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The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories
The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories
The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories
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The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories

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The instant New York Times bestseller and publishing phenomenon: Marina Keegan’s posthumous collection of award-winning essays and stories “sparkles with talent, humanity, and youth” (O, The Oprah Magazine).

Marina Keegan’s star was on the rise when she graduated magna cum laude from Yale in May 2012. She had a play that was to be produced at the New York Fringe Festival and a job waiting for her at The New Yorker. Tragically, five days after graduation, Marina died in a car crash.

Marina left behind a rich, deeply expansive trove of writing that, like her title essay, captures the hope, uncertainty, and possibility of her generation. Her short story “Cold Pastoral” was published on NewYorker.com. Her essay “Even Artichokes Have Doubts” was excerpted in the Financial Times, and her book was the focus of a Nicholas Kristof column in The New York Times. Millions of her contemporaries have responded to her work on social media.

As Marina wrote: “We can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over…We’re so young. We can’t, we MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it’s all we have.” The Opposite of Loneliness is an unforgettable collection of Marina’s essays and stories that articulates the universal struggle all of us face as we figure out what we aspire to be and how we can harness our talents to impact the world. “How do you mourn the loss of a fiery talent that was barely a tendril before it was snuffed out? Answer: Read this book. A clear-eyed observer of human nature, Keegan could take a clever idea...and make it something beautiful” (People).

Editor's Note

A treasured posthumous collection…

Keegan died too young, only a few days after her college graduation, but she left behind the treasure of her writing with this posthumous collection of tender, starry-eyed essays and short stories.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherScribner
Release dateApr 8, 2014
ISBN9781476753621
Author

Marina Keegan

Marina Keegan (1989-2012) was an award-winning author, journalist, playwright, poet, actress, and activist. Her nonfiction has been published in The New York Times; her fiction has been published on NewYorker.com, and read on NPR’s Selected Shorts; her musical, Independents, was a New York Times Critics’ Pick. Marina’s final essay for The Yale Daily News, “The Opposite of Loneliness,” became an instant global sensation, viewed by more than 1.4 million people from 98 countries. For more information, please visit TheOppositeofLoneliness.com.

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Rating: 4.045 out of 5 stars
4/5

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  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    This is going to sound terrible, but if she hadn't died, I wonder if this would have been published? Pretty mediocre and unfinished. Some of the stories were decent, but it wasn't anything special.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    I found this kind of boring. I had a hard time staying interested. I wanted to read it because of the hype and sorry to say but it disappointed.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Marina's writing is both charming and frightening for the fact that she writes unashamed and unabashedly about the quiet things that people usually choose to keep buried inside their hearts and minds.I was really impressed by the breadth of subjects and places found in her writing; from the the complexities of our own hearts, to our interactions and intentions with others, to the setting and atmosphere of her essays and stories. Marina's writing manages to combine youthful ideals, some intrinsic sense of domesticity domesticity, and a hopeful intensity all at once.I'm thankful to have had the opportunity to read what she offered to the world.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    There are some books that even after you have read the last page you hope in vain for 'just one more page'. Sometimes this is because it's an amazing series and all you have to do is go pick up the next installment. At other times, it's a standalone novel but there are many other books which make up that author's body of work to satisfy you indefinitely. However, this is not always the case. I just finished The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories by Marina Keegan and it blew me away. For those unfamiliar with the story behind this book, Marina Keegan was a promising young writer who tragically lost her life shortly after graduating from Yale. This book was compiled by her family and a few of her professors and classmates in her honor. The book includes poignant pieces about what it means to be a part of something bigger, what it means to let yourself feel, and above all what it means to be a part of humanity itself. There are essays, short stories, and nonfiction pieces which showcase what a gifted writer Keegan was. Her writing practically exudes her lust for life and it is impossible to read this and not feel like the world could be a better place if only we looked for the beauty that is already there. When you read this you are struck by the realization that no matter how much you wish for 'just one more page' you'll have to content yourself with these meager few. This is a book you don't want to miss out on, guys. 10/10
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Beautifully written
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories by Marina Keegan I get stuck on the titles of books and this one got me. The cover is great too. I know it's just a picture of the author, but her pose and expression and body language were endearing. It was like she wasn't sure if this was a good idea but needed to say what she needed to see. She had to send it out into the ether and hoped for an echo that she doubted would come. Then I opened the book to discover that she had passed before it's publishing and it was published by her family for her. She had wanted to make it in this business and they really honored that. It's not a spoiler, it's right in the forward, written by one of her teachers at Yale.
    Most of the book is comprised of her short stories, which were rather good. I enjoyed each one for different reasons. I appreciated the way she looked at people, the way the stories were about their interactions more than anything else. They were clearly about the way people moved together or ground against each other. I think I would have enjoyed a novel had she had the opportunity to write one.
    The essays were interesting for the same reason. They were snapshots of life when they were about people, but there were a few that were existential. Her opinion on the sun and the future of the planet were interesting. They certainly put a different spin on things for me. Her essay on having Celiac disease was perfect. It perfect encompassed the difference between dealing with something on your own and dealing with something as a parent. I hope her mother appreciated reading it, that before the end, Keegan was beginning to understand why it affected everything the way it did. I loved her thoughts on being special, on being heard, on sending something out to the ether.

    I wish there could be more. Perhaps my appreciation is tainted by knowing there never could be, but I don't think so. It's nice to get a perspective on possibility from someone in their youth and I think I would have wanted to know how she felt about it down the road, but it just isn't possible now. Perhaps someone else will take that torch. Until then, I'll recommend Keegan.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Essays, short stories, what have you, and I have not had the greatest track record. I have long been intrigued by fellow readers who swear and vouch for these little testaments. Even though my experience with reading short stories has been small and unsuccessful, I continue to purchase them and click "add" to my tbr pile when someone won't shut up about them *wink*. Marina Keegan's book wasn't so much a recommendation as a cover intrigue and a moment of wow, here is someone my age, published and sadly passed. This was a great read. I was pleasantly surprised to find the fiction portion of the book so accessible. I think reading short stories you have to train yourself to be satisfied with the smaller portion/offering AND to learn the endings are rarely finished for you. Admittedly I was "kicking and screaming" about this a bit at first until my sister (with more experience in this genre) explained to me the reader is supposed to insert themselves into the individual stories to decide the various conclusions. Sidenote, as a child I hated the choose your own adventure books so we can see where learning this would be problematic. However, I settled in and would have been happy to continue to read Marina's fiction. I had nothing to fear with her non-fiction, as I devoured it just the same. I believe EVERYONE should read and gain perspective from her essay 'Against the Grain'. As she was someone dealing with an actual gluten intolerance (Celiac Disease) and describing it to a near tragic romance at times, I think the people in the world infatuated with the gluten free movement and who don't have a certified allergy to it, would do well to see what it is like for those around us who do...and don't see it as a trendy diet plan. "Eventually, it stops at a single word--a single little protein that lurks inside ingredients at the depths of unpronounceable obscurity. Gluten. The king of all polypeptide chains. The enemy of my existence and the hero of my deathbed feast. It hides in sauces and stews, artificial colors and flavors. It teems inside deliciousness to sneak down into my small intestine and kill all my villi."Another favorite from the non-fiction section, "Why We Care About Whales".I didn't absolutely love the book. The introduction served in almost causing me to put the book aside. I'm not an Anne Fadiman fan. That is not to say I will never give her another try at some point in my life, but I can't help feeling when I read her writings that she is in some way judging me from her high pedestal or tower of supreme intelligence. She helped (for me) to paint the picture that maybe this girl my age, Marina, was in fact a mini me of her in the making, only by virtue of Fadiman writing the intro not because she described her this way. Therefore I would not be able to relate or find a solid pleasurable reading experience in Marina's thoughts and opinions. I'm glad to tell you I didn't let Fadiman's 'flavor' scare me off, well for a few days I did.Marina has a very BIG vocabulary at times and that frustrated me a bit. Then I remembered, "Why are you getting cranky about this? You love O. Henry and WHY do you love O. Henry? What do you tell people when you are telling them why you like his writing style? *hangs head in mock shame*" Oh yes that's right because his word usage and vocabulary was amazing. That argument was 'quietly' put to rest.I look forward to owning this book and reading it again someday. I wish we could have seen where Marina's words would have taken her in this world.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Keegan was obviously incredibly talented. It's so tragic that she died far too young. Honestly, though, her nonfiction pieces were much more engaging than her fiction. Her short stories were a little too "literary" and "edgy" for my taste.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    So hard to read some of her hopeful and "promise of the future" essays and short stories knowing that she was not here on earth for very long after they were written. Such talent and insight at a young age - one can only imagine what could have been. I guess you can look at it the other way and say it is amazing that she did produce all that she did in her short life and we should be thankful for that. Marina Keegan - you obviously had an impact on many people and I am sure that they all still carry you in their hearts.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    The overall quality, beyond mere technique, of her writing comes and goes. Her fiction goes from average, most of her stories portray some young girl filled with insecurities, winter brakes and moms that, somehow, fill most of their time sorting socks. Male characters are just extrapolations of their female counterparts ...When she goes beyond the world that she knew firsthand, that's when she shows her highs and lows. Brilliant at reflecting old age and loneliness in an uncanny way, doubly uncanny coming from someone that young. Far from brilliant when she embarks in an imaginary Iraq war story that feels, well, it feels anything but real.But the worse part are her non-fiction writings. And even thinner volume would have been better in order to dispense readers with having to go through childish reflections on the work market and the like.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This is one book I was hooked on after reading the introduction by Anne Fadiman. "If you wanted a smooth ride, Marina wasn't your vehicle," promised Anne and Marina did indeed deliver on this promise. I'm so glad that Marina Keegan left such a vast body of work that she had created in her young life and that she had devoted parents, friends, and teachers, who created this book for me to read and enjoy. Anne also says, "Marina wouldn't want to be remembered because she's dead. She would want to be remembered because she's good." No, Anne, Marina is not just good, she's great!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This collection of short stories and essays was written by Marina, a Yale student who tragically died in a car accident at the age of 21 just days after graduation. It was this horrible event that drew me to pick up this book, but I stayed for her honest and raw fiction and essays. According to Anne Fadiman (author and Marina's mentor) in her introduction to this collection, Marina was "brilliant, kind, and idealistic; I hope I never forget she was also fierce, edgy, and provocative. A little wild. More than a little contrarian. If you wanted a smooth ride, Marina wasn't your vehicle."You definitely get that sense when reading her stuff. Is it perfect? No. But I loved almost every piece. Maybe it's because she was close to my age when she wrote them, and she wasn't trying to sound older or more "refined" than she was; I could relate. "Cold Pastoral" and "Challenger Deep", the first and last of her short stories in the collection, were my favorite. The first because the way she wrote about a relationship coming to an end hit home, and the last because it was so haunting and disturbing. I absolutely loved her essays as well. "Why We Care About Whales" was achingly sad, "I Kill for Money" draws an honest and heartbreaking portrait of an exterminator, and "Putting the 'Fun' Back in Eschatology" and "Song for the Special" are short, sharp, and hopeful. While it is tragic that Marina's life was cut short, I think this collection showed the world what she had to offer; insightful, honest (sometimes messy) musings on love, relationships, family, millennials, whales, and the end of the world.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I first saw this book in the Essays section of my local bookstore. I liked the title and peeked at the author's biographic blurb in the back flap of the book. I was shocked to see that the author died two years ago and that she was so young. Later that day, I found out more about her death and placed a hold for this book at the library. After reading this book, I am heartbroken that I'll never get to read anything by her again because she was a very good writer.

    I loved Marina Keegan's The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories. I was apprehensive at first. I thought Keegan might be a lot of hype; a victim of that sort of idolization that happens after death. But she was very talented and perceptive. As much as I loved her fictional short stories, Cold Pastoral, Winter Break, The Ingenue, and The Emerald City being my favorites, I immensely enjoyed her non fiction more.

    The Non fictional stories really resonated me. I could relate to them. Especially Even Artichokes Have Doubts. Mostly, her stories made me sad especially the ones that mentioned Keegan getting married or having kids. Against the Grain really highlights this fact as Keegan discusses her difficulty with Celiac Disease and her love-hate relationship with her mother's ardent zeal towards protecting her.

    In it, Keegan expresses her lax attitude toward her Celiac Disease until she realizes that if she'll ever got pregnant, her child could suffer if she's not careful. Keegan then decides that she would be extremely cautious, feverishly adopting the same kind of zeal her own mother has with her then she starts to cry. I was extremely sad at that point too but for different reasons. Keegan wrote about a future she'll never experience.

    That is what makes The Opposite of Loneliness so poignant; so emotional. It's a tease in a way, potential not fully realized. A promise of something more. Something more that readers are never going to get.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    ARC provided by NetGalleyWriting an honest review for any book can be difficult, but this type of book is especially difficult. Marina was already garnering praise before she graduated: her essay "Opposite of Loneliness" went viral, she graduated magna cum laude from Yale, a job all lined up, things being published...and she died tragically five days after she graduated. It's not the type of book that you want to write and say that you didn't like, for fear of pitchforks and torches and shouts. But, here's the thing...I don't have to write that type of review. Honestly. This book is many things: a grieving process for the family, a memorial to a friend, and more importantly a powerful monument to a writer that is able to distill the essence of humanity onto paper. The book is composed of several different parts: the introduction essay that the book takes its title from "The Opposite of Loneliness," several of Marina's short stories, and several of her essays. Intermixed in are quotes and snippets from poems that she wrote, although these are not shown in full, at least not in this galley copy. All in all it captures some of the best work of this young writer. The first quote we see is from Marina's poem Bygones: "Do you wanna leave soon?''No, I want enough time to be in love with everything. And I cry because everything is so beautiful and so short."The title essay, "The Opposite of Loneliness" went viral after it was published. And you really don't have to stretch to understand why, as its something that many of us can relate to. While it is written about graduating from college, it also applies to the leaving of home, of a comfort zone, of going off into the unknown. And while there have been hundreds of writers that have written about this topic before, Marina's take is different. She states simply, and eloquently, that the feeling of leaving the known is scary. Of walking away from having friends right next door, of structure, and everything taken care of is one of the scariest things possible. And all of these people saying "oh this is the best time of your life, cherish it" makes you afraid of what's to come. But Marina stands up and says, my life isn't over, I'm going to continue to have fun until I'm old. And while there are many things to quote this one "What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over." Life isn't over because of moving on, it's just beginning.While there are several of Marina's stories in the book, they didn't stand out to me as much. Not because they aren't good, but because her essays are that much better. In the essays that are shared, it seems obvious a couple of them are school assignments. The first one is about her first car. Now in the hands of most college students they would write about how awesome and cool the car was, or how stupid it was they were driving the station wagon that had been in the family for 10 years. Probably something with a few laughs, but not memorable. Marina's essay though...is different. Marina doesn't just write about the car, but she connects it to her essence. We learn how the car came to her after her grandfather passed away and her grandmother wanted to only have one car. That when she got the keys for it she and her grandmother drove stopped, listened to an old tape of a favorite artist, and opened the moonroof to look out, and smiled. That the car had the scent of her grandmother's perfume in it for a long time, that it was organized like her with a spare sewing kit and other items, until gradually it became Marina's. The tin foil balls from breakfast biscuits on the way to school on the driver's side door, the dents in the steering wheel from her fingernails after crying because a boy just wanted to be friends, the smells and papers that lived in the car. Until it was time to pass it on to her brother and she wondered if she could recapture the scent of her grandmother's perfume one more time. You can't but help be entrapped by that overwhelming feeling of humanity. She paints a picture with her words and you can see it before you and get swept up in it all.And her other essays are no less powerful. We read and nod along as she describes growing up and wanting to fit in and she could...except for her diet. Because she needed to be gluten free, before anyone else knew what that meant. And we understand and cringe at the embarrassment she felt as her mom tried to keep her healthy and safe, but made her feel singled out. We understand the constant struggle of wanting to belong, but of having to follow a diet, but balancing the needs of family, but wanting to be normal college girl and not worry about kissing a boy after he drank a beer or ate a pizza. Or in the essay where she writes about beached whales, and the tens of thousands of dollars spent in rescuing them, but we do nothing for the homeless in front of us, but the whales are special, but are fellow humans are right there. Marina makes us proud and sad of our humanity. She captures it so expertly and shows us what we're doing that is so right...and so wrong.Marina died young and while we may mourn that, we are left with her essays and other writings that have the power to change the world. And while that may be an over used phrase, I think it accurately describes Marina's style. Her ability to capture the very essence of humanity! and to distill it onto paper, to share raw emotions with you via words and make you feel what she does...tis a rare gift and talent. While Marina may be gone, we need to read and reread what she has written and take it to heart. Let it give us chills, fear, hope, anger...whatever emotion it brings to you, let it come.I highly recommend this book to all readers. 4 out of 5 stars.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    POV: Both 1st person and 3rd person
    Genre: Essays/Stories, Autobiographical
    Rating closer to 3.5
    I read the title essay when it went viral last year and knew then that I wanted to read her book. The book is a mix of fiction work and non-fiction articles by Keegan that she wrote while attending Yale, put together posthumously by her friends and family. Each entry felt like a glimpse into the author's thoughts and was written in a timeless manner. Although I enjoyed the book as a whole, I favored her non-fiction work to that of her fiction, which is purely a preference on my part.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Wow! I'm sad to be finished because I enjoyed this book so much. I became completely immersed in each story and looked forward to being swept-away each time a new one started. Recommended!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I liked the book, the fiction part was good, but her nonfiction really stayed with me .
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I liked some of the stories and articles, and I disliked some. There's no denying that Marina Keegan was a bright girl and a talented writer. It's a shame that she passed away at such a young age.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    So beautiful. Would also recommend reading her poetry. She has a powerful way of evoking emotion.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This was an absolutely lovely book. Marina addresses questions that are relevant and applicable to our lives today, while somehow still noting those universal issues that plague us all, such as Is there meaning to life? and Does anything really matter? She recognizes her own mortality, and in doing so she is not afraid: in fact, she is hopeful, inspiring a hope that can be shared by us all: “Sometime before I die,” she writes in the last short story in the book, Song for the Special, “I think I’ll find a microphone and climb to the top of a radio tower. I’ll take a deep breath and close my eyes because it will start to rain right when I reach the top. Hello, I’ll say to outer space, this is my card.”
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    What an amazingly, well written book. The world lost a talented woman whose legacy will live on. This should be required high school reading!

    1 person found this helpful

  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Thank you to the publisher for sending me this copy. This did not influence my review in any way.The Opposite of Loneliness is an affecting collection of stories and essays by Marina Keegan, who died tragically in a car accident only five days after her graduation from Yale. She was already an accomplished writer and left behind a whole catalogue of work, as young budding writers collate. In her memory, her family, friends and teachers put together nine stories and nine essays for this book, titled The Opposite of Loneliness, also the title of an essay she wrote about leaving Yale.“We’re so young. We’re so young,” she wrote. “We’re only twenty-two. We have so much time.”Marina’s writing is full of hope and possibility. Through her stories and her essays I really feel like I got to know her through her distinctive voice. And I think I identified with her because I’m her age and my own university graduation is rapidly approaching. She was still working out who she was and where she was going and trying not be overwhelmed by it all. So am I.She writes like the twenty-one year old she was when most of her pieces were written and continually revised. She writes beautifully but she sounds twenty-one. That’s important to note because she’s not trying to be anything she’s not. She’s full of curiousity and wonder and hope about the world and she has anxieties and fears and uncertainness among that too. She was just feeling her way through the world with her words and although it is an impressive collection she left behind and I enjoyed the read, it makes me sad to think where she could have gone from her and what she might have done, and everything she will miss out on in the future. After I read the collection, I went back and reread both the Introduction and the title essay, filled with new understanding from the stories and essays I had read. This time I read it through tears in my eyes but I am grateful that I got the chance to read this book. I know this is going to be one that I go back to again and again as I make my own way through this world. 
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Such a wonderful introduction to this posthumous collection of essays and short stories by someone who admired her. This hooked me right away and made me want to delve into her writing right away. After reading her exquisite writing, it made me feel such loss for those who loved her and to what she could have created with more time. She seemed to be a force of nature and makes me think that the brightest lights shine so bright that the world isn't big enough for them and that some higher power wants them back. The essays are filled with such insight for someone so young and filled with a wonderful sense of hope and enthusiasm. The short stories are also fabulous filled with everyday characters in everyday situations, and an incredible insight into the human condition. It will lead you tears because she had potential. The stories and essays aren't perfect, but they showed the beginning of something special.Favorite Quotes/Passages“High on their posthumous pedestals, the dead become hard to see. Grief, deference, and the homogenizing effects of adulation blur the details, flatten the bumps, sand off the sharp corners.” “something about the stillness or my state of mind reminded me of the world’s remarkable capacity to carry on in every place at once.”“I worry sometimes that humans are afraid of helping humans. There’s less risk associated with animals, less fear of failure, fear of getting too involved. In war movies, a thousand soldiers can die gruesomely, but when the horse is shot, the audience is heartbroken. It’s the My Dog Skip effect. The Homeward Bound syndrome.”
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This collection of fiction and nonfiction essays is just boiling over with earnestness. The writing is good, but the main thing I took away from it was the tragedy of the potential. The author was so talented! She was a Harvard grad who died in a car wreck just days after graduation. Regardless of the disaster that cut her life short, the book was hard to put down. Her voice is immature, but that’s perfectly fitting for her age. One essay focused on her mother’s tireless work to make sure her food options didn’t set off the symptoms of her disease. It’s written in a way that makes you ache for the unappreciated Mom. Another piece is about a girl whose boyfriend dies, but it’s his ex-girlfriend who really feels the loss. None of these brief summaries do the stories justice, but they just emphasize that the author had the skill to make just about any topic feel personal. BOTTOM LINE: The situations are mainly ones a young generation will relate to, but the writing pulls you in and connects you quickly no matter what age you are. I wish we would have had the chance to see how she would have matured as a writer.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It is like the first lines from Marina’s poem Bygones: “Do you wanna leave soon?''No, I want enough time to be in love with everything. And I cry because everything is so beautiful and so short.” The world did not have enough time with Marina Keegan. She was killed in a car accident days after graduating from Yale. The introduction of the book is her essay “The opposite of Loneliness.” A universal, powerful piece that shouted to millions of young people and their parents - life is long and this is just the beginning. The book includes essays, short stories and lines from her poems. Hopefully, the published edition includes the full poems (I had a NetGalley proof). I found wonderful combinations of artful characterization and insightful descriptions of human relationships in the short stories. The essays are probably my favorites. They include a blend of deeply personal stories that matter. Really, she made reading about a life with celiac disease a good thing. Grandmas car- well you were there. I wish Marina was here to spin stories and share her life as it unfolded. I miss her. We owe it to ourselves to read, savor and read again the stories and essays she left us.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Stunning book of fiction and non-fiction from a talented writer who died too soon.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This book is outstanding. I laughed and I cried. It was stunning and beautifully written. I highly recommend this book!!!

    2 people found this helpful

  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Maybe my expectations were too high. But reading the praise heaped upon Marina Keegan, it seemed reasonable that her writing would inspire or at least leave a strong impression. The first 2 pieces ("Cold Pastoral" and "Winter Break") in this collection seemed to confirm that feeling. But that was it.

    I do feel that she had a number of interesting ideas that floated in stories beyond those two that might have been explored better as she grew. And given the fact that she was only 22, the selection was obviously rather limited. But most of her fiction left me scrambling to find real meaning; and the nonfiction just felt like the product of a very privileged lifestyle. That probably comes across as harsher than I intend it, but as I got closer to the end of this collection I couldn't help but feel that if she had not been a pretty girl from a wealthy Boston suburb who went to private school and then Yale we would not have heard of her.

    To echo another reviewer, her writing seems no better than mine at that age in spite of her opportunities. Even her viral essay, "The Opposite of Lonelines," had an excellent topic yet came across as sounding like any other high school graduation speech I've heard or read.

    Her death was a tragedy. And perhaps those first stories were more indicative of where she would have gone. However this collection still, ultimately, feels forgettable.

    1 person found this helpful

Book preview

The Opposite of Loneliness - Marina Keegan

FICTION

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The middle of the universe is tonight, is here,

And everything behind is a sunk cost.

—Marina Keegan, from the poem Bygones

Cold Pastoral

We were in the stage where we couldn’t make serious eye contact for fear of implying we were too invested. We used euphemisms like I miss you and I like you and smiled every time our noses got too close. I was staying over at his place two or three nights a week and met his parents at an awkward brunch in Burlington. A lot of time was spent being consciously romantic: making sushi, walking places, waiting too long before responding to texts. I fluctuated between adding songs to his playlist and wondering if I should stop hooking up with people I was 80 percent into and finally spend some time alone. (Read the books I was embarrassed I hadn’t read.) (Call my mother.) The thing is, I like being liked, and a lot of my friends had graduated and moved to cities. I’d thought about ending things but my roommate Charlotte advised me against it. Brian was handsome and smoked the same amount as me, and sometimes in the mornings, I’d wake up and smile first thing because he made me feel safe.

In March, he died. I was microwaving instant Thai soup when I got a call from his best friend asking if I knew which hospital he was at.

Who? I said.

Brian, he said. You haven’t heard?

* * *

I was in a seminar my senior year where we read poems by John Keats. He has this famous one called Ode on a Grecian Urn where these two lovers are almost kissing, frozen with their faces cocked beneath a tree. The tragedy, the professor said, is in eternal stasis. She never fades, they never kiss; but I remember finding the whole thing vaguely romantic. My ideal, after all, was always before we walked home—and ironically, I had that now.

* * *

I watched as the microwave droned in lopsided circles, but I never took the soup out. Someone else must have. Charlotte, perhaps, or one of my friends who came over in groups, offering food in imitation of an adult response and trying to decipher my commitment. I was trying too. I’d made out with a guy named Otto when I was back in Austin over Christmas, and Brian and I had never quite stopped playing games. We were involved, of course, but not associated.

What’s the deal? people would shout over the music when he’d gone to get a drink and I’d explain that there was no deal to explain.

We’re hanging out, I’d say, smiling. We like hanging out.

I think we took a certain pride in our ambiguity. As if the tribulations of it all were somehow beneath us. Secretly, of course, the pauses in our correspondence were as calculated as our casualness—and we’d wait for those drunken moments when we might admit a Hey, pause, I like you.

Are you okay? they asked now. Whispering, almost, as if I were fragile. We sat around that first night sipping singular drinks, a friend turning on a song and then stopping it. I wish I could say I was shocked into a state of inarticulate confusion, but I found myself remarkably capable of answering questions.

They weren’t dating, Sarah whispered to Sam, and I gave a soft smile so they knew it was okay that I’d heard.

But it became clear very quickly that I’d underestimated how much I liked him. Not him, perhaps, but the fact that I had someone on the other end of an invisible line. Someone to update and get updates from, to inform of a comic discovery, to imagine while dancing in a lonely basement, and to return to, finally, when the music stopped. Brian’s death was the clearest and most horrifying example of my terrific obsession with the unattainable. Alive, his biggest flaw was most likely that he liked me. Dead, his perfections were clearer.

But I’m not being fair. The fact of the matter is I felt a strange but recognizable hole that grew just behind my lungs. There was a person whose eyes and neck and penis I had kissed the night before and this person no longer existed. The second cliché was that I couldn’t quite encompass it. Regardless, I surprised myself that night by crying alone once my friends had left, my face pressed hard against my pillow.

* * *

The first time I saw Lauren Cleaver, she was playing ukulele and singing in a basement lit by strings of plastic red peppers. I remember making two observations during the twenty minutes my friends and I hung around the concert and sipped beers: one, that I wanted her outfit (floral overall shorts and a canvas jacket), and two, that she was skinnier than me, a quality that made her instantly less likable. She was pretty, apart from a very large nose, and I’d seen her around campus, riding her bike along Pear Street or smoking cigarettes outside the library. She had the rare combination of being quiet and popular, a code that made her intimidating to younger, fashionable girls and mysterious to older, confident boys. We moved in different circles and I hardly thought about her again until the morning after I first kissed Brian, whom she had dated intensely and inseparably for two years and nine months.

I’d never had to deal with an ex-girlfriend before and I didn’t like it. Adam and I were each other’s firsts and I’d only had month-long things since the two of us broke up. One thing I am is self-aware (to a neurotic fault), and I recognize that a massive percentage of my self-esteem depends on the attention of a series of smug boys at the University of Vermont. The problem is I’m good at attracting them: verbally witty and successful at sending texts. I’m also well dressed, or try to be, and make fun of boys in the way that reads as I like you. Perhaps it’s not a problem so much as a crutch, but I have this pathetic fantasy that I’d be more productive if I were less attractive. Finally finish some paintings or apply for funding of some kind. The point is that Lauren Cleaver and I were not friends because Lauren Cleaver and I had all this in common. This, and Brian.

* * *

His parents arrived the morning after the accident, and his roommates e-mailed a few people they thought might want to stop by. I wanted to go, and felt like I had to go, so I put on a pair of black jeans and a black sweater and asked Charlotte if I could borrow her black boots.

They don’t fit you, she said. And besides, you don’t need to have black shoes.

I wasn’t sure. And felt guilty for pondering my red ballet flats as I walked the seven-minute walk to his house. I figured I wasn’t supposed to be capable of that kind of thinking, and I felt like an alien. I feel that a lot, actually, in a lot of circumstances. Like I ought to be feeling something I don’t. My father used to tease me at the table by implying cold Claire had brought in the draft. I had three older sisters, all beautiful, and I was always less affected than they were, slower to smile. I remember finding it extremely hard to open presents as a child because the requisite theatricality was too exhausting. My sisters forever humiliated me over a moment in fifth grade when I’d opened a present from my grandmother and declared, straight-faced, I already have this.

It was cold for March, so I walked quickly. Brown snow still hugged the sides of our streets and the pines leaned in like gray walls, still limp with yellow Christmas lights. Whenever I slept at Brian’s, I called him as soon as I passed this certain stop sign—timing his arrival at the door so I wouldn’t have to wait. I’m here, I’d say, a block away, and he’d meander downstairs to let me in. This time, I knocked.

William let me in. Roommate and rich boy from Los Angeles. We were never friends, really, just occasional cohabiters, but we awkwardly hugged and he asked me how I was.

Fine, I said instinctively. But he understood that I wasn’t.

We walked upstairs and I felt immediately like I shouldn’t have been there. It was smaller than I’d imagined: Brian’s parents, two adults I didn’t recognize, and five or six of his closest friends. They huddled together in the corner next to a plate of bagels and an untouched platter of fruit. His mother was actually sobbing into the side of one of the women and I felt suddenly and extremely claustrophobic. The whole world was stark and bleak and I realized I couldn’t think of a single thing I was looking forward to. Brian had begun to be that for me—the thing at the end of the day I could think about when everything else was boring. I looked through the open door to his room and saw that his bed was still unmade.

This is Claire, William said. Tactful enough to stop before attempting to label my relationship. I held up a palm to the room and I wondered if anyone else had needed to be introduced.

Claire, his father said. It’s good to see you. He sounded genuine.

We’d gotten along at that brunch, though the whole thing was kind of an accident. Brian and I had slept late and when his parents arrived at his house at eleven o’clock, I was still in his bed, naked. I got dressed quickly—embarrassed to put on my heels from the night before—and was invited by default to eat eggs at Mirabelles. We laughed about it later.

Good thing you weren’t some one-night stand. He bit at my ear.

Good thing, I said, and punched him.

* * *

Brian’s dad gestured toward the untouched food but I said I was fine and moved over to the circle of his friends. I could tell at least one of them, Susannah, didn’t want me there. You don’t know him, I’m sure she was thinking. We don’t know you.

Apparently, they’d all been together at the hospital on Tuesday night and they were sharing stories in hushed voices about how and when they found out and waited, how and when the congenital aneurysm took place. I wanted to ask exactly how it all worked, how it all happened, but I couldn’t really engage. I kept looking into Brian’s room at the lump of a comforter piled on his sheetless bed, at the light spilling in from his window, speckling its folds, and decided it was the saddest thing I’d ever seen.

* * *

When Lauren Cleaver walked down from upstairs, everyone turned. Her face was swollen and red and she was breathing in staccato bursts. She must have gone upstairs to collect herself. To calm down, stop crying. There was an older boy with her whom I recognized from pictures as Brian’s brother. He was holding her by the shoulders and saying something into her ear. My mind raced, imagining the dinners she must have had at his family’s table. The trips she might have taken with them, the grandparents she must have met. She’d have watched movies at his real house clad in sweatpants and sweaters. Spent time with his brother, his mother, met his dog, his uncles, his high school friends.

Lauren looked thin and beautiful as she walked down the stairs and I realized that of course I wasn’t the girlfriend. I can’t explain how or why, but it filled me with a profound, seething anger . . . followed, inevitably, by waves of a familiar self-disgust. Brian was mine, I wanted to cry. My nose he’d kissed on Friday, my shirt he’d slipped his hand inside. The last time he’d kissed Lauren was in June and I knew they no longer talked. I imagined for a moment what he would have been like if Lauren died—if he would have romanticized their relationship and lamented the loss of their potential reunion. But it didn’t really seem like she was engaged in rationalization, just that she loved him a lot. Or

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