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Overview
What does it mean to really live? Or not?
Set in eastern, upstate New York, Helen Keller Really Lived features a fortyish former barfly and grifter who must make a living in the wake of her wealthy husband’s death, and who finds work in a clinic helping women seeking reproductive assistance. The other main character is the grifter’s dead ex-husband, a Ukrainian hooker-to-healer success story, who prior to his demise was a gynecologist and after, an amateur folklorist, or ghostlorist, who collected and provided scholarly commentary on the stories of his fellow “revenants.”
Their intertwined stories explore the mistakes, miscarriages, inadequacies, and defeats that may have led to their divorce, including his failure (according to her) to “fully live.”
As it investigates the theme of what it means to “really live” or not, Elisabeth Sheffield’s brilliant new novel is also an exploration of virtual reality in the sense of the experience provided by literature. It is a novel awash in a multitude of voices, from the obscenity-laced, Nabokovian soliloquys of the dead Ukrainian doctor, to the trade-school / midcentury-romance-novel-constrained style of his dead mother-in-law.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781573668484 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | University of Alabama Press |
| Publication date: | 09/30/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 320 |
| File size: | 944 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Helen Keller Really Lived
A Novel
By Elisabeth Sheffield
The University of Alabama Press
Copyright © 2014 Elisabeth SheffieldAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-57366-848-4
CHAPTER 1
"The Truth Sounds Like A Fiction That Can And Will Be Used Against You"
This story, which is not a story but more of a memoir recounting actual events, is being written against legal counsel. According to Caroline Rose-Hickman, Attorney at Law, trauma survivors often tell their "stories" in an agitated and disjointed manner that undermines their credibility and even makes them sound like liars. Also, it is not uncommon for survivors to speak of themselves as if they are someone else. They do this to disassociate.
Here is an example of disassociation: when Selina Van Staal was a little girl her mother would act like she did not exist. So Selina would go pull a heap of scarves out of the dress-up box, remove all her clothes and replace them with the scarves. Then she would do a striptease for the whole family. How ignominious. Selina pretended it was not her spinning around the room to the Donovan recording, flinging filmy pink and yellow scarves on the floor one by one, but a bare-naked slave girl who had no choice.
According to Caroline Rose-Hickman, the truth sounds like a fiction that can and will be used against you.
Written on an old, hacker-safe Smith Corona electric typewriter kept hidden in a secret hiding place, with the Mac inherited from Timor used for research purposes only, the truth may be worth money someday. Even though this will not be one of those neat, convincing little stories where every piece fits just so. At times, it may even feel as if things are going in circles, like a broken record or a bare-naked slave girl, spinning around and around the room. Well, please remember that trauma survivors often tell their stories in an agitated and disjointed manner that undermines their credibility and even makes them sound like liars.
Selina's mother acted like Selina did not exist, no matter what she did, like spinning naked around the room or reading all of Rosemary's Baby at the age of seven. When Selina asked her mother if she would still love her if she was part devil, her mother said, eyes glued to Valley of the Dolls, not now, I am reading. The book Rosemary's Baby naturally led to the movie Rosemary's Baby and a crush on the director. So if Selina later became susceptible to older, Slavic men, it was not her fault.
Selina's mother acted like she did not exist and her father was never there—driving up and down the eastern seaboard (sometimes all the way to Florida!)—even when he was. Not completely—he was missing an eye, and also a piece of his brain. That explains a lot.
Once people realize that they need to be patient, the pieces will begin to fit together. Maybe not perfectly, but that is fine. Just fine. For now, people need to be patient because they are not going to get everything at once. They need to wait, the way children must wait until Christmas to open their presents. Selina's greedy sister Cara could never wait, but instead would peel back the tape at the end of the box and then slide the box out of the wrapping paper to preview its contents. Then Cara's Christmas would be over and her SAD would begin. SAD can be blamed for both depression and manic behavior such as compulsive shopping, but not for killing your husband.
Anyways, Cara did that in the late summer.
Patience is a virtue. Consider "Selina Claus," a one-page essay written at eight-years-old about what Selina would do if she were Santa. Selina Claus would give everyone the one thing they truly wanted, after listening attentively to find out what was that one thing. But they would not get it if they acted like pigs, without self-restraint or strategy. They had to behave themselves, and not just before but after they received their gift. Otherwise, the gift would be rescinded. Its composition hampered by a lack of proficiency in script as well as an unhelpful mother who was too busy reading to help with homework, the essay received only two out of the three gold stars it deserved.
Once people realize that they need to be patient, the pieces will begin to fit together. Not perfectly, but this is not the kind of story where every piece connects just so. To be honest, mistakes were made. Mistakes were made because, at times, self-restraint and strategy were lacking. Life is not a lab, you see. Fritzi Akdikmen once said that. Meaning a place where controlled results can be achieved, not the dog breed.
More about Fritzi later.
Selina met the first woman, Lyndon, during a period of intractable depression. The date was April 22, 2010. Timor, Selina's ex-husband, had been dead, due to a fatal stroke on October 31, 2009, almost six months. According to Winona Irving, M.S.W. and author of Loss and Recovery, intractable depression often ensues from a loss of self-esteem. A loss of self-esteem is commonly the result of divorce and the attendant financial difficulties. Divorce in turn often follows earlier losses, the series of voluntary physical and emotional sacrifices that can occur over the course of a marriage. Not to mention thefts (such as robbing someone of the best of her reproductive years). So thank Timor, Selina's ex-husband, for the intractable depression that led to Lyndon and all the trouble. And nevermind, as also stated by Winona Irving, M.S.W., that the road to recovery starts with you. Nevermind that you can counter the loss of self-esteem at the root of intractable depression by taking up a cause. That a charitable activity such as collecting money for impoverished people or mistreated animals or even the environment can make you feel better about yourself, and so less susceptible to intractable depression. Andy and Wesley could have been a cause. But without a husband or a documented income it is very hard to adopt.
So thank Timor for Lyndon, encountered at a Nike outlet in Massachuesetts during a period of intractable depression, even though at the time Timor had been dead for half a year.
First spotted flitting from one rack of discounted running shoes to the next, Lyndon looked to be a fairy without the wings. The mythological figure Nike had wings, but she was no Tinker Bell. She was a goddess who flew around the battlefields rewarding the victors with glory and fame. Would Selina have won a better settlement if Timor had not died before the divorce proceedings were completed? Hard to say because even though Timor was an evil bastard, the judges in New York State are sexist pigs (although according to Caroline Rose-Hickman, they are even worse in Connecticut). But Selina was alive and Timor was dead, and that was a kind of victory in itself. If you ever feel like a loser, just remind yourself that you are still alive.
Why was Selina at the Nike outlet in Massachuesetts? Well, Timor had store credit there, according to a slip under a pile of unpaid bills. Timor had had store credit there. The drive over the state border from New York to Massachuesetts had guzzled a quarter tank of gas, but the run later in a new pair of running shoes would be worth it. The cool spring breeze would flap your braid like a banner and sweat would dampen your thick white tshirt, and with Timor's Etymotics earbuds in your ears, you would listen to that old Love and Rockets song, "I'm alive, Oh Oh, so so alive ..." Incidentally, April 22 was also someone's birthday, her forty-third. That is still young, if you think about it. Many people these days live to eighty or more. If you think about it from the perspective of eighty or more, forty three is still young. Still young and so so alive, unlike Timor, now almost six months dead.
Selina ignored the flitting woman, the only other customer in the store, as she tested the shoes for suppleness. You do this by bending them. If the shoes bend easily between your palms, you can be sure they will not chafe your feet.
Excuse me, I need some help.
[A note to the reader: Quotations marks will not be used for dialogue in this true account of real life events. According to Practical English and the Command of Words, formerly owned by Dolores Van Staal, quotation marks "indicate the words actually spoken by the person quoted." But it is almost impossible to remember the words actually spoken by the person, especially if time has passed: the human brain is not a recording device! When you are quoting someone from memory, probably you are substituting your words for theirs. Well, in Practical English and the Command of Words, it also says that "if someone is quoted in words other than his own, no quotation marks are needed." Nevermind if it is sometimes difficult to tell who is saying what to whom. Nevermind.]
Selina turned. Big blue eyes popped out of a fake tan (not that a real one is any better. Especially a real one you cannot get rid of, due to too many childhood summer weekends at Staten Island's South Beach with a mother who was always reading and never applying sunblock). The big blue eyes blinked at Selina:
Sorry, I thought you worked here.
Thin but with the soft boned look of a small child or a kitten, in a silver velour hoodie with a pink sequined JUICY scrolled across the chest and matching drawstring pants, the woman did not appear to be a runner. As stated above, she resembled a fairy without the wings. Or a doll in a tracksuit. Yet, her sequined velour ensemble looked expensive. Never throw away an opportunity Selina's dad with the one eye used to say. What looks to be trash just might be treasure.
I might be able to give you some help, Selina said.
At the cash register, the wingless fairy, whose name turned out to be Lyndon, explained that she was going through IVF treatments and afraid of putting on weight. Grateful to Selina for helping her find fat fighting footwear, she reciprocated with an offer of baked goods: there's a cute little place with the yummiest muffins three doors down from here, my treat.
Dolled up in pink chintz curtains, lace scalloped tablecloths set with regency stainless, and cherry veneered bookcases lined with Dover Thrift Editions, spines even as crustless sandwiches, it was supposed to be a real English tea room even though it was not in England, as Lyndon so astutely pointed out. But that's okay, she laughed. I'm not a real blond, either.
Talk about good fortune: Lyndon with her openly acknowledged processed hair had the makings of a real dupe. You see it is not true that a sucker is born every minute. Perfect patsies combining stupidity with candor are hard to find. Or as noted by Winona Irving M.S.W., no one in our modern tell-all society actually does so (that is why it is so hard to share your loss, Irving says. And nevermind that it is impossible to give someone else a portion of what you do not have.). Lyndon had only just met Selina and here she was, being open as a 24/7 convenience store.
A waitress in a frilly white apron came with tea lists. Lyndon wanted the green but changed to herbal after Selina dissuaded her from it. You see, you should not drink caffeinated drinks if you are trying to get pregnant. You really should not run either, because running diverts the blood flow away from the uterus to other body parts. That is fine if you do not have one because your husband pressured you into having it removed, but presumably Lyndon did. Selina smiled across the table.
Lyndon stared back blankly, as if suddenly she did not know who she was, let alone whether or not she had a uterus. Then she said, I'm sorry, my name used to be Lucy, but Lucy sounds like a little girl, so now I go by my middle name. But sometimes I forget, especially with old friends. You're not an old friend, but already I feel like I've known you forever.
How sweet. Selina resumed: If you are trying to get pregnant, the best thing is yoga, any kind but bikram, of course. Acupuncture and reiki are very good as well, as supported by those trial studies.
How do you know all this? Lucy Lyndon bit into a blueberry scone. An enormous diamond dinner ring that looked to be genuine sparkled on her finger.
Well, Selina had trained to become an R.N. (after her mother had inferred she was not smart enough to be a doctor!). In fact, by the end of her training she had become so disenchanted by the masculine, patriarchal nature of western medicine that she decided not to take the NCLEX-RN exam. Oh sure there are aspects of western medicine that are second-to-none, but the problem is an approach to healing that uses just the body or just the mind. So Selina started exploring other options, including holistic healing. You see, people are not just the one or the other. Mind and body are unified with energy fields both inside and around that are part of the total health care system.
Lyndon's hand lay on the table palm side up, but even still you could see the diamonds glittering in the crack between her ring and pinkie fingers. As Selina extended her arm so that her own hand hovered just inches above them, Lyndon twitched.
I can feel one, Selina, an energy field both inside and around! Lyndon piped.
Selina did not need to touch Lyndon for Lyndon to feel the power that Selina collected daily, like a solar panel. Selina did not need to touch Lyndon's soft, thin-looking skin because energy fields in the universe are all interconnected. So they can be affected from really far away. Only one thing was necessary, Selina explained: for Lyndon to be receptive to the energy that Selina collected to help people like Lyndon for a nominal fee. And Lyndon did need help—she had said so herself.
Wingless fairy Lyndon was helpless even though she had money, as anyone could see from the Juicy tracksuit and the diamond cluster ring. More money than taste but even so, she deserved cheap healing energy as much as anyone. Maybe even more than some.
Lyndon went on to tell Selina about how she lived in Hudson, New York but her doctor husband was always at HVFC, a clinic for IVF, how he had given her the renovated Victorian mansion, a Volvo SUV XC90, in addition to four treatment cycles so far, but withheld himself. When they first started dating he could not keep his hands off her; now it seemed they spent more time in the egg retrieval room than they did in bed.
A semen sample is not love, Lyndon explained.
Plus he expected Lyndon to put up with his own two horrible children from his first marriage to a psychopath, which even with a full-time nanny, was asking a lot.
How sad Lyndon was, wiping her boohoo blue eye with a small supple-appearing hand—not the one with the ring, which might have scraped it. She deserved some inexpensive healing energy—oh absolutely. Fortunately for her, she was receptive to healing energy. If someone is not receptive, there is nothing you can do to make her more receptive. Fortunately for her, Lyndon had an open mind, in addition to a doctor husband.
In the parking lot of the outlet mall, Selina's old Beemer—the only presentable transportation she could afford after she totaled the Land Rover because she was so upset about the divorce settlement—would not start. Who can blame Selina for accursing both Timor and that piece-of-Nazi-crap car?
Your ex was also a Nazi? asked Lyndon, who had pulled up behind the Beemer in her Volvo SUV XC90.
What an airhead. Selina did not say what an airhead. Goddess forbid, Selina would never puncture another woman's self-esteem. Sisterhood means pulling each other up to a higher level, not bringing each other down to a lower one. Also, Selina needed a lift. So she briefly explained about what Timor used to say regarding BMW's Third Reich affiliations and so on (which is why he would never let her have a Beemer, and maybe even part of the reason why she bought that piece-of-Nazi-crap car, to defy him). Selina even claimed she was not sure if it was BMW or GM. As if she too were a scatter-brained simpleton. Then again, because imperfect, even muddled recollection is not uncommon when you have survived trauma (not to mention in human beings in general!), Selina's apparent confusion on the subject of car manufacurers with Nazi pasts could also have been genuine. You just never know.
No wonder I never liked Beemers, laughed Lyndon as she stepped down out of her Volvo. She pulled a silver iPhone just like the one Selina used to have out of a little silver pouch that hung on a strap across her chest. We can use my Volvo Care Plan to tow it and then I'll give you a ride home.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Helen Keller Really Lived by Elisabeth Sheffield. Copyright © 2014 Elisabeth Sheffield. Excerpted by permission of The University of Alabama Press.
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