The book, which is a collection of previously titled essays, was inspired by an article that Roiphe wrote for The New York Times on Mad Men. It's an interesting read about the phenomenon that is the AMC series, about Roiphe's mother, and about the pursuit of happiness. In reading it, I was struck by the closing passage:
In the 17th century, the metaphysical poet Andrew Marvell wrote, "But at my back I always hear/ Time's winged chariot hurrying near." He also wrote: "The grave's a fine and private place,/ But none, I think, do there embrace." Mad Men seems to be telling us the same thing, in its own stylish, made-for-television way: we are bequeathed on earth one very short life, and it might be good, one of these days, to make sure that we are living it.
Could we use, in other words, in these fine healthy times, just a little of the madness?
My grandmother died this past week. She was 94 years old, and this summer would have been her 71st wedding anniversary to my grandfather. The next day I had to go to New York City for a conference. Before we left, my colleagues/friends and I stopped to take a picture of ourselves at the Don Draper bench near the Time Life building. When I got home, I walked up the stairs, past this fabulous photo of my grandparents, read this chapter in Roiphe's book, and went to sleep.
To me, that's more than a little madness.
Keep sweeping,
Martha
Finished reading Dept. of Speculation by Jenny Offill.
