(And Sophie's Choice)
I was pleasantly surprised to hear that
William Styron died of pneumonia this week. I don't mean that I wanted him dead. But a decade ago, when I was reading his books, I picked up the mistaken impression that Styron had killed himself some years before.
So it felt good to suddenly discover that he had not in fact succumbed to depression-induced suicide, and indeed had lived to see this new century.
The guy wrote some darn good stuff. I think Sophie's Choice is one of the best novels I've ever read. Compared to the cardboard hero vs. villain fantasies I was used to at the time, here were complex, flawed, struggling individuals. I didn't just read it, I got involved in the book.
I also read Styron's memoir of severe depression, Darkness Visible. Not having been through anything nearly that horrible myself, I can't judge the book's portrayal accurately, but I can say it is surely..evocative. And even hints are useful in showing people just how bad and crippling an illness it is.
I thought The Confessions of Nat Turner was ok, and haven't picked up his other works yet. Maybe I'll give them a try next time I go to the library.