Notes on Wonder - Brian Doyle (1956-2017)
We’re only here for a minute. We’re here for a little window. And to use that time to cater and share shards of light and laughter and grace seems to me the greatest story. I want to write like I’m speaking to you. I would sing my books if I could.” - Brian Doyle
Catholic writer, husband, and father Brian Doyle died on May 27, 2017, at age sixty from brain cancer. He wrote a gospel of the ordinary human life. His final posthumous essay collection, One Long River of Song, holds eighty-one gems written over twenty years.
I arrived early on a Saturday morning in January in the Capital Hill neighborhood of Seattle for the first day of an all-weekend yoga teacher training on restorative yoga. The air was crisp and refreshing, carrying the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee from nearby cafes. The city's signature mist, common during Seattle mornings, gradually dispersed under the sun's gentle touch. It wove a dreamlike quality into the surroundings, turning ordinary streets into something magical.
I decided to walk down to one of my favorite bookstores. The scene around me was filled with tranquility and promise. The sidewalk was still relatively quiet, with a few early risers strolling. A cyclist glided past, their wheels whispering on the pavement. The historic white facade of Elliot Bay Book Co. came into view; nestled on the corner of 10th Avenue, the bookstore's exterior exuded an inviting charm, reflecting the promises of literary exploration within.
The storefront's large windows, adorned with colorful posters and book displays, were beginning to catch the sunlight, casting a playful dance of shadows onto the sidewalk. Birds perched on nearby trees sang a morning chorus, filling the air with a melodic backdrop. I heard birds sing in the morning to celebrate they survived the long night.
With a last glance at the potted plants and flower boxes adorning the street, I walked up a few steps and was welcomed by the soft creaking of the store’s wooden doors. The smell of paper and ink filled the air as I stepped inside. I took in the rows upon rows of books waiting to be discovered.
There is a table filled with new books, and a light blue cover with the photo of a spectacled, bearded man caught my eye. His arms are crossed, and he is not looking back at me directly but at some scene off to the side, out of view. The yellow subtitle “Notes on Wonder” caught my eye, and then the title, One Long River of Song. I wondered what is a river of song. Turning the book over, I saw a quote from Mary Oliver, “Doyle’s writing is driven by his passion for the human, touchable daily life and equally for the untouchable mystery of all else.”
I opened the book and stood there reading the opening three-page essay “Joyas Voladoras.” A few minutes later, tears ran down my cheeks. A customer looked at me with concern, and I shrugged my shoulders and pointed at the cover of Doyle’s book as an explanation. Doyle used a biological lens—hummingbird heart, blue whale heart, and human heart—to delve into the broader themes of life, love, and the transient nature of existence.
I bought the book that day, which has been a constant companion for the past four years. I have uncovered a few themes in his writing that resonate with and mirror my life: connection to the natural world, humor and wit, vivid imagination, spirituality and faith, and a sense of awe.
Connection to the Natural World
Nature is central to Doyle's writing. His deep connection to the natural world is evident in his essays, where he explores the intricacies of the environment, the cycles of life, and the delicate balance of ecosystems. Readers can pause and rekindle their connection to the natural world through his words. “Joyas Voladores” is a beautiful introduction to Doyle’s observational skills.
“Joyas voladoras, flying jewels, the first white explorers in the Americas called them, and the white men had never seen such creatures, for hummingbirds came into the world only in the Americas, nowhere else in the universe, more than three hundred species of them whirring and zooming and nectaring in hummer time zones nine times removed from ours, their hearts hammering faster than we could clearly hear if we pressed our elephantine ears to their infinitesimal chests.”
Outside the window of my study is a blueberry bush. It is November, and the bush’s leaves are red and yellow against the dark green of a pine tree’s needles. I still see the occasional hummingbird hover outside my window, wondering if she might find a last blueberry.
Humor and Wit
Doyle's essays are often laced with humor and wit. He had a knack for finding humor in the every day, making his writing not only thought-provoking but also genuinely entertaining. His humor serves as a reminder that even in the most serious aspects of life, there's room for laughter.
The half-page essay “First Kiss” tackles all the concerns you might have with a first kiss, especially if both parties wear glasses. We are right there with Brian, nervous and full of questions.
“Do you hold your breath? Do you aim for staggered breaths like in the pool? And who is in charge?”
I remember my first kiss at age five with Pauline sitting outside our kindergarten classroom and how that led to us riding the school bus home, sharing a seat, and holding hands. Before the kiss, we talked about enjoying our class and found ourselves looking into each other's eyes. I remember placing my hand behind her head and letting my fingers run through her long brown hair.
In “Irreconcilable Dissonance” he shares all the anecdotes he has collected on divorce from the news and people he knows.
“Another man I read about didn’t want to get divorced, he said, but when his wife kept insisting that they get divorced because she had fallen in love with another guy, he, the husband, finally agreed to get divorced, and soon after he found himself dating the other guy’s first wife; as the first guy said, who could invent such as story?”
A friend once told me the story of her brother getting divorced. The brother and his girlfriend had been dating for five years and finally moved in together upon getting married. One liked to squeeze the toothpaste tube from the middle and the other from the end. They were divorced two months later after a large, extravagant, and expensive wedding in the green Berkeley hills of Tilden Park overlooking the expansive blue of the San Francisco Bay and the iconic red of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Vivid Imagination
Brian Doyle had a remarkable ability to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. His essays are filled with everyday experiences, yet he transforms them into stories of immense significance.
Doyle captures a conversation with a former high school football player nicknamed The Hawk, who is now homeless. The two are sitting together over cups of coffee. The Hawk tells his story.
“The reporter from the paper came by, he said. She wanted to write a story about the failure of the American dream and the collapse of the social contract, and she was just melting to use football as a metaphor for something or other, and I know she was just trying to do her job, but I kept telling her things that didn’t fit what she wanted, like that people came by and leave me cookies and sandwiches, and the kids who play lacrosse at night set up a screen so my tent won’t get peppered by stray shots, and the cops drift by a night to make sure non one’s giving me grief.”
I remember stepping off the bus in the Fremont district of Seattle, thinking about work. A woman leaning against a brick wall screams at me, “You can die!” I kept walking to the office but then paused, turned around, and went back. I asked if she would like a cup of coffee. She is unwashed, smells like urine, and there is a manic darting look in her eyes. We walk together to a nearby cafe, and she tells me about spiders climbing up and down her spine. Sitting at a small round table in the back of the cafe, she tells me about her addiction to methamphetamines. We end up holding hands across the table. She tells me it has been months since anyone has looked at her like she is human. A half-hour later, I head off to work, leaving her at the table with its coffee cup-shaped ceramic vase filled with an aloe vera plant.
“Tigers” tells the story of Brian’s twin sons being born.
“I am standing in the hospital watching babies emerge from my wife like a circus act. First one out is a boy, dark-haired and calm, the size of an owl… Now, says the doctor, reaching around inside my wife while he talks, here’s the other one, and he hauls out another boy. This one is light-haired and not calm; he grabs for a nurse’s scissors and won’t let go and they have to pry his fingers off and the nurse looks accusingly at me for some reason and I want to say hey, I don’t even know the guy, but I don’t say anything, being overwhelmed with new roommates and tears and astonishment at people emerging from my wife one after another like a circus act.”
I remember the birth of my son almost thirty years ago. My wife had wanted to have a natural childbirth without any anesthetics. Her water broke at six in the morning, and we hurried to the hospital in our little grey Toyota Celica. Eleven hours later, my wife was still trying to give birth, and the doctor was telling us that soon she would have to do a Cesarean delivery. A tall football linebacker disguised as a nurse stepped in and, applying pressure with his forearm, told my wife to push. Out he came, and my wife, drenched in sweat, held our son. My wife was radiant and exhausted.
Spirituality and Faith
Many of Brian Doyle's essays touch on themes of spirituality and faith. He explores the interconnectedness of all living things and often presents a vision of inclusive, accepting, and compassionate spirituality. His writing encourages readers to reflect on their beliefs and consider existence's profound mystery.
The book of essays closes with “Last Prayer” which finishes with Doyle wishing he, his wife, his kids, and his friend Pete to return as otters.
And if I get one friend again, can I have my buddy Pete? He was a huge guy in this life—make him the biggest otter ever and I’ll know him right away, okay? Thanks, Boss. Thanks from the bottom of my heart. See You soon. Remember—otters. Otters rule. And so: amen.”
I had a video conversation with my father last week. His second wife passed away recently. He told me he does not believe in the afterlife. When we are gone, we are gone, never to return. There is no heaven. He told me a joke about a couple who did not believe in Heaven but would hold a seance a year after one of them had passed to confirm the facts. He told me he did not want to have a conversation about it that would shake his beliefs. My father is eighty-eight. I can respect his wish.
A Sense of Awe
The most captivating aspect of reading Brian Doyle is the sense of awe he inspires. He makes the world feel fresh and new as if you're seeing it for the first time. His writing reminds me that there is magic in the world waiting to be discovered and that I should approach life with a childlike wonder.
I am glad I took that walk four years ago and discovered One Long River of Song. Reading these essays has allowed me to reflect on my life while sharing a glimpse into the gift of Brian Doyle’s life.
Note: I want to thank
, , , , and for their feedback on my first draft, which led to a complete essay rewrite.
Your love for his writing really shines through. Thanks for introducing me to a new writer!