A Room of One's Own

In her 1929 essay of the same title, Virginia Woolf famously described the importance of having "a room of one's own." She was describing the personal, financial, and poetic autonomy necessary for a women to write fiction, but really the same holds true for any repeating, life-long endeavor-- including the life of faith, the raising of a family, or dedication to any long-term creative project.

In Life After Life, the residents' rooms represent the entirety of their personal space: the winnowing down of a lifetime and various households into whatever will fit by a hospital bed. A Sunday school class visits Pine Haven and suggests the residents name their rooms "like you might a home at the sea or a bedroom in a bed and breakfast" (p. 125), and the residents follow suit, choosing names from "Camelot" (Marge) to "The Cell of Hell" (Stanley, of course.)


Small Drawing Room by Marc Chagall, 1908

Honestly, though, this section is a little sad. These people are decidedly not in a home at the sea or a B&B, as Rachel's wry choice of "My Apartment" points up. However, the larger question of having a little patch of somewhere to call one's own-- no matter one's age or how limited one's circumstances-- is certainly valuable.

Do you have a "room of your own?" Is it somewhere you will visit this summer? Is it a place you hope to have throughout your life, or is it something more temporary?

Surprise Lessons

The best lessons in life are the surprising ones-- the ones that sweep us off of our feet and leave us disoriented, bewildered, and wondering exactly what just hit us.

These aren't comfortable moments. Those are instructive, too, and perhaps more welcome, but it's rarely the easy lessons that unstick the gears and usher in real change.

Stanley is a character made up of surprising lessons. He's not nearly as affable as some of the other residents of Pine Haven, espeically as we experience him from their eyes. He is rude, loud, and stunningly inappropriate, turning the most innocent remark into a target for lewd innuendo. But then, right in the middle of the novel (beginning with p. 155), we're finally treated to his point of view. It is nothing if not honest.

Stanley knows he is not a good father. Stanley knows he was not a good husband. And at first, as he discusses his life, he truly does not seem to care, so why should we? Cranky and curmudgeonly and such a slave to his own stubbornness, he pushes people away even as he longs to draw them near.


Bauer by Alexej von Jawlensky, circa 1912

Then we learn his secret. Stanley's wife Martha has died, and as he lies in bed one night positively steeping in bitterness and regret-- much of which involves his failed relationship with Ned, his youngest son-- Ned slips into his room and lies down to keep his father company.

Stanley hates it. He hates it because he actually loves it, as he loves Ned. He uses his son's closeness as an excuse to beat himself up, wrestling with his demons until he creates a fiction for his life that will, in some ways, absolve him.

He acts as is his own confessor in creating this act of penance: faking dementia and putting himself out of the way in a retirement home.

From p. 165:

"After a week of Ned lying there at night and their quiet breakfasts together that had become something Stanley looked forward to, he began thinking up his plan. He would slowly start to slip. He would ease himself into a character, an actor on the stage. He would be obsessed with wrestling and just rude enough to keep people at a distance. He would not shave every morning...He would convince his sons he couldn't remember things...he would make them believe with great conviction that he needed to live in one of those retirement places and and then everyone would be on his own, and if Ned had any chance of making it in life, he'd have the freedom to do so."

What do you think of Stanley? Is it possible that he has redeemed himself with this screwball plan? Is this an act of love, or the final nail in the coffin of any possibility for honest relationship with Ned?

Rope Passers

Much of Life After Life is told from the point of view of Joanna, a volunteer hospice nurse to the residents of Pine Haven Estates. She has been married several times, keeps her father's old hot dog joint up and running, and was saved from an attempted suicide when a dog named Tammy kept her from drowning.


The Distinguished Member of the Humane Society by Sir Edwin Henry Landseer, 1831

As Joanna tells it:

"After it was all over, she thanked him for saving her and he said that really Tammy saved her. All he did was let the giant dog out to pee. He said there were two kinds of creatures in the world-- there are those in dresses fighting for the lifeboats and there are those making sure that others are okay, like the man in the footage of that plane crash in the Potomac who passed the life rope so many times he didn't make it himself. 'No doubt,' Luke said, 'I love the feel of a skirt, especially something in crepe or silk, but the honest truth is that I really want to be a rope passer. I like to believe that's what I'd do.' He pulled Tammy in close and kissed her big head. "Tammy is a rope passer. Tammy is a big voluptuous angel from heaven.'" pp. 69-70

What does the phrase "rope passer" evoke for you? Have you ever known someone like this?

Have you ever known a remarkable animal like Tammy?

Forever Eight Years Old

Whether you're early along in Life After Life or already finished, no doubt the character of Sadie has made an impression. A former teacher and grandmotherly sort, she has the gift of being able to see to the heart of people and understand what makes them tick. Rachel, another resident, describes her this way:

"Sadie is in a wheelchair so she doesn't venture far. She has a business she has created where she makes old photographs come to life, and she makes things that never happened happen. She said it was a natural progression since she has been doing this in her head her whole life." p. 124

Though her photographs often involve the fantastical-- she's created a series for a woman named Toby, putting her everywhere from the Amazon to the surface of the moon-- Sadie's real talent is instinctively knowing the very real fears and frustrations of her friends.

As Sadie puts it, "People get old, but in the eyes they might as well be eight-- always they are about eight...She knows the hearts of eight-year-olds and believes when all is said and done and hard times come, that's how old we are in the heart-- forever eight years old." p. 37



Do you think Sadie's assessment rings true?

Who were you at eight years old?

Is there anything left over from that time in your life that points to who you truly, organically are, beneath the grownup exterior?

The Wisdom of Slowing Down

Summer is a little sneaky.

Every year, as spring rains slow and the lawn needs to be mowed less often, our hearts beat faster at the thought of slowing down-- of true aimlessness, of space, of afternoons that unspool themselves willy-nilly as we sit, immobile, by a fan.



The heat never ceases to show up, but how often do we get to August and realize yet again, in the flurry of vacations and our usual commitments, we scheduled ourselves right out of wasting time?

It is a happy paradox that sometimes, we are most richly productive at our leisure. It's true that doesn't translate into billable hours, but how often during the daily frenzy do we actually pay attention to the things tickling the backs of our minds? We all have those questions: who am I? Where am I headed? Where am I suceeding, where am I failing, where do I need to reach for others? Where do I need to reach for God?

Books can be portals into a deeper awareness of ourselves and our place in the human family. We may not even be aware of grappling with a particular issue until we observe, enraptured, a character's choice.



In Jill McCorkle's Life After Life, some of the characters seem so familiar to us, as do their decisions. We meet Sadie, the gentle octagenarian who dedicated her life to teaching and loving children-- especially those others considered unteachable or unlovable. She is optimistic, pragmatic, and kind, and chooses to respond to those impulses in others. Have we known others like that? Are we ever like that ourselves?

Then there's C.J. That's short for Carolina Jessamine, far too precious a name for someone so often treated like garbage, and she knows it. Though some can recognize her inner beauty, she despises vulnerability and hides beneath a layer of tattoos, nicotine, and profanity. Her passages can be hard to read, but she's trying. She loves her son and is determined to give him a better life. Can we identify with that drive, if not with the grit? (Do we secretly identify with the grit?)

If you've begun the novel, how are you finding the characters? As their lives unwind and entertwine, do you find yourself caught up in the story?

Do you catch a glimpse of your own?

We invite your feedback on this and any of the posts on the blog this summer. Grab a cold drink, sit near the fan, and chat books with us-- steps for posting your comment are over on the right side bar. We want to hear what you think as you take a few moments to slow down, enjoy the summer, and join the conversation.