Her brother’s keeper
Elegies, either in poetry or prose, are essential elements of English literature going back centuries. Lycidas, written by John Milton in 1637, was about the death of his Cambridge University friend Edward King; Adonais, by Percy Bysshe Shelley, reflected the sorrowful passing at a young age of fellow poet John Keats; The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion detailed the devastating loss of her novelist husband John Gregory Dunne. Canadian writer Helen Humphreys follows this distinctive literary tradition in her latest book, Nocturne. When Nocturne arrived on my desk I began to read, tentatively at first. The story of a death is painful, especially when written by someone in mourning. Humphreys’ subject is her younger brother Martin, a pianist and composer, who died of pancreatic cancer at 45. Don’t misunderstand. Humphreys’ work is only partially a lamentation. Her eloquence, her gorgeous prose, her envious ability at expressing mood, the grief and pleasures she shared with her brother as they grew up, demonstrate Humphreys’ ability as a superb elegist. At times Nocturne is endearing, heart-breaking, and joyously funny. Humphreys often talks directly to Martin, telling him of her heart break, watching him in his hospital bed bravely fighting to live. Or she tells him about events in her life, ones she would have shared had Martin still been alive. In the first chapter Humphreys writes: “It’s late, Martin, but if you were alive, you would be awake too and I could call you up now and we would talk into the night . . . I would tell you that the people on the other side of me have moved out, and how I woke one night when they were still living there to hear the man calling out, repeatedly, “Oh Lord, Jesus Christ,” and I thought they were having a religious revival meeting at three in the morning, until I came to my senses and realized they were just having sex.” Nocturne is a forum for Humphreys to re-examine her own life, her childhood in Scarborough, visiting her grandmother in England, reading at the Frankfurt book fair. Her brother’s death has radically changed her life. “Your death has given me no choice but to slow down. This has meant that, perhaps for the first time in my life, I know what I’m feeling when I’m feeling it, that I’m able to fully experience the present moment.”
Nocturne can be read in one sitting. One never feels encumbered by Humphreys’ pain but rather elated by the vividness of her expression. It is so lovely to see how close she felt to her younger sibling, especially since family relationships can be excruciatingly difficult and emotionally destructive. Humphreys understands how lucky she is to have had a brother she could love so emphatically. While Nocturne is about death it is also about treasuring what one has. It isn’t surprising that Humphreys, the eldest child in her family, dedicates the book to her younger sister, underlining the love that binds her family. It makes those who don’t have such intimate relationships with our family members extremely covetous. jhunter@thestar.ca