When I first heard of Siblings Day (April 10), I suspected it was something that had been fabricated by the greeting card industry, but I was wrong. Instead, this unofficial holiday was born transforming loss into tribute. After Claudia Evart’s sister and brother died in separate accidents, the New York resident created the Siblings Day Foundation to help honor, recognize and celebrate the special bond that brothers and sisters share. Considering that in popular lingo, sibling is often followed by rivalry, it is rather nice to have a different take on the subject.
The intricate complexities of fraternal relationships are found in a host of stories, some as old as time (i.e. Cain & Able.) As much as a tale may not be “about” brothers or sisters per se, the essence of its narrative may hinge on that interplay, like the classic “Little Women” with the four March sisters, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.
Growing up as the younger sister in a home with two children, I sometimes invented alternate scenarios: having a brother; having a little sister (one that I could boss around or baby); being in the middle of a whole passel of kids; or when my sister and I fought like wolverines, I sometimes wondered what life would be like as an only child. Despite these fantasies, I never envisioned what it might be like to live physically, inseparably, attached to another person—then I read “The Girls.”
Early in the story, we get a vivid physical image of 29-year-old Rose and Ruby Darlen:
“Raise your right hand. Press the base of your palm to the lobe of your right ear. Cover your ear and fan out your fingers—that’s where my sister and I are affixed, our faces not quite side by side, our skulls fused together in a circular pattern running up the temple and curving around the front lobe. If you glance at us, you might think we’re two women embracing, leaning against the other tête-à-tête, the way sisters do.”
They share a physical union but their distinct personalities are evident as they tell their respective stories in alternating voices that read almost like a gentle rocking motion.
In the small Canadian town where Rose and Ruby are simply referred to as “The Girls,” some people are cruel and others are kind, some repulsed and others not.
This premise of this compelling story is the extraordinary life of co-joined twins yet it is also about the ordinary, special bond that sibling derive from competition and collaboration, confessions and secrets, loving and sometimes loathing. In Rose’s words, “I love my sister as I love myself. I hate her that way too.”
In the powerful novel, “I Know This Much is True,” brothers are the central cast. The story is told by Dominick, whose twin, Thomas, is schizophrenic and the kinder of the two. Dominick, the more acerbic—a chip on his shoulder, exasperated and bitter in his responsibility for his brother, and afraid of what it means to be Thomas’ twin.
“When you are the sane brother of a schizophrenic identical twin, the tricky thing about saving yourself is the blood it leaves on your hands—the little inconvenience of the look-alike corpse at your feet. And if you’re into both survival of the fittest and being your brother’s keeper—if you’ve promised your dying mother—then say so long to sleep and hello to the middle of the night. Grab a book or a beer. Get used to Letterman’s gap-toothed smile of the absurd, or the view of the bedroom ceiling, or the indifference of random selection. Take it from a godless insomniac. Take it from the uncrazy twin—the guy who beat the biochemical rap.”
Author Wally Lamb is a master of writing stories that confront serious mental illnesses. His characters, like Thomas, are not caricatures, but seem real-to-life. When he writes of psychoses, it is text-book classic but with a heart and a soul. He doesn’t sugarcoat what life can be like for someone living with a mental illness, nor does he vilify it. His writing is honest and sometimes raw, but within that authenticity, he helps us to understand and to empathize with individuals who are mentally ill and with those who love them.
Like many of my favorite books, “I Know This Much Is True” is one that my sister recommended when I read it a few years ago. Don’t be daunted by its heft, you’ll be hooked by the first page.
Despite my occasional OC fantasies, my sister was (and still is) my reading hero. When we were young, she hauled home armloads of books from the library and seemed to be forever immersed in one of them. I borrowed her books just like I borrowed her clothes (sometimes I borrowed her clothes when she wasn’t looking, but that’s a discussion for another time). I read what she read, which propelled me beyond girl sleuth Nancy Drew and into novels like “Andromeda Strain” a lot earlier than I would have ventured on my own. Essentially, she paved the way for my future literary addiction. And lest I now get too schmaltzy, I’ll just say that for that—and for much, much more—I am forever grateful.
Or as better put in the beautiful photo-essay book, “Sisters,” “As life’s experiences unites sisters—whether to cope with crisis or to celebrate a milestone, whether to lean on or to laugh with—what we observed over and over was a deepening appreciate of their good fortune to have each other for sharing and support.”
P.S. I’m really glad we survived the wolverine stage.
Happy Sibling’s Day
Other recommendations from readers:
- Cutting for Stone (Abraham Verghese)
- My Sister’s Keeper (Jodi Picoult)
- The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
- The Prince of Tides (Pat Conroy)
- The Tie that Binds (Kent Haruf)
- Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West (Gregory Maguire)