Back to Author Bio You entitled your book PHANTOM LIMB. What is a phantom limb? How did you learn about it? And how does it connect to you book? A phantom limb is when a person loses a part of the body - an arm, a leg - and afterwards feels as though it is still there. It's a very mysterious condition, which my mother suffered from. I wanted to know more about it with the hope I could help her, so I did quite a lot of research, reading and talking with neurologists. One day I realized that we all have this condition. We all have someone or something no longer with us who remains part of us. That idea is at the heart of the book. You are well known for the two classic volumes of The Writer on Her Work. Why did you write this book? Why did it take four and a half years to complete it? Do you see it making a difference in the world at large? I had to write PHANTOM LIMB. I know that's not much of an answer - but it's the most important one. There were plenty of times when the so-called smart thing to do was just stop. Put the book away. But I couldn't. Who knows what psychological imperatives made me feel that way? I could talk about the need to make meaning out of difficult experiences. But the truth is simpler; I had to write it. The book started when I was in Boston, staying at my parents' apartment after one of my mother's surgeries. I was there for noble reasons - an only child helping out - but my feelings were anything but noble. I had thought I was a grown-up, but most of the time I felt like an adolescent. My mother or father would say something mildly irritating and I would want to fly off in a rage. But I didn't. Instead, I drove to the nearest coffee shop and vented my feelings into a notebook. A few of those pieces eventually found their way into the book. I didn't think a grown daughter's difficulties were sufficient material for a book. It was only when I realized the phantom limb metaphor - a true 'Aha!' moment - did I find my way into the material. So, to answer the question as to why it took so long, 1) I was living through the experiences in the book; 2) I was researching the phantom limb phenomenon in order to make sure the metaphor wasn't just a literary idea, but instead was scientifically apt; 3) I was trying to find my story, piecing together bits of old and new writing to see what resonated; 4) I wanted the book to combine the compressed language of poetry, the reflective tone of an essay, and the narrative drive of a novel. That last was a tall order! My revisions were in the three figures. Will it make a difference? I hope so. People find the book very moving, and I think that simply being emotionally moved - allowing oneself to be open to that experience -- can make a difference. It makes people aware of our common humanity. Although many people have gone through the painful process of watching their parents age, people tend to feel very alone during this period in their lives. How did you cope? Was your husband -- or anyone -- able to help? Do you think you made the right decisions? Do you have any regrets? Any advice for those who will soon be in your place? I did feel very alone, especially as an only child. But I was lucky. I had a beloved aunt - Minna, in the book - who could always give me perspective and comfort. I remember dropping into her apartment in the midst of all this. My uncle put his arms around me and said, "My weary warrior." That helped. Someone understood. In a more practical sense, I coped by willing myself not to obsess; to keep up with my regular life and not let the situation take over. When I was in Boston, I sought out old friends. I went to the theater. I read lots of detective stories -- whodunits. I tried not to eat too much, but I was tried also to be kind to myself when I did. I kept in touch with friends in New York and California, people with whom I could scream "Eek!." I tried to teach myself how to ask for help, and I got better at that. My husband was a great help. Just his being on the other end of the phone, being loving and supportive, made a tremendous amount of difference. My advice is to surround yourself as much as you can with caring people, and also to acknowledge that this is just plain hard. You can't really get around that. The decision to put a loved one in a nursing home is difficult for all who face it. What went through your mind? Here I have to say, "Read the book. It's all there. The decision and its aftermath are still painful for me, even though it was a wonderful and unusual nursing home - more of a hospital and research facility -- and my mother needed that kind of care. In dealing with your mother's medical crises, the cards were stacked against you because you were an only child, a daughter and you lived on the opposite coast. How did you cope? I became a user of faxes, e-mails, telephone lines trying the get the facts from my mother's doctors. My mother resented this, and I can see why - I was impinging on her sense that she could handle things on her own, just as she'd always done. She didn't understand that I was doing this for myself as well, to reassure myself that I had some measure of control. For that matter, I don't think I realized it either. I'm sure I came off as bossy and intrusive. All I knew was that I had to be part of this. I couldn't stand aside. I also discovered the importance of constancy. If you say that you're going to call at a specific time, it's important to do it then, not later. It's not the substance of the call that matters - it's that you haven't forgotten. I have to add that sometimes learning how to cope means learning how to leave some things alone. Your emotions during your mother's illness ranged from the dormant adolescent rage and resentment that resurfaced to feelings of forgiveness and acceptance. Why do you think that happens to us as adult children? This may be specific to our culture, and even more so to middle-class families. I'm not at all sure that this happens among, for example, a very poor family in India, for whom such feelings might well be irrelevant. That said, here's why: We are the generation - broadly speaking - who have left home. We have separated from our parents and made our own lives. Then - suddenly - we're back, in the same old parent-child configuration. Buttons get pushed. I think you have to learn not to let that get to you. It's almost like a spiritual practice. Your aunts formed a women's group during World War II called the Friendly Forum. What was the purpose of this group? How did your discovery of their newsletters influence your view of your family? How did it shape the story of PHANTOM LIMB? My aunt gave me copies of a 1940's newsletter chronicling the doings of the Friendly Forum, a club made up of women from Boston's then immigrant neighborhoods, Roxbury and Dorchester. The issues combined recipes, household hints, and good-humored kidding, such as "Yoo Hoo, Gert. Is it true you've been parading around Blue Hill Avenue dressed up in red slacks?" They passed on corny jokes: A Chicago woman, asked in a Red Cross questionnaire what had been her experience in the field of nutrition, wrote "I have been eating for years!" Each issue also carried an editorial, written with a sense of high purpose and moral force. I picture these women standing together at the FRIENDLY FORUM's annual installation of officers. My aunt Minna is speaking: Our thoughts and hopes for the coming year are different by far than on previous years. This is a War Year, and I am your War President and must govern myself accordingly . . . Please God it will stand out not as a War year, but a Peace year. I believe these lives reach across decades to give us something we need today. I was given a treasure of humor, warmth and spirit. What it showed me was the multi-dimensional qualities of these lives. I would say that the journey of writing this book was to go from one-dimensional views of people to seeing them in all their complexity. As a writer, the job was not to reduce anyone - to question, again and again, anything that seemed too pat. You feel that our language is lacking in appropriate words to describe pain and illness. Could you elaborate? We simplify too much. We're either "healthy" or "sick" when actually we spend an awful lot of our lives in between. We don't have a way of talking about those in between states. Besides, so much of the way we speak suggests that it's wrong to be ill. We call someone an "invalid" -- a 'not valid' person. Tell us how your experiences in film, art, and photography influence your perspective as a writer. I love the visual world. I could spend a whole day just looking and I'd be very happy. Film has taught me how to structure a story. I love being in the editing room -- it's a lot like sitting in one's private place and writing. Photography has given me a new perspective on working. When I take a photograph, I don't worry whether "Is this right?" I approach photography with a kind of playfulness, which in turn has made me more lighthearted, even about the struggle of writing. I recently wrote a piece for Art Journal (Spring, 2002), which accompanied a portfolio of my work. I tried to think about how the writing and photography linked. I ended up saying that in my writing, I juxtapose. In the photographs I layer. But in both, I'm interested in time. Do you plan to continue writing books? What is in the works? I'm not done yet with the people in Phantom Limb. I don't yet know how they'll turn up again, but they will. Also, I remain interested in how, when something difficult occurs, people reach into themselves and find something they didn't know was there. I'll definitely write another book - there's no question about that. Back to Top