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A review by dtpsweeney
Jane: A Murder by Maggie Nelson
4.0
“Jane” is Maggie Nelson’s attempt to piece together the short life and murder of her aunt, Jane, whose life was stolen by a serial killer in Michigan in the late 1960s. Stylistically, it is an unusual book, a gesture of a book: a collage of fragments of journal entries, poems, short prose, news clippings. It is an assemblage of small and scattered pieces. It is a tribute.
Frankly, I found this book to be viscerally upsetting. Early on I was surprisingly mortified by Nelson’s effort to bring her aunt’s life to the page when her family had worked so hard to let her painful memory rest. I was discomforted because I felt intrusive, particularly when reading excerpts of Jane’s surviving “private! (underlined twice)” diaries. Writing like this — which crosses boundaries of authorial intent — always make me uncomfortable. But I suppose it’s not hard to imagine wanting to lean into the family history that is darkest, most secretive, most rippling beneath the surface. I never became completely comfortable with the premise, but in the same way as it is intrusive of me to read, it is no less intrusive of me to presume how Nelson should grieve, or write. And, it says something about me that I kept reading through all of this.
This book filled me with dread, horror, and nausea while reading about the (graphically described, which is to say, plainly stated) brutality of Jane’s murder and the searing impact it has on her family for decades to come. Much of this book is excruciating to read. Though it is short, I had to put it down and walk away from it several times during the reading.
Overall, I think that this is a book that honors both truth and feeling, which is no small accomplishment. It is painful and full of love. It successfully adapts an unusual, fragmentary format to suit a story that is itself a patchwork filled with silences, unknowns, and unknowables. Though this read made me uncomfortable, I can’t deny the skill and soulful artistry with which it was made. My admiration for Nelson grows every time I read something new by her, and the haunting heartfelt hurtful “Jane” is no exception. Nelson writes like nobody else.
Frankly, I found this book to be viscerally upsetting. Early on I was surprisingly mortified by Nelson’s effort to bring her aunt’s life to the page when her family had worked so hard to let her painful memory rest. I was discomforted because I felt intrusive, particularly when reading excerpts of Jane’s surviving “private! (underlined twice)” diaries. Writing like this — which crosses boundaries of authorial intent — always make me uncomfortable. But I suppose it’s not hard to imagine wanting to lean into the family history that is darkest, most secretive, most rippling beneath the surface. I never became completely comfortable with the premise, but in the same way as it is intrusive of me to read, it is no less intrusive of me to presume how Nelson should grieve, or write. And, it says something about me that I kept reading through all of this.
This book filled me with dread, horror, and nausea while reading about the (graphically described, which is to say, plainly stated) brutality of Jane’s murder and the searing impact it has on her family for decades to come. Much of this book is excruciating to read. Though it is short, I had to put it down and walk away from it several times during the reading.
Overall, I think that this is a book that honors both truth and feeling, which is no small accomplishment. It is painful and full of love. It successfully adapts an unusual, fragmentary format to suit a story that is itself a patchwork filled with silences, unknowns, and unknowables. Though this read made me uncomfortable, I can’t deny the skill and soulful artistry with which it was made. My admiration for Nelson grows every time I read something new by her, and the haunting heartfelt hurtful “Jane” is no exception. Nelson writes like nobody else.