Cory Taylor on dying with honesty

My second child was born last May, so 2016 was not particularly bookish. I did, however, read many short novels and memoirs, many of which have been the most extraordinary books I’ve come across. One that stands out is “Dying,” by Cory Taylor. Just before her 50th birthday, the Australian novelist was diagnosed with Stage 4 Melanoma. Her memoir, short but dense, is a human, matter-of-fact and haunting piece of writing. With clear and direct prose, Taylor provides tremendous lessons for the living. Her insight on our unhealthy obsession with the “unlived” life, for example, is slaying:

“The problem with reverie is that you always assume you know how the unlived life turns out. And it is always a better version of the life you’ve actually lived. The other life is more significant and more purposeful. It is impossibly free of setbacks and mishaps.”

This book is a phenomenal, bracing meditation on terminal illness; Taylor’s electrifying and dispassionate prose lingers in the body and mind, gifting us a salve against the dread of our own impermanence.

You can pair this book with “Staring at the Sun,” Irvin Yalom’s extraordinary and uplifting philosophical exploration of our relationship to our feared mortality; and this heart-expanding and honest conversation between Cory herself and Richard Fidler.

The Book of Emma Reyes by Emma Reyes

“A child of 5 who leads a normal life wouldn’t be able to recount his childhood with this level of accuracy. But we, Helena and I, remember it as if it were today, and I can’t explain why.”

Emma Reyes was abandoned by her mother; left, as a six or seven year old, in the Colombian countryside. She grew up in a Bogota convent, where she worked long, arduous days under the cruel oversight of Catholic nuns. After her escape from the convent in her late teens, Emma made her way to Argentina. From there, she travelled to Paraguay, Uruguay, the United States, Mexico, Italy, and Israel. She won a scholarship to study painting in Paris; she paid her way to the French capital by offering to paint the ship as it sailed. In Paris, she became part of the cultural elite, befriending Frida Kahlo, Diego Riviera, Jean-Paul Sartre, and many others. When a friend, the critic and historian Germán Arciniegas, suggested to her that she write her remarkable life story, she refused; instead, she wrote him letters. He was so impressed with them, the story goes, that he shared them with Gabriel Garcia Marquez, who called Emma, encouraging her to keep writing. This breach of confidence infuriated Emma, who didn’t write him another letter for more than two decades. This book is a collection of Emma’s letters – 23 of them – in which she describes her childhood (a childhood that would have broken most) with a childlike and poetically dispassionate tone that is simply astonishing. It’s the unlikelihood of this book that truly moves me; without any formal education – Emma only learned how to read and write in her late teens – she managed to give us a stunning work of art. If only she had written more.