Over the course of reading this book, I described it a few different ways. Initially, it felt disjointed and too jumpy. Then I settled into the rhythm. I began to learn the characters and their relations. And I started to read the stories of Teddy’s life—-those disorganized, jumping around, no respect to chronology stories—-I started to read those stories as comforting visits with an old friend, an elderly a uncle, reminiscing, sharing, fondly missing those who’d gone before. And at some point, the reading shifted, and the back and forth and interrupting nature of the prose felt like a conversation. I could understand pulling up a chair to Teddy’s bedside, as his life was beginning to fade, and him sharing with me the amazing parts of his life.
And what a life’s tale! Sure, part of that narrative involves Teddy’s time fighting in WW II. But what about all of that life after the war? How crucial is it to each person who survives? How much is lost for those who don’t survive? Do we understand the real cost of a life lost at battle?
The book’s tale is not plot driven; it’s much more of a reflection over a life, seen as long when viewed through the eyes at the end of that life. Life, war, loss of parents, death, marriage, love, children, careers—–how much of these things are just bit parts in each of our own tales, framing a sliver of our tale, but not being all of it? And how many of these things are lost to those Teddy says goodbye to while piloting those bombers over the ocean and over Europe?
As we live in the middle of what is happening around us, perhaps A God in Ruins might prompt us all to take note of those things and appreciate them even a bit more. Perhaps we can reflect toward the end and see whether this is the life we would have wished for ourselves, even in the failings, had a turn earlier ended things too soon. Perhaps we can try to not wait too long to make amends, to hug just one more time, to kiss goodbye every time we leave, never knowing whether we are to return.
Not long after I started reading A God in Ruins, I had the delightful opportunity to work with an elderly client. As he wandered down story path then another during our meetings, I smiled. He had much to share, he, this nonagenarian, as he’d seen and done so much in his 90+ years. And I heard. I listened.
I will warn you about A God in Ruins: it is a complicated tale to read. Aside from the constant jumping among characters, decades, countries, and life moments, there is no clear story arc on the surface, no spotlighted mystery or intrigue, no consuming tryst, no obvious conflict to resolve. It is a life’s tale. It is a life’s dream. Even if the general underlying thread of getting to the end of Teddy’s life is ever present, giving some structure to the tale, any such structure is loose. The jumps and asides and parenthetical-styled nuances are how we would each tell our own tale, though, remembering bits as we discussed other pieces.
The story did not go exactly where I wanted. But in the end, my reflecting on that a few days later, that’s okay. There was more to it. Or less.
Isn’t there always—-more, or less?