Melancholy has always interested me in that, from a surface perspective, I seemed to be more that kind of person than any of the labels associated with normal behaviour, thinking or being positive and the like. My dad was all about being positive when I was growing up, yet he was a critical person, although not of me, and, ultimately, an unhappy one, for several reasons.
My mum used to say that when he laughed it was because something was really funny, and she was right there. But he was never really doom and gloom in the moody sense, the latter being a characteristic of me and sometimes expressed in what music I would be listening to, although there were limits to that and I would never have been characterised as an emo, for instance, or interested in Nick Cave, other than he was from a Victorian country town I knew of through driving on its streets on the way to somewhere else.
Jacky Bowring, who appears to be from New Zealand, mentions emos and Cave, as well as melancholy landscapes and architecture, redolent of the postmodern and Kantian sublime I failed to adequately grasp in my Masters' studies; there it seemed deliberately obfuscatory, which is really, on reflection, an important aspect of the post-modern, at least how it's presented by a number of people.
I bought the book because I thought it might help me locate myself somewhere within; it is, after all, a field guide. And I found something in the photographing or painting (I do the former) of abandoned homes and buildings, which is something I look for, although there aren't any deep feelings involved, just something appealing and fascinating. There are probably more feelings associated in going outside in the rain, one of those quietly relentless downpours on a bleak day where you can hear the drops on the ground or a path, entering the soil. I find that uplifting, but then I like to walk in the rain.
There was also the current trope about sadness, related to some of the positive mantras, in that it seemed to be something to avoid. Bowring talks about this with respect to the DSM and its categorisation of all kinds of feelings and experiences. Many people seem to want to brush away sadness and be almost relentlessly positive. Life's a struggle sometimes, sometimes a big one depending on who and where you are; it seems a normal experience and while it can be tough, sitting with it and acknowledging it seems to me to be more logical than denying it's there.
I didn't find any of those feelings in Bowring's guide, and her descriptions of melancholy seemed a distance away from life and perhaps associated with a particular group of artists and writers, none of whom had ever appealed. Raymond Carver writing about water seemed much more relevant. Having said that, it's not a bad book, she writes easily and clearly, and if her fields are the right one, I'm not a melancholic – probably just a moody bastard.