin im nächsten, fremden Bett einer dritten Greta auf. Hier ist sie ebenfalls verheiratet, aber wird mit einem überraschenden, unbekannten Sohn konfrontiert. Nach einem Autounfall, der sie schwer verletzt und ihre Tante Ruth, ihre einzige Vertraute und Verbündete in den beiden anderen Zeiten, getötet hat, ist auch diese Greta depressiv und hat sich auf Drängen ihres Mannes auf eine Elektroschocktherapie eingelassen.Zurück in ihrer eigenen Zeit entdeckt sie, dass die drei Gretas nun in munterem Reigen nach jeder Anwendung der Elektroschocktherapie die Plätze tauschen und in das Leben einer anderen schlüpfen. Genau wie der Leser hat 1985-Greta keinen Kontakt zu den anderen Zeitreisenden. Nur ihre unkonventionelle Tante in 1918 und 1985 vermittelt zwischen den verschiedenen Gretas. Während sich die anderen Figuren, die in jeder Epoche auftauchen, stets ein wenig unterscheiden und den zeitlichen Gegebenheiten angepasst sind, scheint ihr Charakter identisch zu bleiben.1985-Gretas erklärtes Ziel ist es nun, die Probleme der Gretas und Felixes 1918 und 1941 zu lösen, so lange sie sich in deren Zeiten aufhält (ironischer Weise reagiert sie verschnupft darauf, wenn 1941-Greta in 1985 Kontakt zu ihrem Exfreund aufnimmt). Schließlich ist sie aus der Zukunft und damit so viel emanzipierter und vorausschauender als alle anderen. 1918 muss also die Affäre initiiert, 1941 der abermals untreue Nathan beobachtet, der seine Sexualität immer verbergende Felix bearbeitet werden: Schnell wird klar, dass Greta mehr abgebissen hat, als sie kauen kann.„Nennt mir also, meine Herren, nennt mir Zeit und Ort, wo es leicht ist, eine Frau zu sein.“Obwohl das wichtigste Figurenpersonal über die Zeiten hinweg gleich bleibt, sind die Charaktere doch auch Produkte ihrer Zeit. So ist 1918-Felix im Begriff Ingrid zu heiraten, 1941-Felix ist bereits mit ihr verheiratet, hat ein Kind, beide haben eine heimliche, komplizierte Affäre mit Alan, dessen 1985er Version ebenfalls an AIDS gestorben ist. Auch Nathan scheint seinem Los nicht entkommen zu können – immer muss er Greta betrügen. Ausgelöst durch Gretas Affären-Erfahrung 1918, taucht der attraktiv jungenhafte Leo Barlow bald auch 1941 und 1985 auf.Die Figuren dieses Romans sind dazu verdammt einen komplexen Tanz um einander und ihr Schicksal aufzuführen, an dessen Ende nur eine Erkenntnis steht: So richtig glücklich wird hier niemand.Offen bleibt die Frage, ob dies ein allgemeiner Daseinszustand ist oder ob es daran liegt, dass der Fokus auf einem Zwillingspaar liegt, von denen einer eine Frau und der andere ein homosexueller Mann ist. Mit dieser Konstellation wählt Andrew Sean Greer bewusst Figuren aus, die Problemen ausgesetzt sein werden. Überhaupt versucht der Autor in seinem Roman gewichtige Themen anzuschneiden: Homosexualität, AIDS, Krieg, Verlust, Depressionen, Feminismus. Dabei bleibt er in vielerlei Hinsicht an der Oberfläche, schneidet Problemzusammenhänge an und lässt sie dann unbeachtet wieder verschwinden. Die Zeitfenster, die er sich für seine Handlung ausgesucht hat, sind bestimmt von Krisen: der Erste Weltkrieg und die Spanische Grippe, die Folgen der Großen Depression und der Zweite Weltkrieg, der Kalte Krieg und die AIDS-Krise. Doch statt einen fühlbaren Einfluss auf die Geschichte zu haben, bleiben diese Krisen wie Theaterkulissen flach im Hintergrund stehen. Die Geschichte wiederholt sich hier nicht auf eine fatale, tragödiengroße Art und Weise, sondern beiläufig, fast versehentlich. Greta nutzt ihre historisch begünstigte Position nicht, sie klammert sich an das, was sie kennt, und das ist in erster Linie ihr Bruder aus dem Jahr 1985.„Was wäre, wenn?“In Form eines retrospektiv geschriebenen Tagebuchs wird aus Sicht der 1985-Greta über alle Ereignisse berichtet, die Technik der Vorausschau wird dabei für Erklärungen – wenn auch zuweilen nicht schlüssige: Warum flippt sie nicht aus, als sie erstmals 1918 erwacht? – und die Beleuchtung der Motive der Protagonistin verwendet. Dabei ist leider nicht nur der Nachname der Protagonistin eine offensichtliche literarische Anspielung, allzu oft verliert der Autor sich bei der Beschreibung der Innenwelt Greta Wells’ in einfallslosen Klischees und sich wiederholenden Metaphern. Statt etwas Neues zu sagen, wird sich oft genug damit begnügt, es nochmal auf eine andere Art und Weise zu sagen. Der Behandlung der angesprochenen Themenkreise um Feminismus und Homosexualität fehlt dabei das Problembewusstsein jenseits von ‚Es muss doch besser werden‘. Vielleicht hat Greer ähnlich seiner eigenen Figur einfach zu viel abgebissen, um ordentlich kauen zu können.Mit dem Zeitreise-Kniff wollte Greer es ermöglichen, das Portrait dreier Frauen mit nur einer Protagonistin zu schreiben. Ein unmögliches Leben beschreibt kein Leben ganz, die Protagonistin bleibt dem Leser fremd, denn ihre Handlungen erfolgen zumeist aus dem Bauch heraus, Gründe, sich plötzlich umzuentscheiden, bleiben vage. Wenn sie überhaupt die Handlung an sich reißt, scheint ihre Handlungsweise fragwürdig. Der einzige Grund, dieses Buch zu lesen, ist, um sich seine eigenen Gedanken über das „Was wäre, wenn?“ zu machen, sich die anderen Gretas als Wesen aus Fleisch und Blut vorzustellen und sie in Gedanken einer Entwicklung zu unterziehen, die für 1985-Greta zwar möglich gewesen wäre, aber leider nicht stattgefunden hat.Andrew Sean Greer: Ein unmögliches LebenAus dem Amerikanischen von Uda SträtlingS. Fischer, 334 SeitenPreis: 19,99 EuroISBN: 978-3-10-027827-2
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I really liked this book. Great writing and an interesting premise. Not your typical time travel book. In fact, I don't think I'd call it a "time travel" book. It made me think about how timing and circumstaces shape the people we are and how choices we make have far reaching consequences.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A journey into grief and mental illness.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    1985: Gretas geliebter Zwillingsbruder Felix stirbt an Aids und ihr Partner Nathan verlässt sie. Aufgrund ihrer darauf folgenden Depressionen bekommt die junge Frau eine Elektroschocktherapie. Deren Wirkung ist v.a., dass sie jeweils abwechselnd 1918 und 1941 aufwacht und dort ebenfalls das Leben als Greta führt. Auch die wichtigen Personen gibt es in jedem Leben: Nathan und Felix, die Tante Ruth, Felix´ Partner Alan. Doch die Voraussetzungen sind immer andere. Zum einen kann Felix nur 1985 offen schwul leben, in den anderen Jahren gibt es eine (Alibi-)Frau namens Ingrid - aber er lebt noch. Zum anderen ist Greta in den anderen Jahren noch mit Nathan zusammen, hat aber in einem Leben eine Affäre und Nathan ist natürlich jeweils im Krieg. Die Gretas der jeweils anderen Jahre tauschen natürlich auch Platz.Aus meiner Sicht lässt sich das Buch gut lesen. Ich habe es wirklich auf einen Zug durchgelesen, fand es immer wieder motivierend, noch ein bisschen weiterzulesen. Das heißt aber nicht, dass mir das Buch wirklich gefallen hätte.Die Idee an sich ist faszinierend: Genau die gleiche Lebenskonstellation in einer anderen Zeit anzudenken, das ist ein interessantes Gedankenspiel. Aber gleichzeitig ist das Verhalten der Figuren unwahrscheinlich. Wenn ich mir vorstelle, in einer anderen Zeit zu leben, dann versuche ich doch, herauszufinden, was sich verändert, spreche mit der Eingeweihten (es gibt eine Person, die von der Zeitreise weiß) über gesellschaftliche Veränderungen, hinterlasse für meine anderen Ichs Nachrichten. Statt dessen geht es bei Greta immer nur um sie selbst.Auch dass die Greta von 1918 im Jahr 1985 problemlos zurechtkommt, ist komplett unwahrscheinlich, selbst 1945 wird ihr Schwierigkeiten machen. In die Vergangenheit zu reisen ist da sicherlich leichter, denn darüber weiß man wenigstens schon was. Solche Gedanken spielen aber keine Rolle.Es geht einfach immer nur um die 85er-Greta und ihr kleines Leben. Die Personen hätten noch viel plastischer ausgestaltet werden sollen. So ist alles irgendwie viel zu simpel, Figuren, Handlung, Denkweise.Irgendwie ist das Buch interessant, der Grundgedanke hat was. Aber eigentlich kann man das Buch nicht schreiben. Denn wenn es die Geschichte einfach erzählt, wirkt es naiv und vereinfachend. Anders jedoch wäre es aber wohl auch nicht möglich.

Book preview

The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells - Andrew Sean Greer

Part One

OCTOBER

TO

NOVEMBER

OCTOBER 30, 1985

THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS ONCE TO EACH OF US.

For me, it was near Halloween in 1985, at my home in Patchin Place. Even New Yorkers find it hard to spot: a little alley west of Sixth Avenue where the city tilts drunkenly into an eighteenth-century pattern, allowing for such fanciful moments as West Fourth crossing West Eighth and Waverly Place crossing itself. There is West Twelfth and Little West Twelfth. There is Greenwich Street and Greenwich Avenue, the last of which takes a diagonal route along the old Indian trail. If any ghosts still walk there, carrying their corn, no one sees them, or perhaps they are unrecognizable among the freaks and tourists out at all hours, drunk and laughing by my doorstep. They say the tourists are ruining everything. They say they have always said that.

But I will tell you: Stand on West Tenth where it meets Sixth Avenue, in the turreted shadow of the old Jefferson Market Courthouse with its tall tower. Turn until you see a set of iron gates, so easy to miss, peer through the bars and there: no more than half a city block, lined with thin maples, dead-ending half a dozen doorways down, nothing glamorous, just a little broken alley of brick three-story apartment buildings, built long ago to house the Basque waiters at the Brevoort, and there at the end, on the right, just past the last tree, our door. Scrape your shoes on the old shoe brush embedded in the concrete. Walk through the green front door, and you might turn left to knock on my aunt Ruth’s apartment, or walk upstairs and knock on mine. And at the turn of the staircase, you might stop and read the heights of two children, mine in red grease pencil and, high above in blue, that of my twin brother, Felix.

Patchin Place. The gates locked and painted black. The houses crouched in solitude. The ivy growing, torn down, growing again; the stones cracked and weedy; not even a borough president would look left on his hurrying way to dinner. Who would ever guess? Behind the gates, the doors, the ivy. Where only a child would look. As you know: That is how magic works. It takes the least likely of us, without foreshadowing, at the hour of its own choosing. It makes a thimblerig of time. And this is exactly how, one Thursday morning, I woke up in another world.

LET ME START nine months before it happened, in January, when I was out with Felix to walk Alan’s dog. We had locked the green door behind us, and were making our way past the ice-covered gates of Patchin Place while the dog, Lady, sniffed each barren patch of dirt. Cold, cold, cold. The wool collars of our coats were pulled up and we shared Felix’s scarf, wound once around each of our necks, connecting us, my hand in his pocket and his in mine. He was my twin, but not my double, so while he shared my flushed cheeks and bent nose, my red hair and pale complexion, my squinting blue eyes—fox faced, our aunt Ruth called us—he was taller, greater somehow. I had to steady Felix on the ice, but he insisted on going out that night without his cane; it was one of his good nights. I still found him so ridiculous in his new mustache. So thin in his new overcoat. It was our thirty-first birthday.

I said, It was such a lovely party.

Everywhere the shivering hush of a New York winter: the glimpses of high apartments, the shimmer of the frozen streets, the muted glow of restaurants late at night, pyramids of snow at corners hiding trash and coins and keys. The sound of our steps on the sidewalk.

I was thinking, he said. After I die, I want you to have a birthday party where everyone comes dressed as me. Always thinking of a party. I remember him as bossy and self-righteously moral as a child, the kind who assigned himself as fire captain and forced the rest of the family through ridiculous drills. After our parents’ death, however, and especially after he escaped our shared scrawny adolescence, all that ice melted at once—he became almost a convert to the side of fire itself. He grew restless if a day had no great event in store; he planned many of them himself, and would throw anyone a party if it meant drinks and costumes. Our aunt Ruth approved.

Oh hush, I said. I’m sorry Nathan had to leave early. But he’s been working, you know.

Did you hear me?

I looked at him, his freckled face, that red mustache. Dark commas beneath his eyes. Thin and scared and quiet, all the fire burnt away inside him. Instead of answering, I said, Look at the ice on all the trees!

He let Lady sniff at a fence. You’ll make Nathan dress up in my old Halloween costume.

The cowgirl.

He laughed. No, Ethel Mermaid. You can sit him in an armchair and feed him drinks. He’ll like that.

You didn’t like our birthday? I said. I know it wasn’t much. Could you please teach Alan to bake a cake?

Our birthday cheers me up. We walked along, looking up at silhouettes in windows. Don’t neglect Nathan.

The light caught the ice on the trees, electrifying them.

It’s been ten years. Maybe he could use a little neglect, I said, holding his arm to steady him.

On the cold winter street, I heard Felix whisper, Look there’s another one.

He nodded in the direction of a hair salon that had always graced the corner. In the window, a sign: CLOSED FOR BUSINESS. My brother stood for a moment while Lady considered the tree. Felix said simply, Gone home.

That was the phrase: journal of a plague year. The dog-grooming salon. The bead shop. The bartender and the tailor and the waiter down at the Gate. All of the CLOSED FOR BUSINESS signs. And if you asked about that waiter they’d say: He’s gone home. The bartender with the bird tattoo: Gone home. The boy who lived upstairs and set off the fire alarm: Gone home. Danny. Samuel. Patrick. So many ghosts you couldn’t make out the Indians even if they wailed for lost Manahatta.

A loud bang; a woman had come out of the building: frizzy dyed black hair, trench coat. You assholes are killing the trees!

Hi, said Felix sweetly. We’re your neighbors, it’s nice to meet you.

She shook her head, staring at Lady, who was preparing to squat in the frosted grass. You’re ruining my city, she said. Get your dog out of here.

Her tone was so harsh we were both shaken; I could feel my brother’s hand clenched in my pocket. I tried to think of something to do or say other than just turning to go. She crossed her arms, defiant.

Felix said, I’m sorry, but . . . I don’t think girl dogs hurt the trees.

Get your dog out of here.

I watched my brother’s face. So gaunt, barely a reminder of the strong, grinning twin I’d always known, the flushed pink face now worn away. I gripped his arm and began to pull him away; he didn’t need this, not on our birthday. But he would not budge. I saw him building up the courage to say something. I had assumed he had used up all his reserves of courage in the past year.

All right, he said at last, reining in Lady, who stumbled. But I have one question.

The woman smiled smugly and raised an eyebrow.

He managed a grin. And then he said something that made her take a single step back as we disappeared around the corner and began our nervous laughter together on that cold night of our last birthday. I carried what he said through the tough weeks that followed, then the awful months, the half a year of hell that drove me deeper into sadness than I had ever known. Standing there firmly, calmly, asking that woman a question:

When you were a little girl, madam, he said, gesturing to her, "was this the woman you dreamed of becoming?"

IT ALL CAME faster than we could plan for. One day Felix was talking cheerfully about the books I had brought him. And then the next morning I was getting a call from Alan saying, He’s going, it’s too fast now, I think we have to— And I was rushing over to their apartment to find Felix going in and out of lucidity. Apparently his joints were so swollen it hurt to move, and the pain was beyond reckoning; the headaches had returned with severity, and the last bout of antibiotics had done no good. We stood on either side of him asking over and over, Do you want to go? and it was over twenty minutes later that my brother was able to open his eyes and hear us. He could not speak, but he nodded. I could tell from his eyes he was there, and knew.

PATCHIN PLACE, ALONE with Nathan, mourning my brother. The snow fell heavily upon the gates that winter, and weighed down the maples outside my window. Ruth took Felix’s bird, and I listened to it chirping in the apartment below, staring out, as I did, at a birdless winter day. Felix was wrong about so many things, but he was right about Nathan: I should not have neglected him.

The man I lived with but never married, my Dr. Michelson, a smart and gentle man, smiling in a red-brown beard and glasses. Long, narrow face, lined with worry at the eyes below a receding heart-shaped hairline. When we first met, I had always thought of Nathan as an older man, but after I turned thirty the truth dawned on me that he was only eight years older, and that as time went on the gap would close, until we were both equally old, and the revelation came with a sadness that I would lose something I had on him. At forty, he had a slightly sad, pleasantly smiling demeanor that led people to say, But you’re so young! What they meant was that he had not grown bitter. He always closed his eyes and smiled at that remark. I suppose it’s because he was what he’d always said he would be. He was a doctor, loved by a woman. He lived in Greenwich Village. Despite the gray in his beard, what I felt kept him young were the childhood hobgoblins he retained as pets: his fear of sharks, even in a swimming pool; his fear of mispronouncing dour. He laughed each time he caught himself, and told me so. Who knows how many others went untold? But I grew to love them as intimates, and when after years I heard him saying dour correctly on a few separate occasions, it was as if an old one-eyed cat had died.

You could sum up his personality by the phrase he spoke so soothingly, at every difficult occasion in our courtship: I leave it to you. Somehow, it was the antidote to all my fears. Was I spending too much time with Felix, and not enough with him? I leave it to you. Should I stay late at work or attend his mother’s party? I leave it to you. That phrase drained me of worry; I loved him for it. He became my companion, for ten years. In those last months of Felix’s life, however, Nathan was a ghost I could not see. I ignored him and brushed him aside, and for a while he understood. And then he did not understand. He was so kind, but when crossed could just as easily be cold. And then I lost him.

Just a few months after Felix’s death, I discovered he had taken a lover. I followed Nathan one evening and found myself before a brick building, the zigzag smile of a fire escape, seeing the silhouettes of my lover and his young woman. Who knows how long I stood there? How long does one stand before a scene of dread? It had begun to snow, in tiny dust flakes, and this lengthened how the light fell from the window onto the street.

I will always wonder if I did the right thing. I stepped away from the building and I walked back home, and warmed myself within the solitary bed, and never mentioned it to him. With everything going on, with all the grief I had plugged up, I could easily understand his need for ease and attention, for playing husband to this play wife—trying out another life, in a way—and I said to myself, He will come home to me, not her. After all, we had shared so many things, including the years before gray hair. Who else would ever fit him so neatly?

He did come home to me. He did leave her. I know it because one night a few weeks later, when I sat in Patchin Place reading a book while white-bean soup simmered on the stove, still an hour away from being ready, he came home streaked with rain, his face very red and puffy, and something distant in his eyes, as if he’d witnessed a murder. Beard gleaming with droplets. He said hello and kissed my cheek. I’ll take off these wet things, he said, and went into the other room and closed the door.

I heard a violin quartet, not what he usually listened to, but he must have tuned the radio to anything loud enough. But it was not loud enough. I heard it beneath the music, as he sat hidden from me in the other room, the sound he could not control and yet desperately wanted to hide: the sobs of a broken heart.

In some scene I can barely imagine, he had said some final farewell and kissed her, made love some final time, and pushed his way out the door as she sought for the right thing to say, the thing that would make him stay there. Make him leave me instead of her. He held the doorknob with one shaking hand; they stared at each other. Did he cry yet? For she did not find the words—and here he was. Sitting in the other room, sobbing like a boy. Violins dervishing around him. And here I was, in my chair with my book and the big brass lamp casting a hoop of gold across my lap. Knowing what he had done. Wanting to tell him that I was angry and hurt and grateful. The violins made their bumpy way down the octave. And, after a while, Nathan came out of that room and asked, Do you want a drink? I’m making one for myself, a whiskey. There with the grief so plain on his face. How many weeks, months had it been? How many phone calls, letters, nights had he given to her? Over like that, like breaking a neck. Yes, I said, putting down my book, the soup will be ready soon, and we drank and fed ourselves and did not talk about the great thing that had just happened.

The real surprise was that, a few months later, he left me after all. In a rental car, parked outside the gates, me in the driver’s seat.

Stay with me, Nathan.

No, Greta, I can’t anymore.

His hand on the car door, choosing the words that would end our lives together. It did not really matter what they were. I picture myself at that dire moment: pale in the streetlight, tears caught in my nearly invisible lashes, red hair recently cut short in a last bid for change, lips parted as I tried to think of anything left to say. Door handle open, wind rushing in, the last few minutes—I realized the flash of his glasses in the streetlight might be the last I ever saw of him.

What am I supposed to do? I shouted from the car.

He stared at me coldly for a moment, then touched the door and said, before he shut it, I leave it to you.

TRY HYPNOSIS, MY aunt Ruth counseled me, rubbing my temples with oil. Try est. Try anything but shrinks, darling. She was my sole companion in those months. I’m sure my father would not have approved of her visits; he always found his sister flighty, selfish, uncontrolled, the dangerous artist who had to be stopped. The kind of woman, he once told me, who would yell theater in a crowded fire. A comfort, an ally, but she knew nothing of my mind.

Everybody had advice. Try acupuncture, they would tell me when I roused myself for a party. Try acupressure. Try yoga, try running, try pot. Try oats, try bran, try colonics. Quit smoking, quit dairy, quit meat. Quit drinking, quit TV, quit being self-centered. The psychiatrist I found at last, Dr. Gilleo, talked to me endlessly about my dead parents, my childhood memories of golden dogs running on golden afternoons with my brother, and found the ordinary thorns of an ordinary life. Was it so bad, I asked him, to be sad because sad things happened? There are a number of new antidepressants, he said. And we will try them. I did try them, from Ambivalon to zimelidine. And still they could not shake the nightmare: of answering my door and seeing Felix there, in his absurd mustache, asking to come in, and me telling him he couldn’t. Why not? he asked. Nightly I told him, Because you’re dead.

Ruth rubbing my temples, kissing my forehead. There there, darling. It will pass. It will pass. Adding, unhelpfully as always, I think what you need is a lover.

It is almost impossible to capture true sadness; it is a deep-sea creature that can never be brought into view. I say that I remember being sad, but in truth I only remember mornings when that person in the bed—the person in which I was contained—could not wake up, could not go to work, could not even do the things that she knew would save her, and instead did only what was bound to destroy her: alcohol, and forbidden cigarettes, and endless lost black hours of loneliness. I’m tempted to distance myself from her, to say, Oh, that wasn’t me. But that was me, staring at the wall and longing to crayon-draw all over it and not even having the will for that. Not even the will for suicide. That was me in my room, looking out the window on Patchin Place as the maples turned yellow into autumn.

You could already make out my neighborhood heightening its mood in preparation for Halloween. Store windows were filled with silver-painted nude fauns, great glowing puppets, skeletons and witches of every type. Hollowed-out pumpkins lined the gate of Patchin Place; I felt you could lay my head down among them. The streets looked lonely. I looked lonely as I made my way each morning to work, and each evening home to a slighter, darker twilight, my street trading all its colors for blue, while from the west came the bright, streaming lavender sunset on the Hudson. It lit up all the sky, the tall apartment towers black and jagged against it. That is where I lived. In the fall of 1985. How I longed to live in any time but this one. It seemed cursed with sorrow and death.

How clearly I could hear my brother asking me from the grave, Was this the woman you dreamed of becoming? Was this the woman?

And then, one day, tapping his pencil on his pad, my dear old Dr. Gilleo: There is one more thing we can try.

THE DOCTOR’S OFFICE was not quite what I expected. Perhaps because it was Halloween, I thought it would look something like Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory, carved out from the side of a cliff. Instead, it was an ordinary brownstone that shared a courtyard with what I remembered as an old grammar school; now, it had become part of the medical suite, and nurses stood in the courtyard, smoking. I sat for a few minutes in a plaid chair, across from an old lady with a bright green shawl and a knitting bag, and then was told Dr. Cerletti would see me now. The sign on the door: CERLETTI, ELECTROCONVULSIVE THERAPY.

Miss Wells, I see here we have informed consent from Dr. Gilleo, is that right? said a short, bald man with large half-rimmed glasses and a gentle expression.

Yes, Doctor. I looked around the room for the device that would cure me.

He did a pretreatment evaluation for us, is that right?

I’ve been depressed, I told him. We’ve tried pills. Nothing seems to work.

That is the only reason you would be here, Miss Wells.

Dr. Cerletti looked at his clipboard. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?

Only if I get to ask a few. I’m terrified about electroshock—

We call it electroconvulsive these days. I’m sure Dr. Gilleo went through it all with you. No data suggests any kind of damage to the brain.

Electroconvulsive doesn’t sound much better.

He smiled, and the smile on his bland, kind face was reassuring. Things are very different from what they used to be. For instance, I’m going to give you thiopental, an anesthetic, and a muscle relaxant. It will be much nicer than going to the dentist.

That’s Sodium Pentathol? Will I tell you the truth, Doctor?

"Were you planning not to? It doesn’t actually induce truth

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