Writers and Artists Deal with Phantoms

Writers and Artists Deal with Phantoms

Most of us do. We can take on some of our issues through them, with them. Art does this, often.

I just read the newest book by Paul Theroux. Motherland.  

Published 2017. I started it in 2018 and now it is 2019.

Some say this book is 60 percent true to his autobiography, which might be true. I think there was a lot of truth in there; the author himself admits that too much truth would ruin the work.

I enjoyed it. I have enjoyed reading most of Theroux's books, (some are a bit pedestrian, some of the fiction is on the strange side). But not too bad, even when thus. And addicting.

Believe me, I am not a careful critic when it comes to writing style. Story telling and quality of ideas, maybe more critical...

Thanks, Paul.

When I delved into his works for the first time in 2003, he captured my attention (and kept it ever since) with talent at doing at least two things that I wanted for myself, or at least the vicarious pleasure of doing as a reader (would-be writer).

1. He traveled many places and made keen observations of the people and those places.

2. He referred to many writers and books that perhaps I will never know, but at the same time I would like to know. It's pretty cool to know so much. So he brings it to you in citations and references.

With this author, at least you know someone who knows so much. Read about writers and their thoughts if not read them yourself.

This book is more or less a tribute or dedicatory to his mother, how she was affected him to be the person that he became. Over decades.

It is introspective, and it sheds light on family conditions and relationships.

It made me think of mine, for sure.

That's a good thing.

I have more to say, more to note. He is from Massachusetts, like my parents. He served in the Peace Corps, like my parents. He likes to travel, like most people. Me, too, but it has its drawbacks.

He writes about his mother. Not like me. I write about my mother in a more loving way.

Unlike the things that Theroux disliked about his own mom, my mother was a great cook. She was not duplicitous. She traveled. She lived around the world. Theroux disdained his own mother for not wanting to go anywhere. My mom, on the other had lived in 4 different countries on multiple continents, and visited a few others happily.

Not like this Mother of Theroux.

I will stop now, not feeling great (I had a flu thing when I wrote this). But there should be more to come.

We will make it back to Motherland.