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It’s possible, in hindsight, that I’ve never understood anything.)
Duchess doesn’t give the prize to nonfiction—she says nonfiction is only for sociopaths, children, and the criminally insane—that’s
“Are you telling me there’s a senator who knows about Duchess Goldblatt?” “I should certainly hope so. If anybody needs to benefit from the bright shining light and wisdom of the universe that Duchess embodies, it’s the US government.”
If she’d ever seen despair up close, she would know what I knew, that God understands the nature of a broken heart. The saddest people will always be allowed to go home first.
Duchess’s relentless insistence on her own physical beauty is both a running joke and a call to others to see and acknowledge their own gifts. When we rely on self-deprecating humor, we’re trying to neutralize criticism preemptively, and there are echoes of ancient superstitions. I will deny my own gifts so that the gods don’t punish me and take them away.
I can feel her grief from across the country. There once was a time when that overwhelming grief in someone else would have panicked me. But because I know what it is to mourn, I can feel that darkness gathering in someone else’s heart. It would have been unbearable to me to sit still with it. Once upon a time, I would have run away. But now I know I can hold her peacefully within my heart and still have room left over. If this is the result of my own sorrow—an enlarged capacity; the ability to contain heartbreak not my own—if this was the deal, then it’s acceptable to me. Duchess Goldblatt
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If you’ve ever wondered what the right thing is to say to someone who’s grieving a death, I think this is it: Tell me all about your dear one.
