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| every day |
Her breast cancer falls almost exactly at the midpoint of what is explicitly called Erdrich's justice trilogy.
The three novels are:
2008 — The Plague of Doves
Wrongful lynching, historical violence, collective memory, and the persistence of injustice across generations.
2012 — The Round House
Sexual violence against an Indigenous woman, the limits of legal jurisdiction, and the consequences of institutional failure.
2016 — LaRose
Accidental killing, responsibility, restitution, grief, and forms of reparation that exceed the legal system.
Three different legal problems, three increasingly complicated questions about what happens after bodily harm.
I finished Doves before circling the Antelopes. Doves is a fever dream of relationships impacted over time by violence. It is so nearly impossible to make any straight lines that I stopped trying to draw it out; the point is that despite intentions, what happens between people is often not up to them; they inherit conditions that are insurmountable. Reading it, I noticed, made the heavy rubberband ball in my chest squeeze tighter: I'll never get free of this / this is my last chapter and it will only get worse.
That π is how I feel when I can separate "me" out at all anymore.
The 3-novel summary leaves out the fact that my paragraph gets stricken in that same timeframe. The Wife becomes the Woman in 2016. And I remember what Erdrich said in an interview (eliding the illness itself) about nurses, that they went about the business of saving her life without the burden(s) of feeling anything at all. I remember thinking it odd that she of all people would conclude that. And now I find it even more iffy - the first horribly unkind scene is in a hospital in The Round House, the nauseating dread that any kinda ER puts in your gut, the desperocity to be anywhere else. Hardly a 'business' devoid of feelings. Erdrich never writes about having breast cancer, but dread and blood and hopelessness seep into the stories. And, of course, everything is still related to everything.
Today, I will cook and clean and do all the needed things, of course as usual. Perhaps, if Ears is in the mood, we'll work on a jack-o-lantern. Current idea: barfing and half buried in stones = Rock-Bottom-o-Lantern.
I need to get his mind off the cat, which has gone missing with Sunshine πͺ


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