M Train by Patti Smith (December 2017)
Smith’s memoir was among the books I choose to re-read this past December. I’d first read it early in 2016 and my memory of it was vague. I remembered understanding why it was considered pretty good despite being unable to explain to anyone why the book won a National Book Award (editor's note: nobody asked, so this statement is basically a lie).
I suppose the best I could say about M Train was that I’d liked it enough to follow up by reading Just Kids, her 2010 memoir about her life forty years prior. For me, reading more of an author’s work is the surest sign of my approval – a logic similar to how I expect a second helping signals to the cook my positive assessment of the meal.
The single thing I was most impressed by while rereading was how easily Smith’s writing took the reader through various points in time. I suppose the recognition of this feature marks my belated growth as a reader – at some point during the twenty months that passed between readings of M Train, I’ve become able to appreciate the immense skill required to write in this way.
The other obvious feature was how a feeling of loss and grief infused nearly every page. Again, I wonder if noticing this is another mark of my growth because I failed to notice this about M Train the first time around. A memoir written in the aftermath of a loss is never about anything else, I guess, and the fact was blatantly obvious on this second reading (1).
As I reviewed my notes for M Train, I noticed a final feature I’d missed the first time – writing advice (2). It is delivered in the context of the book, of course, so readers who flip through M Train looking for Smith's 'Top Five Tips For Writing' will leave disappointed. The advice comes subtly as she muses on her loss and sees reminders everywhere that anything once thought permanent remains such until it is destroyed.
In the context of writing, this lesson is applied to how a particular challenge of the craft is finding a partner able to look at a work in progress and make an honest assessment of it. Perhaps I’m reading more into this than necessary but in M Train, I sense Smith is finding her way once more after losing her most important confidant. It leads her to lean again on a long-dormant part of herself, the inner critic all writers turn to from time to time to look objectively at the work when no one else is around. In those quiet times when the writer cannot reconcile the need to fully embrace solitude with the importance of an objective, empathetic proofreader, being in touch with this inner critic is perhaps the most important skill of all.
One up: If exploring more of an author’s work is my highest form of compliment, putting the book down and going to write is a close runner-up. I’m not exactly running to the laptop to pen my own version of this book – Red Line, I suppose, would have to be the title, and its publication would certainly be delayed – but I’ve certainly tried some of what Smith does in M Train over the past couple of years on TOA.
A recent example of my being inspired to write by a book came in November. As I read Andre Dubus’s Broken Vessels, I became possessed by a need to write. The end result was this post from late December, written at an hour I never write and with an intensity I haven't experienced since.
One down: I liked Smith’s observation that materialism uses strength to hide its weakness and mask its cruelty. It’s admittedly a depressing thought but one I expect to find useful when I encounter perplexing shows of strength in the future.
I was less impressed with the conclusion that a good way to lead through change is to keep what is good and quickly move on from what is not. Surely, this is not another example of strength hiding weakness, of strength masking cruelty? From experience, I advise against being hasty in moving on from the suffering brought on by grief. The pain is difficult to bear but allowing distractions to numb the feeling is going to diminish the capacity for joy. A moment, at least, to honor what was lost and acknowledge its importance in a past life is vital in the process of picking up the pieces, rebuilding a broken life, and finding a way to move on.
Just saying: The ever-present companion to loss and grief is longing. Smith acknowledges the reality indirectly at one point by defining longing as merely the wish for how things were. This thought serves as one of the book’s many rails, underlying the progression from section to section like a train relies on its tracks to take it from station to station.
Footnotes / an analogy nobody asked for
0. Just saying, part two…
I liked the insight that there is no price too high for peace of mind.
1. Or maybe these are the stations?
If M Train runs on the parallel rails of loss and grief, the tangents and digressions Smith takes us on are the third rail. These bring the energy needed to keep things moving yet does so mindfully, always aware of the danger in leaning too heavily on it.
2. And longtime readers will recall…
…that I could benefit from some writing advice…
