Writers on... Death (A Book of Quotes, Poems and Literary Reflections). Amelia Carruthers

What can one say about death? It is the only certainly yet also the ultimate unknown. There can be no 'experts' on death, for after all, there is simply nothing to know. Doctors, undertakers, priests and authors, may know much about the build up, the act of dying, and the aftermath for those left behind, but when it comes to 'death' itself, they are just as blind as the rest of us. As the saying goes, 'death is the great leveller' – and nowhere is this better expressed than in the world of literature.

Due to its universal (yet also, inherently subjective) nature, the subject of death has appealed to many great authors. 'Death' can be approached in many different ways (literally as well as metaphorically!), and some writers provide highly personalised, emotional accounts of the deaths of close relatives, friends and fictional characters – whilst others merely use death as a means to strengthen narrative, as a symbolic device, or to provide meaning. As John Webster's Duchess of Malfi stated, 'death hath ten thousand several doors for men to take their exits; and 'tis found they go on such strange geometrical hinges, you may open them both ways!' Whatever the author's motivations, there is an

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unavoidable gravitas associated with death, and when expressed in literature, it provides a fascinating window into human conventions and society.

Although it may seem morbid and depressing, writing about death is not really about death at all – it is about life. It focuses the mind on what we expect from our short-run of mortality, how we cope with loss and empathise with pain, and how we understand this most essential of fates. The most striking aspect of literary depictions of death, is the ability to 'bring to life' (as it were), an essentially empty concept. We all know what death means, or at least, what it signifies to the living – but having no knowledge of the entity involved, it can only be depicted metaphorically. Death has been varyingly described as a deep sleep, an awakening, a climax, a void, a door, a gift, a wall, a judgement or merely as 'the end.' This lack of direct knowledge leads to some interesting conclusions however. If we can only see death happening to other people, and death – to one's self, means the end of your 'future', then one can never experience death. As close as one gets to death, it will recede out into the distance – death, in itself, can never happen to you. It can only happen to other people, and can only be approached from the perspective of the living. As Epicurus once wrote:

Why should I fear death? If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not.Why should I fear that which cannot exist when I do?

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In this simple point, a triumph over death is evidenced. Death, as soon as it is realised, destroys itself. John Donne's Divine Meditations expressed this idea in all its poetic brilliance, in one of the best known sonnets on fatality, 'Death, Be Not Proud':

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Despite the appeal of the arguments above, for anyone who has directly experienced the death of a loved one, 'triumph' is an emotion diametrically opposed to the unavoidable sense of loss, suffering and emptiness. The process of grief and bereavement is an integral part of writing about death, and the profundity of great literary deaths; King Lear's lamentation over his daughter Cordelia, Anna Karenina's shockingly brief suicide, or Emma Bovary's appallingly long demise, help the reader structure their own thoughts on love, life and loss. For Shakespeare's King Lear, there is an element of delusion, of an unwillingness to believe in the death of his beloved child; 'No, no, no Life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all?' As evidenced in the work of John Donne, death is nothing if not a paradox. Cordelia's actions (refusing to express her love for her father), showed that true feelings lay too deep for words – yet often words are all we have. This is where great literature and

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great writers can help us, providing a voice for emotions otherwise inexpressible. Take Mark Twain's simple elegy to his daughter (who died from meningitis at the age of twenty-four) as an example:

Love came at eve, and when the day was done,When heart and brain were tired, and slumber

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