"The Loss of All Lost Things: Stories" by Amina Gautier (published 2016)

The Loss of All Lost Things: Stories is a collection of fifteen short stories by Amina Gautier published in 2016. Each of the stories were featured in other publications, separately, before being collected and placed together within this evocative and meditative book. All of the stories, as you may have guessed, reflect on initial reactions, emotional and/or physical, that affect those who must come to terms, whether or not they'd like to, with loss. The losses in this book range from the disappearance of a child, the separation between partners, the dissolution of trust, the emigration of a family from a community, the broken bridge between friends, death itself... and so much more. Amina Gautier writes from an African-American perspective, offering words that share a glimpse into a world teetering on the edge of a particular subjective vulnerability, yet with such substance that I, while reading, had no doubt that I was secure in her worlds; I was on the inside, looking out.

Gautier's combination of slow atmospheric settings mixed with mostly hushed, muted voices and dialogue makes this book read, if not cozy per se, then settled, as if to tell us, settle down everyone, take in these stories. In a way, the scenes are almost set theatrically, but in one of those very intimate theaters. And none of the thematic elements become cliche. All of the stories have characters whose actions are not outrageous or overdone but subtle and full of intent; I have not seen characters such as this in fiction who are not represented as "sick" in some way. Gautier's characters were, at least for me, utterly relatable. They are not driven by unique personalities, but by their character, a character that each of them knew was not entirely up to them.

"The other night, she'd fallen asleep in the den, in front of the TV, while watching a special on lost cities. She'd tuned in just as a row of plaster casts in the shape of the human body was being shown. The narrator said that the victims were in situ, still lying in the positions they'd been in when they died. She'd powered off the television after that, unable to watch anymore. Now she imagines that their home is one of those homes in that Roman city that the archaeologists found lost under layers of civilizations and her body is one of the bodies they discovered buried beneath the ash. Her older son's return will be her excavation. That is when she will be unearthed and brought once more to the surface and to the light. Right now she is buried beneath the tephra, an artifact for study. Who will inject the plaster, the resin, so that she can take shape and discover who she used to be?" (from The Loss of All Lost Things, p. 27)

I am facilitating a book discussion about this book on February 22, 2020. As I prepare, I begin to look beyond literary style (in a word: contemporary fiction, short-story) and start to look more for parts particular to the stories themselves; their content, or seemingly distinctive moments within the story that might actually say something to each of us, something that an individual might not find isolating or, something they find separate from themselves yet still within his/her line of sight. One instance that caught my attention:

"The sidewalk is cracked in too many places to count. I step - carefully - around the section of dirt and weeds that sprout between the broken concrete. 'Excuse me', I say but no one moves aside to let me up the stoop. Instead I have to navigate wending my way through their space, squeezing around the bodies of these young black boys. Briefly, I consider getting back in the car and heading home. 'These are your own people,' I whisper, reminding myself. I knock on Miss Jefferson's door. The peephole cover slides back into place, and a woman's voice comes through loud and clear. 'We're not interested.' (from Navigator of Culture, p. 49)

The Loss of All Lost Things may not help us forgive one another, understand one another, or accept one another (though it should) but this lovely, melancholic book has a palpable, special way of freeing itself from sentimentality by finding solace in breakages linked by our common burdens (whatever they may be), as tough, yet gentle ways of saying goodbye.