Anne Lamott's New Book Offers Reasons To Hope In These 'Cruel Times'

Maybe you thought 2021 would be the year you could unclench a little bit from the election, the pandemic, riots and wildfires. Then came the Captiol insurrection, the weird winter storm in Texas and COVID-19 variants. Writer Anne Lamott’s latest book is meant as an antidote to dread and exhaustion. It's called “ Dusk, Night, Dawn: On Revival and Courage,” and she spoke with ideastream Morning Edition host Amy Eddings about it from her home in Northern California.

The subtitle of “Dusk, Night Dawn” is “On Revival and Courage,” but I think you could have subtitled it "On Marriage and Aging," because your marriage, in the spring of 2019 at age 65, to Neal Allen, features prominently in the book. It's your first marriage, his third. So, I have to ask: why get married now?

I know, right? I keep asking myself. Yeah, so we got married two years ago. I think we've been together nearly five now. And I don't know why I got married. 'Cuz he asked.

So how is marriage an act of revival and courage?

Well, certainly an act of courage. I really haven't seen all that many marriages in my life that I would agree to be a part of, and my parents had a really terrible marriage. But the revival has been really not marriage-specific at all. The reason I got into this book on revival was because the last book was on, the subtitle was “Thoughts on Hope.” Although the book was originally called “Doomed: Thoughts on Hope.” But when I was touring for the Hope book, there was the U.N. climate change papers, which were just so excruciating and terrifying, like “will our grandchildren be wearing gas masks” terrifying. And then Australia was on fire, remember? There was a whole continent on fire. And then California was on fire, where I live. And so I thought, well, where do we even start to get our confidence and our faith back and our joy in living? And so, usually what I do when I have a question like that is, I just write a book.

You mention our very bitter political divisions. And you gently, but explicitly, say that Donald Trump’s presidency was “not ideal for old lefty me” and it “constantly threatened to sink my spirit.” Were you afraid of alienating readers who may be fans of the former president?

Well, I'm very, very close to two archconservatives – my older brother’s a fundamentalist and voted for [former President George W.] Bush twice – and they had even gotten to the point where they were scared of what he was saying and doing. But there's very, very, very little about Donald Trump specifically in this book. It's really more about the fact that this country has been torn asunder. And where do we start, where do we start healing it? Where do we start having the conversations about all that we have in common? Where do we start? Well, you start where you are, you start where your butt is, you start where your feet are. You push back your sleeves and you take a long, quavering breath and you take the next right action. You do one thing that is maybe helpful to people that are not doing so well that day. 

There's a passage I’d like you to read from, in which you take children from your Sunday school class to a littered beach to teach them how to live with sin.

Okay, so let me read you this:

Mark had recommended that we bring back some of the garbage, Bring in the ugly and the sad, along with sand and shells. So we brought in some trash and some treasures. Then, this being Sunday school and not biology, we laid it all beneath the arms of the cross, because then it is held; it became part of the bigger story, the bigger reality. Not just the crud from one section of one ruined beach, but a variety of things from what was now a cleaner beach, a beach loved and held by caring people, kids who care. You admit that the ugly and repulsive and sad do exist, and they are happening, but we don't have to believe it is us, and run away from it, from the cross, from the beach, from our own crooked hearts. This is how we live with sin, sickness, and a world on fire.

I love that, and I love that it is also in a chapter that is about getting over old resentments and forgiving people. How does a beach or being outside in nature act as an aid to that?

The whole book touches on forgiveness because I really think it’s the hardest work to do, including the self-forgiveness. But to go outside means you hook into something so much bigger than your own rattled little mind and your own sense of justice and vindication and blame, which are sort of my default spots that I land on if I’m alone in myself for too long. You look up and you go, “Wow!” and then you want to get everybody else to come outside and look with you. And then you have union. And then you have amazement.

So, Anne Lamott, what makes you hopeful?

You know, I’ve been talking to all these different cities today, because I’m doing a tour from my bedroom. And so many of these cities were just, like, I had two talks with Texas today, and they were just pummeled, pummeled by the weather and the power outages. And many, many people died, and many more went hungry and got sick as a result of deprivation. And yet, they can look at the public response. 

You know, I always love what Mr. Rogers’ mother told him whenever there was a tragedy and he would feel really scared that God wasn’t in charge. She’d say, “Look to the helpers.” If I just look to the people who pour in with their resources and their time and their listening ears and their gentle hearts, in every catastrophe, whether it’s a state on fire or freezing to death or whether it’s a friend’s son who’s dying, it breaks my heart in the best possible way. You know, like what Carly Simon said, “there's more room in a broken heart.” And that's why we're here. That's why we're here.