Publisher Description

Could the shlock-rock '70s band Kiss in any way affect the outcome of a death-dealing twenty-first-century virus? Is Bob Ross—that permed, inimitable painter of Edenic nostalgia on PBS—actually an emissary from the land of personal loss? Might the work of Edward Hopper reflect facets of a global plague? What is the grammar, finally, of grief, of isolation?

The essays in Chad Davidson's Bring Out Your Dead: Elegies from the Plague Year mainly concern the loss of the author's father directly before the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, and the ways in which the pandemic itself provided a strangely ideal backdrop to grieving. Refracted through the kaleidoscopic, yet strangely stagnant, isolation period in the first year of COVID, his father's death—another plague visited on the author—found its way into all his waking hours, coloring whatever he tried to write, particularly when he tried not to let it. Friends both lost and nearly so, the burning of Notre Dame in Paris, even the seemingly inconsequential discovery of a rash of chew toys in the yard: these events assumed an unmistakable gravity, considered in the midst of a pandemic and the ruins of personal grief.

Bring Out Your Dead adds Davidson's father to the growing list of loved ones lost in—and, in this case, right before—the pandemic. It's a personal memorial, given over to a father's memory and the grief endured while living through dueling plagues (one viral, the other psychological). In the end, the book becomes more about the ways we eulogize, how we remember those who are gone, why their memories persist, and what summons them back into our thoughts, our language, and our lives.

Author Biography

Chad Davidson is the author of the essay collection Terra Cognita: Dispatches from an Over-Traveled Italy and four volumes of poetry, most recently Unearth. He lives in Carrollton, Georgia.

Review

Just when I thought all the space in my head for pandemic literature had been filled, along comes this shockingly good essay collection; I found myself clearing an entire mental shelf to savor it. Witty and erudite, observant and feeling, these essays nail the strange attunement—to our environments, our relationships, our fear and grief—that became a byproduct of our most recent plague years. And if that wasn't enough, this book also sports the best essay on the band Kiss that I've ever read." - Elena Passarello, author of Animals Strike Curious Poses

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