Book review
I loved this book, because I am one of those woo-woo kinds of women–I love stuff about the afterlife, reincarnation, paranormal, etc. Anything that will help me fight the fear that death is the end. Like lots of people, I saw the movie with Robin Williams back when it first came out on video. Were we at DVDs yet? I can’t keep track of this stuff. Anyway, it was about two decades ago, so I don’t remember it well enough to be certain where things differ from book to movie. I remember I bawled like a baby at the movie, and I wasn’t putting myself through that again–plus the added sadness of just looking at Mr. Williams. Who had I lost back then, that the movie reduced me to a sobbing heap? My first cat. All my grandparents. I’ve had a lot more losses since then; two dear friends, two beloved aunts, a mentor whom I also loved romantically but with whom I never consummated, and most recently, my mother (plus several more pets). So I just refreshed my memory by reading a summary on line.
With that attitude, you may ask, why would I read the book at all? Frankly, I’ve had glimmerings of inspirations for novels that deal with this subject matter, though when I’ll actually get to write them I have no idea. If any of you have read ‘In a Name,’ included in my short story collection, Crossings, you know that it deals with the afterlife and reincarnation, and that I plan to expand it into a novel some day. I’ve recently thought of yet another prospective novel, completely different, but again, dealing with this kind of subject matter. Matheson’s What Dreams May Come is a classic in the genre, as it were, and I realized it would behoove me to acquire a good working knowledge of it before making any more of my own contributions.
I expected to cry more than I did. The only time I got tears in my eyes was reading the part where he was reunited with his dog. It’s not that the narrator’s relationship with his wife didn’t touch me. It did. But the book is a lot more idea-focused than the movie is; a lot more about incorporating the research the author did on the subject and the knowledge he acquired in the process. Matheson provides us with an author’s note ‘that only one aspect of [the story] is fictional: the characters and their relationships.’ He provides a bibliography at the end, which understandably but unfortunately stops abruptly in the 1970s.
Maybe, too, I had fewer tears because I assumed (correctly) that the basic outcome of the book would have the happy ending of the movie; but maybe it was for selfish reasons–I’m fairly certain that the people I love the most are at least open to the idea of survival after death, and thus would never get stuck in the Hell the narrator’s wife creates for herself.
Now, I did give this book a really high rating. That’s because I agree with the point the narrator makes frequently–that everyone’s afterlife experience is going to be different. And though I am about to pick a few things apart, I certainly didn’t go into this expecting perfect agreement with my own beliefs, hopes, and fears. One thing I really did love was that not only were the Hells not designed by a punishing God, but were consequences of a person’s own thoughts, actions, and belief systems, but also, many of the people in Summerland (Heaven) spent time and effort trying to help the people trapped in Hell. Several, including the narrator’s cousin Albert, had the afterlife ‘job’ of trying to reach these poor souls and help them realize that they did not have to stay in Hell if they did not choose it. I mean, truly, can you imagine people who claim to be sincere followers of Jesus resting in blissful contentment when they knew other humans not terribly far away were in torment and despair? However, Matheson’s afterlife is structured in such a way that those who die expecting a traditional Christian scenario are able to keep themselves sheltered if they wish so that nothing disturbs their beliefs. Gets a little iffy, though, when they start demanding to see Jesus. Matheson doesn’t tell us in so many words where Jesus is, or whether he exists. But if he does exist in Matheson’s afterlife, he is on a plane so advanced that anybody demanding to see their Lord and Savior is by definition not ready to make the trip necessary to do so.
What didn’t ring true for me, though, was that on the way to rescue his wife, the narrator has a horrible, harrowing Dante-esque experience on the floor of Hell, where the most violent souls reside, where souls who manage to present themselves as rotting corpses drag him down into the slimy mud and foul water in which they dwell. Clouds of flies swarm into the narrator’s throat, suffocating him even though he is, of course, already dead. Matheson writes of all this skillfully, filling this reader with revulsion at all the hideousness, rage, violence, and terror. After his cousin Alfred rescues the narrator, Chris, from this ghastly place, he tells him that the next place, where his wife Ann is, will show him things even more terrible.
Chris finds Ann in a house that resembles the one they lived in together in life–except it’s all run down, as is the property surrounding it. The land is cracked and dry, the trees are dead, Ann’s car has a flat tire and a big dent. The power is out, and the water doesn’t work. Horror of horrors, weeds are growing between the sidewalk cracks! Okay. I get that this is Hell for Ann, because she loved their house, and took really good care of things before she lost her husband and grief made her kill herself. I get that Chris has to get rid of a few really big tarantulas for her because she’s scared of spiders. There’d probably be a lot of spiders in my Hell, too. But there is just no way that this compares with rotting corpses trying to drown you in mud, filth, and water that would make Love Canal look pristine. I admit, it made me a little miffed, being probably about two years away from being eligible from a Hoarder’s episode myself.
Also, clearly, Matheson was a dog person, and not a cat person. We have one of Chris’s faithful dogs waiting for him, living with Albert in Summerland until Chris arrives. And we have another dog so heroic that when she stops eating in heartbreak over Ann’s death, she joins Ann in Hell rather than be apart from her beloved mistress. I love dogs. Matheson’s right, we don’t deserve them. I figure it’s a pretty accurate portrayal. But the ONLY cat we see in the whole book is one scavenging from Ann’s unharvested garbage cans. Granted, Chris does raise the question of whether any of the animals he sees near Ann (except for Ginger, her faithful dog) are actually real, or just creations of what her subconscious feels she deserves. Still, it would have been nice if the author could have shown us a few felines enjoying Summerland. I fully expect to be greeted in my next life by dozens of cats, rubbing themselves gleefully against my calves, just waiting for me to sit down and free up my lap. Chatty meows I haven’t heard in decades …. Similarly, it seemed odd to me that right before things really got bad for Chris with the vicious rage-filled rotting corpses, he told us that Hell smelled just like horse sweat. I laughed. There are so many worse things Hell could smell like–why, like–rotting corpses! C-diff? Well, you understand my point.
One more kvetch. Though I’m very glad Matheson discussed reincarnation and its role in the vast number of cases, and went into some detail about exactly how it was supposed to work, the theory he presents that in the Western world souls tend to wait until a baby is a few weeks old before fusing with its body was disturbing to me. Though I appreciate the implications for the pro-choice camp, the thought of all these little babies waiting around without souls is pretty creepy. What happens if no returning soul wants a particular baby? Does it just die? How is it supposed to be living those few weeks without some kind of animus? (Although this would explain a couple of people I’ve met. But I digress.) All I can say is read it; see what you think.
- Goodreads rating – 3.95
- SUMMARY – Elizabeth Thomas