"Mortality keeps life interesting," Abigail Thomas declares. She ponders the loneliness and fear that accompany aging in her ninth book, the wry memoir-in-essays Still Life at Eighty.
These microessays consider subjects such as old age, Covid-19 solitude, the appreciation of nature, and the art of memoir. Most pieces are a page or two long and distill everyday moments into concise and perceptive prose. Thomas (What Comes Next and How to Like It) contrasts the "gravitas" of age with the downsides of memory gaps and increasing physical frailty (Thomas broke both wrists within the space of a month). All along, she affirms the continuity of identity: "I feel like myself, only more so." Yet the deaths of friends and two of her four beloved dogs remind her that her own is not far away. She has even chosen an urn to inhabit afterward. Researching the etymologies of "death" and "dread" in The American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European Roots helps her approach her anxieties with curiosity.
Occasional third-person fragments see Thomas experimenting with turning life into story. "Detail is the antidote to boredom," she insists. She takes her own advice by tracking the daily growth of her wisteria vine and observing birds and insects to combat the monotony of pandemic lockdown. The tone varies, with tongue-in-cheek essays including "Other Uses for Your Cane" and "How to Do Nothing." The goal of memoir, Thomas says, is to gain clarity on one's life. Full of such hard-won perspective--and humor--Still Life at Eighty is perfect for May Sarton and Anne Lamott fans. --Rebecca Foster, freelance reviewer, proofreader and blogger at Bookish Beck