BOOK DISCUSSION
I Sing The Soul Electric
A Study in Death, Life and Written Word
By: Tiffany Edmonds
W
hen I was first given the
assignment of a book
review/discussion about
the theme Morbid Curiosity in Non-
American cultures, my first thought
was “Yes! This’ll be easy.” So, I went
BOOK DISCUSSION
to the monolithic Barnes and Noble
at Union Square and perused their
surprisingly tiny Cultural Studies sec-
tion. Apparently, no one really asks
after the theme of morbid curiosity
and death. If they do, it’s about vam-
pirism and the like. I stumbled upon a
book called The Dead Beat by Marilyn
Johnson, a native New York magazine
and celebrity obituary writer. I inter-
nally leapt for joy…and then started
reading…and kept reading and had a
panicky moment of “Oh no! This is not
what I thought it would be! What do I
do?!”
Well, I kept reading and turned
over the meanings of “morbid curios-
ity” and “obituary”. The first term is
loosely defined as a fascination with
death. The second one, the obituary, is
a short summation of a person’s death
and achievements, big or small, usu-
ally done with permission and insight
through their loved ones or acquaint-
ances. Now the theme of morbid curi-
osity itself, at least to me, is a broad
spectrum of ideas and approaches. It
could be anything from vampirism-
fictionalized and the subculture-to
the death and burial rituals of differ-
ent African tribes. Obituaries seemed
pretty straightforward to me: a person
dies and a paper publishes a memo-
randum. Marilyn Johnson put that
idea out to pasture, immediately.
One may wonder “If you’re going to
write for a newspaper, why not become
an actual journalist, covering breaking
news or perhaps a Sports page writer,
or even the Fashion and Lifestyles col-
umnist?” Why indeed. Isn’t an obit
the very definition of breaking news?
An unlucky person isn’t walking, talk-
ing, or changing the world anymore.
What makes an obituary distasteful
prospective reading material for the
general public? We, as a global cul-
ture, do not enjoy hearing, or reading,
about death. Even though we are sub-
jected to the concept of mortality on
an hourly basis, if not by the minute,
it frightens us to know that we are not
eternal. At the same time, the fragil-
ity of life enthralls us. It’s like looking
into the abyss, the inevitable depar-
ture. We want to know “Where are we
BOOK DISCUSSION
going, afterwards?” But the real ques-
tion that Johnson answers is “Where
have these people been? Why are they
important? Why do we write and read
about them?”
This isn’t about death, per se. Well,
it is; but really it’s about history and a
person’s footprint in the world. Now,
writers, as a whole, are embellishers.
We may like truth and nothing but
a lot; let’s be honest, if it’s not going
to grab the reader and pummel them
with a slew of fantastical information,
then why bother? Johnson agrees:
“Who was Hunter S. Thompson in January
2005? A curiosity, an old writer who had
made a splash as a gonzo journalist and then
removed himself to a bunker in Aspen...But
a month later, after he killed himself…he was
a pioneer journalist and stylistic genius who
had acted as the conscience of his generation;
he was irreplaceable.”1
Johnson posits that, even though
Thompson was admired for his eccen-
tricities and was already a minor
celebrity in biopics and all, if he
hadn’t graced an obituary page, his
fame would not have become as mete-
oric after death. She’s right. Does the
late Kurt Cobain ring any bells? But
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what about the ordinary folks, who
maybe just lived on a dairy farm and
raised children? Well, they have their
moments to shine, through the eyes
and ears of the people that knew them
at their best and sometimes worst.
Johnson interviewed an American
obituary writer from Philadelphia
named Jim Nicholson, who had a tal-
ent for just that. “Nicholson and the
Daily News gave them a big shot’s
space in a big city paper, without
dressing them up to do it…Nicolson
said in an early interview ‘If two guys
meet at Broad and Snyder and one guy
says, ”Did you hear that Joe died?”
And for the next two minutes, they’ll
talk about Joe and write his obit-he
was a good pool player, had an eye for
women, never broke his word…”2
Obituary writers are usually
unseen forces that some people prob-
ably imagine as black-shrouded,
chain-smoking literary morticians…or
maybe that’s just me. I’ve never met
one and until this month, never really
gave it much thought. Recently, due to
Internet accessibility and popular cul-
ture, people have become death hob-
byists. And yes, I do mean cult-like
enthusiasm. Johnson asks the perti-
nent question:
“Who writes obits? People with nicknames
like Dr. Death; the Angel of Death…A
colorful nickname won’t help you identify
them, though. The writers…aren’t wearing
black robes and carrying scythes…One obit
writer is called Black Mariah, after the paddy
wagon that used to cart off the newly dead
to be robbed before burial…but Heather
Lende…is a lovely, cheerful woman, who
looks like a model for outdoor gear.”3
Because of the obituary’s popular-
ity, there are international conven-
tions. “My friends laughed when I
told them where I was going, the Sixth
Great Obituary Writers’ International
Conference. And it did seem a little
BOOK DISCUSSION
silly-but where else would a group Of
obituary writers materialize?”4 There
seems to be a plethora of obit writers
the world over and no two are alike.
From small town to metropolis, these
people celebrate life in death and vice
versa, all the while sometimes project-
ing larger than life personalities them-
selves. While it’s true that no two obit-
uaries are alike, the same can be said
for the writers themselves, depending
on their countries of origin. Johnson
has chased the world’s newspapers
in search of obituaries that have that
panache, that certain way of mak-
ing its readers really get a feel for the
dearly departed’s life. She traveled
to London, England to get a feel for
BOOK DISCUSSION
its flavor, inspired by her meeting
Andrew McKie, an obit writer and edi-
tor for the Daily Telegraph. Mckie is
described as “trailing smoke from a
hand-rolled cigarette out of one side
of his mouth and a ready stream of
quotes and quips out of the other…A
Scotsman and a showman, relishes
sharing his love of the rude obituary.”5
She states that London’s The Daily
Telegraph and The Independent are
the best reading for striking obits, the
ones that really capture the spirit and
achievement. “I have the feeling that
London, gossipy and contentious and
cutthroat as it is, unites to embrace its
characters. There goes another one,
each obit seems to say, whose likes will
not be seen again.”6 Figures like Sis-
ter Lucia, the Portuguese former shep-
herd girl who saw the Virgin Mary in a
tree in Fatima to the assassinated for-
mer Lebanese Prime Minister. There
are little tidbits of history, razor sharp
anecdotes and off-the-cuff observa-
tions made that give the reader a bit of
glory as well. Readers and writers in
London give shape to lives that were
cut down and are subsequently cher-
ished by perfect strangers as if they
were their own relatives. And some-
times, Johnson is told, the best way
to illuminate those characters is with
a formula in mind. McKie: “’The way
to do someone ludicrous is absolutely
straight, ’ he declared, If it’s, say, ‘the
producer from Run DMC…you should
write their obituaries the same way as
you would write a particle physicist…
that’s what makes it funny.’”7
But it’s a fine line between writing
about the death of someone you wish
you’d known and someone that you
do, say another obit writer. Johnson
takes a minute to reflect and gives us
this: “Is an obit writer’s obituary sad-
der than anyone else’s? Poems about
poets, plays about playwrights…
achieve a kind of harmonic resonance,
layers of irony intensified by the con-
BOOK DISCUSSION
centration of subject and form. An obit
writer’s obit has the same effect. Why?
It’s just an obit-an announcement
that, no matter what else it has accom-
plished on this earth, a body has been
separated from its spirit…The byline of
the writer isn’t anchored at the top, in
control, but trapped in the body of the
story. There it is, you say to yourself…
death, the great equalizer.”8 Which
brings me to this: no matter the per-
son, rich, poor, no matter the origin
or current country. Death is universal.
It’s unstoppable, and infinitely fasci-
nates us all. The obit writer just hap-
pens to have a better take on process-
ing how a person is perceived and then
putting it out there, stripped down or
expanded, shaped and sutured for the
world to see. They are the “gatekeep-
ers” to the fine line between what was
and what will inevitably be.
Biography
Tiffany Edmonds is a 32 year old
native New Yorker. She is a freelance
writer, while moonlighting as a retail
lackey in the East village. A nomad in
spirit, she’s only been to four other
states. She also plays drums and loves
dogs.
Footnotes
1 Marilyn Johnson, The Dead Beat:
Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Per-
verse Pleasures of Obituaries (Harper
Collins Publishers 2006) p. 5.
2 Ibid, p. 91.
3 Ibid, p. 13
4 Ibid, p. 20
5 Ibid, p. 17-18
6 Ibid, p. 145
7 Ibid, p. 117
8 Ibid, p. 207