Reviews for Meditations from a Movable Chair: Essays

The average rating for Meditations from a Movable Chair: Essays based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2012-12-14 00:00:00 Keri Valdez The essays are many and quick to read, full of emotional pain and wrenching agony involved in the effort it most likely took Dubus to write them.  I never doubted for a second the anguish Dubus related in his struggle with depression, and I am sure thoughts of ending his life entered his consciousness often though he did not ever speak of it except for saying he struggled mightily those first five years after the accident that took his legs from him.  Instead of killing himself he focused on his faith, his communion with the god of his understanding, and whatever love he could find when and wherever it was possible to do so.  But the essays were not sentimental in any way.  More of an expression of gratitude for what was left and not yet taken from him.  And the measure of its success was in truthfully demonstrating a life gone totally wrong and the manner in which the man now dealt with it. The book was smoldering in my hands, and I had to put it down from time to time because of it.  The heat had everything to do with its subjects whether they were anecdotes about Ernest Hemingway, Richard Yates, Norman Mailer, divorce, faith, writing, depression, the accident, or his being a cripple and living with it.  The only essay I did not read was one called Sacraments as I wasn't at all interested in learning about what that word meant for Dubus nor what Dubus seemed to get out of partaking in them.  I am not a believer, but I do know the power in having a belief.  I know it helped me before and is there for me again if I ever need it.  The mind is so powerful.  Believing in something is a good way to keep going in a life that has been altered in unimaginable ways.  Nobody knows the pain involved in daily living after sustaining injuries the extent to which Dubus received unless they have personally been through it.  I would never call an accident grace.  But I do respect the fact that Dubus continued to write and to write well.  I am happy he had his children and friends to depend on.  But for the most part it was Dubus alone in that chair, having to fend for himself, to bathe and clothe and to shit and to piss, and to continue to present a man to the world not of his choosing.  The book was certainly a testimony to his suffering but he never once complained.  Andre Dubus was honest about the daily suffering he incurred and the challenges of mobility in a world made for the young and virile.  I rarely left home when I was in a wheelchair for months while recovering from my own injuries from a fall in 2010 on Easter Sunday from my cabin roof.  I only left for doctor's appointments and twice my wife took me out for walks which were humiliating, difficult, and unnatural.  One day she kindly wheeled my chair into beautiful Cherokee Park where she thought I could enjoy the sunshine and scenery as she walked the loop for exercise.  There I sat ashamed in that chair, stuck in the spongy grass and immobile.  I wanted desperately to escape my shame and vowed never to return until I could walk again.  I looked at my injuries as my own doing and something I did not need to subject other innocent people to.  I had had my chance at life, and for many years I escaped serious injury.  But Dubus was injured while being a good Samaritan helping stranded motorists on a busy four-lane road.  He could have been bitter and acted out by being a mean old man.  But it doesn't appear he did.   I would have had an awful time of it if I had chosen to attend my youngest son's graduation from New York University just a little over a month from when I sustained my injuries.  His college graduation was a momentous occasion for those of us who worried this boy would never make it, that he would squander away his enormous talents and the opportunities his parents and siblings worked so hard to ensure by persuading him to complete the academic requirements.  There were so many reasons for me to be attending this ceremony.  But I couldn't.  Not only did I dread the two hour flight cramped in a disagreeable seat of a small US Airways commuter plane, but my leg and arm were still not even mobile enough to perform the necessary bends and flexibility that traveling often dictates as a requirement.  I couldn't imagine getting around in the city on the subway or even in a cab.  Thinking about me and my wheelchair rolling along on the busy sidewalks full of anxious and obnoxious swarms of humanity made me literally sick to my stomach.  I held my ground and refused to attend, and there were plenty of ill feelings for everyone to contend with.  I remember being home alone in Louisville sobbing and flat-out crying for three straight days as I wrestled with my demons of the past.  I did finally make it to New York the following October and it was there on The Avenue of the Americas in Greenwich Village where I performed an awkward pirouette that almost had me crashing through the glass picture window of a corner drugstore as I lost my balance while crossing the street. Losing my equilibrium I began to spin on my axis, and try as I might I could not regain control of my body with my cane and get myself stabilized.  But that same graduate son of mine eventually caught me as I violently twirled, saving me from another dreadful accident by my own hand.

Review # 2 was written on 2017-08-26 00:00:00 CANDY GLENN I really enjoyed this collection of memoir-essays by Andre Dubus II. Titled "Meditations from a Moveable Chair," the essays were all written after the author started using a wheelchair, but not all of the essays are about his disability, or his life as a disabled person. Some of the essays focus on other people, or events unrelated to the car accident that damaged his body so greatly. Some essays focus on his childhood, and different moments from his adult life as an able-bodied man. I loved reading this book. I especially loved reading it so soon after finishing one of his collections of short stories: "Selected Stories." Andre Dubus II is a marvelous writer, and his memoir-essays give a fascinating illumination and depth to his fiction. This book was also a balm for my soul. I love the prose of his son, Andre Dubus III, and I loved seeing Andre Dubus III appear in these personal essays. I loved seeing all of the family members in these pages. I also just loved having Andre Dubus II alive again. Even more than reading his fiction, when I read these essays, I feel like he lives again, while I sit absorbing these words. As a white, neurotypical, able-bodied, cis, hetero, middle-class American male, Andre Dubus II had a life that changed quite dramatically when he became a disabled man. The beauty of these essays is how humbly and brutally honest he is, at all times. In some of the essays about his childhood and young adulthood, the reader can see his privilege shining through. Sometimes the author draws attention to his unacknowledged entitlements, and other times, the reader can do that without the text making anything explicit. Andre Dubus II was a very sensitive man. His sudden change from being an able-bodied man to being a disabled man intensified those sensitivities, increased his humility, and increased his comfort with weakness. He also gained a greater acceptance of having a lack of control over life. He was forced to become intimately aware of all the many and constant ways disabled people are dehumanized and disregarded in American society, and some of the essays in "Meditations from a Moveable Chair" discuss that disregard in powerful ways. Highly recommended. Especially if you are already a fan of the author's fiction.