On Grief
How to explore coping, especially among men
NOTE: This column was originally published on Governing Right on Nov. 08, 2024
I had a theory: It must be very, very difficult to write novels about grieving men.
Bear with me.
Some of the most famous, most compelling characters in literature are women dealing with tragedy. Penelope in The Odyssey; Miss Havisham in Great Expectations; Hagar, Mary, and Hannah from The Bible, Sethe in Beloved, the unnamed narrator in “The Yellow Wallpaper.” There are even lists, debates, and conversations about modern “sad girl” fiction.
Now, throughout literature there are certainly cruel men. Angry men. Ambitious men. Weak men. Duplicitous men. But grieving men? Not nearly as much.
Is there something particularly physical about male grief?
Maybe the recent lack of grieving men is the result of men writing fewer and fewer novels—and reading fewer and fewer novels. Maybe there’s less supply and demand.
But if the paucity of quietly suffering men is a phenomenon that stretches over the ages, maybe it’s because men in real life generally don’t like to show grief, and therefore writing about it is tough and/or unbelievable. That is, we don’t know much about what it looks like so it is hard to represent it realistically or authentically.
But then I realized that there are a bunch of movies that do a great job of showing male grief. I’m thinking about Lee in Manchester by the Sea, Johnny in Walk the Line, Charlie in Reign Over Me, Einar in An Unfinished Life, Randy in The Wrestler, and Ennis in (especially at the end of) Brokeback Mountain.
So is there something particularly physical about male grief? Does it reveal itself in silent but corporeal ways? If so, maybe it needs to be shown instead of told. Maybe it will forever work better on film than on the page?
Well, I was determined to give it a try on the page (in my manuscript Community Day). I knew that all eight of my main characters would have wounds, so I wanted to show eight different ways that humans often deal with grief.
I had to work extra-hard on the four male characters. And the more I worked on it, the more I realized why it is so hard—especially with a male, first-person narrator. For instance, to make the narrator authentic and faithful to my vision of him, I knew he wouldn’t talk about his own pain and that he’d find it hard to talk about others’. The three other men—again, if I were to make them true to their characters—wouldn’t be the types to say to the male narrator, “I’m very sad” or “I need help.”
I gradually found some solutions. And—if I can be immodest for a second—I think a few of them worked. See, a bunch of my readers commented positively—often touchingly—on aspects of the male characters’ grief.
Interestingly, most of those readers were men. (Much to be said about this.)
OK, here are the eight characters and how they cope with grief.
Narrator
Retreat, Make believe
Many men turn inward when they suffer. In real life, there are countless stories of men retreating into woodworking, model-building, or some other seemingly meaningless hobby when they lose a child or a job. When my narrator loses his career and health, he disconnects from his family, work, and friends. He spends endless hours online, eventually falling into conspiracy theories. He refuses to talk to anyone about his struggles.
Wife
Depression
Since my narrator can’t acknowledge how his behavior affects his wife (who’s prone to depression), he seldom talks about her. But we learn indirectly that she spend hours and hours in bed and cries often. She expresses regret about big events in her life. Importantly, though, we learn—again indirectly—that she has several female friends who understand what she’s going through and support her.
Blowtorch Len
Seclusion
After suffering a horrible family tragedy, Len builds a literal wall around his property and talks to no one. For years. Importantly, since he’s a man, people leave him alone, reasoning that he’ll reengage when he’s ready. He suffers silently. Many people don’t even know he’s suffering. In time, the seclusion drives him to the brink.
Nelly
Anxiety
Guilt-ridden for mistakes made years earlier, Nelly is perpetually on edge. She stammers, second-guesses herself, frets, fidgets. She can’t get out of her own head. A network of women try to help her. As her grief lifts, so does her anxiety.
Pith
Substance abuse
Like many men, Pith turns to alcohol to find relief from his grief. The alcohol, of course, causes more reason for grief. Because he is a happy drinker (most of the time), people ignore the causes of his drinking. In a clipped conversation, the narrator—unable to deal with emotional openness—half attempts to get Pith to talk about his grief. Pith can only give short explanation. Then returns to drinking.
Barb
Service
Many people deal with (or avoid) their own pain by trying to help others. Find an active member of a charity or the head of a church committee, and you might well have found someone struggling mightily. Barb—grieving her terrible childhood and lost career—does everything imaginable to help others. Even when they desperately don’t want Barb’s help. In other words, she hopes to relieve her own pain by relieving others’.
Masonry
Fury
As with many men, Masonry’s grief manifests as anger. He seems to resent everyone. He has a nose for trouble. When he can’t sniff it out, he often instigates it. The narrator describes him as “that special type of man who refuses to let an opportunity to make enemies pass him by.” He is one of only two main characters unable to overcome his grief by the novel’s close.
Kim
Attention-seeking
Abandoned by her husband and forgotten by her neighbors, Kim is deeply wounded. Rather than retreating, serving others, or getting furious, she obsessively seeks attention. She dresses ostentatiously and behaves theatrically. She searches for drama and surrounds herself with anyone willing to adore her. She too can’t overcome her grief…at least not in time.
One final thought: After thinking and writing about these characters’ grief for several years, I feel like I’m more sensitive to others’ possible pain and more curious about what’s causing it. Good example of how writing fiction can be as edifying as reading it.