“This was freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.” Pg. 22
Once we have nothing to work forward to, we can do whatever we want. Sever the ties of responsibility and future plans, and we can feel fully alive and present in the moment. This notion is significant to the themes of the book, as it accurately portrays the narrators obsession with death and his desire to find the sublime in the end of existence. However, I see faults in this notion, because the narrator is constantly surrounded by death in his work, yet finds no solace there. He is able to fall into little moments of death every evening when he has cried his heart out with those who face death’s inevitability. But he is alive, and he knows he will remain alive much longer than any around him; he is “the little warm center that the life of the world crowded around.” I feel that him deriving pleasure and peace from comparison with the near-to-dead is not exactly hypocritical, but it is confusing. I guess by contrast he can feel grateful for his own life. But why do the actual dead not provide him, and Marla for that matter, with the same comfort? Why is it that the weeping Bob is so much more impactful than the crisped bodies of the cars he examines? Why do the empty corpses in caskets of funeral not make an impression, but the “real experience” of people who are going to die do? These people are still alive and suffering, they are not dead. But the author equates the experience to perceiving the true nature of oblivion, the end. On top of that, when another death-obsessed faker comes into the picture, the narrator can no longer get the sick pleasure of dying people; he now views what should be the oh-so-sweet end of the fragile Chloe as a non-event, and again he cannot sleep. I cannot look past the inconsistencies in the death and dying notion to truly understand what is being gained by the fake loss of hope.