Dear Kevin Brockmeier,

This was for the writing contest: Letters About Literature. The prompt was to write a letter to the author of book that has changed your life. I wrote to Kevin Brockmeier, the author of The Brief History of the Dead.

Dear Kevin Brockmeier,

Until recently, I felt severed from the world, existing mostly in my own mind. It’s not that the real world didn’t hold anything of interest, it was just so much easier to observe from the safety of my own thoughts. More and more I found myself caring only about perfecting the creations in my mind, as opposed to dealing with the tangible world. I didn’t care when my sister did stupid, dangerous things, only that it wouldn’t affect my thoughts. She brashly put herself in danger without regard for anyone that might care for her. She made stupid decisions that proved her obvious disdain for any sort of responsibility, maturity, and caution. She was the dictionary definition of a hedonist. She was walking backwards down her life so as not to see the almost certain destruction in the future. And I still quietly wrapped myself in a cocoon, blinding myself.

When I read The Brief History of the Dead, what struck me the most was its bizarreness. It seemed to be a long forgotten jar of glue, holding the strangeness of the real world to the eccentricity of the electrical impulses in my head. I quickly bonded with the disconnected Laura and her scatter-brained, intricate intellect. Laura found some sort of chaotic calmness in all of her memories and the jumbles of her thoughts. She had to emerge from her mind and deal with the harsh Antarctic, to not only keep herself alive, but help others survive. It was easier for her to do so while living with an army of thoughts in her head. Yet, she remained anchored to both places. I found Laura blazing a trail through every crevice of my mind. She showed me our similarities, and our differences where she had taken the correct fork in the road and I had chosen to seclude myself even further. The journeys, trials, and personalities of each person in the City accompanied her, and began to represent the shards of places in my mind.

I haltingly came to the conclusion that as a society, we are very interdependent. I am forced, without consent, into the world. Laura depends on her real-world memories to survive. Likewise the people in the City rely on Laura to emerge from those thoughts and trek through the tundra. As for me, I would much prefer to stay in my own fantasies, and yet, people still need me. My sister still needs me to inhibit her from willingly “leaping off the deep end.” She needs me to care, and to make her hold hands with her consequences.

And in my own almost imperceptible way, I add diversity to this world. Since the world has billions of personalities, we have to carefully examine ourselves and discern exactly who we are in all of that cacophony.  You weaved a story of people depending on each other across worlds, and possibly even time. As in an orchestra, if just one musician is willingly missing, the entire web wrinkles very slightly. Thank you for showing me that I can’t seclude myself inside my picturesque mind, for showing me that I need the world, and that the world needs me.

Sincere thanks,

Abbi Chapman

Copyright 2011 Abigail Chapman