Massive People
Unto Us, These States of Grace: A Love Letter to Sugar
When I was younger, I used to read Dear Abby and Ask Ann Landers. Those advice columns offered brief glimpses into the troubled lives of others. Sometimes, the columns were lighthearted and humorous with advice on how to deal with inlaws or children who refused to move out at the age of 31. There were more serious columns that dealt with addiction, or the death of a loved one, or a crumbling marriage. The advice of Ann and Abby was always sage, albeit a bit tame. In a few sentences they applied down home wisdom and common sense but more than anything their advice felt like a brief reminder that we are not alone.
The Rumpus has a weekly advice column called Dear Sugar. I don’t know if you are familiar with this column. If you are not, you should be because it makes the strongest case for the advice column as something more than simply an advice column. Each week, the anonymous Sugar doles out generous, soulful, truly stunning advice in the form of richly woven narratives that draw from her (or his?) life, and her experiences and her observations of how the world turns. From week to week, Dear Sugar shows us beautifully, painfully, perfectly, that we are not alone. Shortly after her column is posted each week, there is a frenzy of activity on Twitter, extolling the virtues of her most recent column. Readers share how they’ve cried or laughed or felt a profound shift in their understanding of life as we live it. The attention is well-deserved. Not a week goes by when I don’t want to write her an effusive thank you letter, some kind of exultation for how highly I think of her writing, her words, her wisdom and wit.
Sugar, whomever she is, one of the best writers I’ve read as of late. Each time I read her writing, I think of Creative Nonfiction’s recent call for narrative blog posts that embody the qualities we generally attribute to literature. I am always moved when I read Dear Sugar. My eyes are opened. My heart is shattered. It is very easy, when reading online, to skim, to rush through, to not linger, to not let the words sink in. These things are not possible when reading Dear Sugar. Her words grab you and invade and overwhelm. Her words rise and become a fine, fine example of literature.
In Dear Sugar #39, someone wrote, “Dear Sugar, WTF, WTF, WTF? I’m asking this question as it applies to everything every day,” and Sugar took that question, that nothing of a question and wrote a response that was a beautiful story, that was literature, that was breathtaking. Every single word in every line was pushing forward, reaching for a state of grace, finding that state of grace, offering it to us. In her response, she wrote of her terrible relationship with her grandfather and her father and how the people in her lives have always died ugly deaths.
The bird’s suffering would’ve been unbearable at any time, but it was particularly unbearable at that moment in my life because my mother had just died. Her death was ugly. She was only forty-five. And because she was dead I was pretty much dead too. I was dead but alive. And I had a baby bird in my palms that was dead but alive as well.
Those words are simple but when you read them with all the words surrounding them, you cannot help, or at least, I cannot help but feel something. Each week, I wonder what Sugar will have to say. I wonder how she will reach out to the damaged souls who write her needing to hear they are not alone, needing to be seen and understood and cared for. No matter what the question is, Sugar finds away to offer wisdom and counsel that is fierce, resonant, and empathic. No question is treated as silly or ridiculous. No problem is dismissed. It cannot be easy to read the problems of others, to immerse yourself in their worries and lives week after week but Sugar doesn’t let the difficulty of her task show. She doesn’t position herself as an expert. Instead, she offers her advice as a wise friend with a lush vocabulary and a big, beating heart.
Last week, a young man asked Sugar for some advice on how to get laid. Many columnists would have approached the question snarkily. The boy was 22 and said he had everything figured out except for lust and love. The sarcastic responses practically write themselves but Sugar, she took this young guy with all his angst and his very real concerns, and she held them in the palm of her hand.
Just stop thinking about it and do it. Thinking about it too much seems to be a pattern in your life, a cocoon of doubt and trepidation that you’ve woven from your anxieties and sorrows. It’s a pattern I see you clinging to even now, as you simultaneously overly-analyze your dating options while claiming that you’d like to “just finally get laid.” Break the pattern, hon. It isn’t serving you any more.
I could write about the brilliance of each and every Dear Sugar column but I will leave you with yesterday’s devastating column that I insist you read. I won’t bother to excerpt it because I would simply reprint the column in its entirety. What Sugar wrote was a crescendo that spoke to the terrible beauty of life and how ultimately, what we have to do is endure the horrible things that happen to us because there is no other way forward but through. She says other amazing things but at the heart of yesterday’s column is a truth that is uncomfortable and difficult to bear but ultimately it is the reminder, again, that we are not alone. There is a lot of great writing online that embodies the qualities we hold dearest when we talk about literature, the qualities that reach for states of grace. Do not overlook Dear Sugar as one of the finest examples.
Tags: Ann Landers, Dear Abby, Dear Sugar, The Rumpus
Yes, I love her brutal sincerity. Sugar should be syndicated and make tons of money.
I like how in earnest this post is as we are living in an era where earnestness is seen from a post-postmodern vantage point as kowtowing to an antiquated Enlightenment Value doxastic attitude which provoked Horkheimer to write The Eclipse of Reason and all that. I guess, in short, I’m happy that it’s still O.K. to cry when there are baby birds nearby.
Wow. I’ve never read her but I’m going to start doing so immediately. That last column burned my retinas out.
Absolutely 100% sold. Finally, a Dan Savage for everything else.
Incredible writing. I’d dismissed the first couple Sugar columns. Glad I gave it a second chance. Thanks for recommending, Roxane. This one floored me.
I have this problem…I eat a coffee every morning and then I go for a walk and then I go swimming and then I eat a taco and then I drink a beer in a beergarden and then I say hello to old ladies and then I walk by the schools and then I write Obama and then I read a scroll and then I say ho ho ho and then I say ho ho ho and then I go to the mall and then I buy some shit at the mall and then I think of my gf and then I eat a taco…what’s wrong with me????????????
The coworker/friend mentioned in my poem post was reading yesterday’s Sugar column earlier today, and she was moved to tears by it. Actual tears.
The New Sincerity.
I’m actually being sincere about the New Sincerity there.
Sugar is all about courage and kindness and honesty – and tackling the motherfucking shit out of life. It’s also some of the most moving writing I’ve ever read. Whoever she (or he) is has the power – like to no one else before – to move me to tears. Actually, I’m kind of afraid of Sugar. I guess, though, that sort of honesty can only come out of anonimity?
Sugar rocks hard. And in this case (yesterday’s column), she soars.
Compassion has its place in REAL LIFE.
Yes, I love her brutal sincerity. Sugar should be syndicated and make tons of money.
I like how in earnest this post is as we are living in an era where earnestness is seen from a post-postmodern vantage point as kowtowing to an antiquated Enlightenment Value doxastic attitude which provoked Horkheimer to write The Eclipse of Reason and all that. I guess, in short, I’m happy that it’s still O.K. to cry when there are baby birds nearby.
Wow. I’ve never read her but I’m going to start doing so immediately. That last column burned my retinas out.
Absolutely 100% sold. Finally, a Dan Savage for everything else.
Incredible writing. I’d dismissed the first couple Sugar columns. Glad I gave it a second chance. Thanks for recommending, Roxane. This one floored me.
I have this problem…I eat a coffee every morning and then I go for a walk and then I go swimming and then I eat a taco and then I drink a beer in a beergarden and then I say hello to old ladies and then I walk by the schools and then I write Obama and then I read a scroll and then I say ho ho ho and then I say ho ho ho and then I go to the mall and then I buy some shit at the mall and then I think of my gf and then I eat a taco…what’s wrong with me????????????
The coworker/friend mentioned in my poem post was reading yesterday’s Sugar column earlier today, and she was moved to tears by it. Actual tears.
The New Sincerity.
I’m actually being sincere about the New Sincerity there.
Sugar is all about courage and kindness and honesty – and tackling the motherfucking shit out of life. It’s also some of the most moving writing I’ve ever read. Whoever she (or he) is has the power – like to no one else before – to move me to tears. Actually, I’m kind of afraid of Sugar. I guess, though, that sort of honesty can only come out of anonimity?
Sugar rocks hard. And in this case (yesterday’s column), she soars.
Compassion has its place in REAL LIFE.
[…] HTMLGIANT / Unto Us, These States of Grace: A Love Letter to Sugar […]
Love Sugar so, so much.
The fat sow had a miscarriage, big deal. I’ve known girls who’ve had 4 abortions by their own decision! My girlfriend can’t even have kids (having nothing to do with being overweight but simply bad dna) and she isn’t laying in bed for months bemoaning her fate. Because she’s got to get up and go to work, and because she has perspective, and because she is not self obsessed. Shit, some people can’t even get laid in the first place! Just a hundred years ago miscarriages were far more common and also it was accepted that you would lose at least one child to disease or accident before they reached adulthood. Yet, people persisted, lived, managed to be happy and vital. Only spoiled brats can afford to mourn small biological inconveniences to the point of absurdity. I read that column and there is some sadness in her stories about the abused young girls, yes, I am sympathetic, but it was not that powerful, and I can think of a hundred more horrifying stories than the ones she told. Basically the poingnancy of this story is for left-wing, superior minded women of this modern American world.
I’m in Haiti. Yesterday I spent the day among a group of Haitians and Americans who were trying to help a woman avoid a stillbirth and possible death-in-childbirth in a one-room house. Sometime late in the day, the woman told the story of her first pregnancy, twin boys stillborn who would have been nineteen if they had survived. She wept for them, told us their names, told us stories about the lives she had imagined for them, and she said she thought about them every day. To her, these weren’t small biological inconveniences, anymore than they were to the person you’re mocking. Are you really this coldhearted a person?
I’m just saying that I’m sure your friend from Haiti didn’t spend months in bed about it. She wept and moved on. She didn’t expect celebrity and she didn’t whine about it. Also, in the big scheme of things I’m sure this woman could tell you, and us, stories that would turn our hair white, much more than a miscarriage, especially a miscarriage that was predicted.
You are unbelievable. You are just unbelievable. Suffering is suffering.
banning fixed.
[…] July 17, 2010 sengesong Leave a comment Go to comments More sincerity on the webs, at HTMLGIANT of all places….You can count on Roxanne Gay or Ryan Call to whip it […]
[…] nice enough guy in person, posted the exact same comment below that he posted on Roxane Gay’s HTMLGIANT “Sugar” post. I had my first blog-identity crisis when I wondered whether to approve said […]
Love Sugar so, so much.
The fat sow had a miscarriage, big deal. I’ve known girls who’ve had 4 abortions by their own decision! My girlfriend can’t even have kids (having nothing to do with being overweight but simply bad dna) and she isn’t laying in bed for months bemoaning her fate. Because she’s got to get up and go to work, and because she has perspective, and because she is not self obsessed. Shit, some people can’t even get laid in the first place! Just a hundred years ago miscarriages were far more common and also it was accepted that you would lose at least one child to disease or accident before they reached adulthood. Yet, people persisted, lived, managed to be happy and vital. Only spoiled brats can afford to mourn small biological inconveniences to the point of absurdity. I read that column and there is some sadness in her stories about the abused young girls, yes, I am sympathetic, but it was not that powerful, and I can think of a hundred more horrifying stories than the ones she told. Basically the poingnancy of this story is for left-wing, superior minded women of this modern American world.
I’m in Haiti. Yesterday I spent the day among a group of Haitians and Americans who were trying to help a woman avoid a stillbirth and possible death-in-childbirth in a one-room house. Sometime late in the day, the woman told the story of her first pregnancy, twin boys stillborn who would have been nineteen if they had survived. She wept for them, told us their names, told us stories about the lives she had imagined for them, and she said she thought about them every day. To her, these weren’t small biological inconveniences, anymore than they were to the person you’re mocking. Are you really this coldhearted a person?
I’m just saying that I’m sure your friend from Haiti didn’t spend months in bed about it. She wept and moved on. She didn’t expect celebrity and she didn’t whine about it. Also, in the big scheme of things I’m sure this woman could tell you, and us, stories that would turn our hair white, much more than a miscarriage, especially a miscarriage that was predicted.
You are unbelievable. You are just unbelievable. Suffering is suffering.
banning fixed.
Sugar is king. I mean queen.
Sugar is king. I mean queen.
Mather, did you even read the letter in its entirety? The writer says in the first paragraph that she “struggled to get out of bed,” but if you go beyond that it’s clear that she’s resumed her normal routine and even gone back to work. Her doctor didn’t warn her ahead of time her pregnancy was risky, but only mentioned it after the fact. Her struggle is an internal one, and while she may not have suffered anything horrific by your own standards, I’m not sure why human suffering needs to be a competition.
I currently work with people with disabilities, and if I wanted to, every time an able-bodied person complained to me about anything, I could say, “well, at least you can walk/talk/use a toilet/feed yourself/exist in the world without stigma as your constant companion” and dismiss them, but I don’t, mostly because that would make me a narrow-minded asshole, but also because everybody’s pain is justified if it feels real and hard for them and they are asking for help. People who have it relatively easy–and I’m not saying that the author of this letter is one of them–still encounter things they find challenging, and they shouldn’t be chastised for that just because you can one-up them in terms of hardships, or mere stories you’ve heard of other people’s hardships.
I clicked on your name to see who you are, and then skimmed a few of your poems. I read the one called “Hot Iron” about the woman who straightens her hair everyday because her dad told her that her curly hair was ugly, even though she hasn’t seen him in years. It’s thoughtful, and I’m not sure how a person who wrote that is also capable of writing such crude comments like the two above. But then again, maybe the poignancy of your poetry only comes across for a left-wing, superior minded woman of the modern American world such as myself.
Mather, did you even read the letter in its entirety? The writer says in the first paragraph that she “struggled to get out of bed,” but if you go beyond that it’s clear that she’s resumed her normal routine and even gone back to work. Her doctor didn’t warn her ahead of time her pregnancy was risky, but only mentioned it after the fact. Her struggle is an internal one, and while she may not have suffered anything horrific by your own standards, I’m not sure why human suffering needs to be a competition.
I currently work with people with disabilities, and if I wanted to, every time an able-bodied person complained to me about anything, I could say, “well, at least you can walk/talk/use a toilet/feed yourself/exist in the world without stigma as your constant companion” and dismiss them, but I don’t, mostly because that would make me a narrow-minded asshole, but also because everybody’s pain is justified if it feels real and hard for them and they are asking for help. People who have it relatively easy–and I’m not saying that the author of this letter is one of them–still encounter things they find challenging, and they shouldn’t be chastised for that just because you can one-up them in terms of hardships, or mere stories you’ve heard of other people’s hardships.
I clicked on your name to see who you are, and then skimmed a few of your poems. I read the one called “Hot Iron” about the woman who straightens her hair everyday because her dad told her that her curly hair was ugly, even though she hasn’t seen him in years. It’s thoughtful, and I’m not sure how a person who wrote that is also capable of writing such crude comments like the two above. But then again, maybe the poignancy of your poetry only comes across for a left-wing, superior minded woman of the modern American world such as myself.
Sugar slays me weekly. After reading her/his columns, I have a deeper understanding not only of our human flaws but perhaps more importantly of our considerable strengths. A call to arms for our hearts, souls and minds. “Life is hard. You are harder.” the columns say to me.
Thanks for the reminder, Sug.
I have to say, Mather, I think you are just about the hugest asshole I have encountered online, ever.
I don’t think Mather “Cotton” Schneider should be demonized… he should be chastened by the fact that Sugar’s response to that woman’s troubles was so much more well-written… more nuanced and composed with a finer ear for effective language. Demonizing Mather gives his words more power (as if they are a damaging spell) than they deserve or really have. Mather, you’ve written a couple of “C-” texts, up-thread. That diminishes all your material. A writer should be careful about *all* the words he/she releases for others to read, I think. Hold back the impulsively sloppy and embarrassing work.
Sugar is a serious writer.
I have to say, Mather, I think you are just about the hugest asshole I have encountered online, ever.
I don’t think Mather “Cotton” Schneider should be demonized… he should be chastened by the fact that Sugar’s response to that woman’s troubles was so much more well-written… more nuanced and composed with a finer ear for effective language. Demonizing Mather gives his words more power (as if they are a damaging spell) than they deserve or really have. Mather, you’ve written a couple of “C-” texts, up-thread. That diminishes all your material. A writer should be careful about *all* the words he/she releases for others to read, I think. Hold back the impulsively sloppy and embarrassing work.
Sugar is a serious writer.
[…] I second this open love letter to Dear Sugar. This entry was posted in Words. Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL. « Previous Post […]
Just discovered, Sugar, a bit late to the party, but cruising through the past posts, and really blown away by the emotion, the compassion. Sugar has increased my faith in the human race. Thanks, Sugar.
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