Kruse's Keys: Read "Death Be Not Proud" to Appreciate the Value of Life"

The name of this 1949 memoir was taken from the English poet John Donne’s poem of the same title: “Death Be Not Proud.” In it the author and father John Gunther recounts the life and death of his son who passed after a struggle with a malignant brain tumor. Much as Donne pushes back against death’s supposed power, so does Gunther as he celebrates the vitality and beauty of his son Johnny’s life saying that the book’s purpose was for him “to write, as a mournful tribute not only to Johnny but to the power, the wealth, the unconquerable beauty of the human spirit, will, and soul.” The book’s power comes from the author’s keen power of observation coupled with a very measured, controlled level of sentimentality. A good example comes in retrospect as Gunther considers what it means that Johnny is gone: “All the wonderful things in life are so simple that one is not aware of their wonder until they are beyond touch.”

I came across this book by happenstance as an author mentioned it in an article on memoirs. After finishing it in two days, I struggled as to whether I’d recommend it or not--the writing style does come across as a bit dated and it lacks the emotional punch one would expect of a father losing his son. But ultimately, I believe it’s a worthwhile read because Gunther’s aim was not an emotional “punch” but instead a bestowal of an appreciation of life: “To me, it means loving life more, being more aware of life, of one’s fellow human beings, of the earth.”

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

See our 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014 Reading Lists.

Key Quotes:

Johnny was as sinless as a sunset.
Page: 49

Probably it was at this juncture that we first became seriously impressed with what little doctors do know.
Page: 49

Johnny did not lose function. He lived almost a year after this, and he did not die like a vegetable. He died like a man, with perfect dignity.
Page: 78

Cancer is a rebellion—a gangster outbreak of misplaced cells.
Page: 85

I have so much to do, and there’s so little time!”
Page: 122

Slowly, very slowly, Johnny stepped out of the mass of his fellows and trod by us, carefully keeping in the exact center of the long aisle, looking neither to the left nor the right, but straight ahead, fixedly, with the white bandage flashing in the light through the high windows, his chin up, carefully, not faltering, steady, but slowly, so very slowly. The applause began and then rose and the applause became a storm, as every single person in the old church became whipped up, tight and tense, to see if he would make it. The applause became a thunder, it rose and soared and banged, when Johnny finally reached the pulpit. Mr. Flynt carefully tried to put the diploma in his right hand, as planned. Firmly Johnny took it from right hand to left, as was proper, and while the whole audience rocked now with release from tension, and was still wildly, thunderously applauding, he passed around to the side and, not seeing us, reached his place among his friends.
Page: 136

He never regained consciousness. He died absolutely without fear, and without pain, and without knowing that he was going to die.
Page: 137

for a brief second, and presently, with infinite depth, very slowly and at spaced intervals, three great quivering gasps came out of him. He had regained color just before; he had some final essential spark of animation; he was still fighting. But now these shatteringly deep breaths, arising from something so deep down that his whole body shook and trembled, told us their irrevocable message.
Page: 137

What is life? It departs covertly. Like a thief Death took him.
Page: 140

There are other criteria for measuring a life as well as its duration— quality, intensity. But for us there is no compensation, except that we can go to him though he cannot come to us. For others, I would say that it was his spirit, and only his spirit, that kept him invincibly alive against such dreadful obstacles for so long—this is the central pith and substance of what I am trying
Page: 140

to write, as a mournful tribute not only to Johnny but to the power, the wealth, the unconquerable beauty of the human spirit, will, and soul.
Page: 141

“He hath outsoared the shadow of our night”—what a gallant soul, and what an unfulfilled promise! The fact that this was to be expected makes it no easier to bear, and I hope that you and Mrs. Gunther know that you have all my deepest sympathy.
Page: 142

“He had the most brilliant promise of any child I have ever known.”

Page: 167

During 1947 Johnny wrote little. One of the last scribbles I have of his handwriting is a note: “Scientists will save us all.” His last letter to his mother is in the text above.
Page: 187

not even the birth of one’s child, brings one so close to life as his death.
Page: 188

wasn’t just dying, of course. He was living and dying and being reborn all at the same time each day. How we loved each day. “It’s been another wonderful day, Mother!” he’d say, as I knelt to kiss him good night.
Page: 188

when one is alone with God, what is left in one’s heart? Just this: I wish we had loved Johnny more.
Page: 189

Everybody who knew him, his friends and teachers at Lincoln, Riverdale, and Deerfield, our neighbors in the country at Madison, felt the warmth of his goodness and its great vitality in him. Yet a single cell, mutating experimentally, killed him.
Page: 194

All the wonderful things in life are so simple that one is not aware of their wonder until they are beyond touch. 
Page: 196

To me, it means loving life more, being more aware of life, of one’s fellow human beings, of the earth.

Kruse's Keys: Read "Lives Other Than My Own" to Witness the Power of Being "Seen"

One review of this book noted that you begin thinking this book is about one thing and it ends up being about something totally different.  That's an astute observation as the book begins in the aftermath of the 2004 Sri Lanka tsunami and ends in the aftermath of the death of the author's sister-in-law Juliette from cancer at the age of 33.

In this memoir, French author Emmanuel Carrere takes issue with Fitzgerald's well known assertion that "All life is a process of breaking down" as he peers into the life of Juliette, carefully building a picture of her circling journey from tragedy to love to passion and back to tragedy as her cancer returns to deal its final blow.  And while her body was indeed breaking down--she lived her life fully for her children, her husband, and notably for the French people affected by the country's consumer law. 

Yes, consumer law.  Juliette and her fellow judge devoted their lives to fighting against a French legal system that benefited credit card companies at the expense of the poor working class.  Carrere spends much of the memoir exploring the technical aspects of this battle, chronicling Juliette's setbacks and eventual victories.

Perhaps the author's most poignant observations came as he examined his own relationships against the backdrop of cancer and Juliette's battles.  He noted the power and necessity of connection, stating: "And that is the worst of fates: never to have been seen, never to have been acknowledged.”  The people and couples described in "Lives Other Than My Own" all shared a similar triumph amidst tragedy--having been seen--having been loved.

Key References:
The Scorpion Fish by Nicoloas Bouvier.
Plus loin: mais où? by Beatrix Beck
Mars by Fritz Zorn

See our 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014 Reading Lists.

Key Quotes:

Page: 11 Delphine screamed; Jérôme didn’t. He took Delphine in his arms and hugged her as tightly as he could while she screamed and screamed, and from then on he had only one objective: I can no longer do anything for my daughter, so I will save my wife.

Page: 19 Only yesterday evening they were like us and we like them, but something happened to them and not us, so now we belong to two separate branches of humanity.

Page: 24 To live happily, live hidden, as a French proverb says.

Page: 29 The Scorpion-Fish. I’m reading a chapter that describes Matara as a village of particularly redoubtable sorcerers when I come across this sentence: “If we knew how vulnerable it makes us, we’d never dare to be happy.”

Page: 34 age-spotted hand for my old dick that has served her faithfully for thirty years,

Page: 46 Then do it. You’re in a better position to write it than I am. Philippe looked at me skeptically, but within a year he did do it, and did it well.

Page: 47 It did them good to cry because a man and a woman in love who’d believed each other dead had been reunited. It felt good to see these two look at each other and touch each other with such amazement.

Page: 54 Plus loin: mais où? (Farther Away: But Where?). Leafing through it, I came across a sentence that made me laugh, and I read it aloud to everyone: “A visit always brings pleasure—if not when it begins, then when it ends.”

Page: 68 I remembered Fitzgerald’s famous dictum “All life is a process of breaking down,” and there I had to disagree.

Page: 75 Perhaps, quite simply, the desire to be of help. That’s a motive more mysterious to me than plain perversity.

Page: 78 Juliette and I, we were great judges. * * * That phrase, and the way he said it, caught my attention. In his voice I heard incredible pride, a pride filled with both apprehension and joy. I recognized the uneasiness; I can spot it in others, from the back, in a crowd, in the dark: they are my brothers. But the joy mixed in with it—that took me by surprise. You sensed that the man speaking was anxious, emotional, always straining toward something just out of reach—but that at the same time he already had what he needed, that he was grounded in an unshakable confidence. This confidence sprang not from serenity or wisdom or mastery but from a way of accepting his fear and using it, a way of trembling that made me tremble, too, and understand that something important was happening.

Page: 108 In 1976 a book called Mars, by Fritz Zorn, was published. It made a considerable impression at the time, and I’ve since reread it. Here is how it begins: “I am young, rich, and educated, and I’m unhappy, neurotic, and alone … My upbringing has been middle-class, and my life has been a model of good behavior. Naturally, I also have cancer, which goes without saying if you consider what I just told you.” To Zorn, cancer is both a “disease of the body” that will quite probably soon kill him, although he might also defeat it and survive, and “a disease of the soul,” about which he says simply: “I’m lucky it finally made its move.”

Page: 109 And that is the worst of fates: never to have been seen, never to have been acknowledged.”

Page: 112 The Scorpion-Fish, the Nicolas Bouvier book I was reading in Sri Lanka, ends with another line from Céline: “The worst defeat in everything is to forget, and especially what did you in.”

Page: 159 He didn’t try to make himself look good, or bad, either. He played no role, didn’t care what I thought. He wasn’t proud or ashamed of himself. Consenting to be defenseless gave him great strength.

Page: 171 You’re wrong. You should take more advantage. Don’t fall into that trap, don’t drive yourself crazy playing the cripple who’s pretending not to be handicapped. You need to get clear on this, decide that people owe you these little services, and by the way they do owe them to you, and they’re usually happy to do them, happy because they’re not in your position and because helping you reminds them just how happy they are. You mustn’t resent them for it—if you start that you’ll never see the end of it

Page: 194 I hope you’re not about to die, but if you are, you have work to do. You’ve got to tell yourself this and really believe it: Their lives will not end with me. They can be happy even without me. It’s hard but that’s what you have to do.

Page: 223 what would you say to your girls about Patrice? She was having more and more trouble speaking, but she answered immediately: He was my all. He carried me. She paused, then added, He’s the father I chose for you. You, too: choose in life. You can ask everything of him; he will give you everything you ask for while you’re little, and when you’re grown up, you will choose. She thought a moment, then said, That’s it.

Page: 233 One evening, you remember, the four of us went to the theater in Lyon. Juliette and you, Nathalie and I. We arrived first and were waiting for you in the lobby. We saw you enter downstairs, and you carried her up the grand staircase. She had her arms around your neck, she was smiling, and what was beautiful was that she looked not only happy but proud, incredibly proud, and so did you. Everyone watched you two and stepped aside to let you pass. It really was the knight carrying the princess.

Page: 233 It’s funny, now that you mention it, he said, I’ve always liked that, carrying people … Even as a kid, I carried my younger brother. I’d put the little kids in a wheelbarrow and push them, or I’d hoist them up on my shoulders …

Page: 233 On the train back to Paris, I wondered if there was a formula as simple and right as that—he liked to carry, she had to be carried—to define what bound us together, Hélène and I. I didn’t find one, but thought that one day, perhaps, we would.

Page: 242 I’ve sometimes heard it said that happiness is best understood in retrospect. One thinks: I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was happy. That doesn’t work for me. I was miserable for a long time and quite conscious of it. I love my lot in life now