The loneliness files A memoir in essays

Review by Booklist Review

In this moving and lyrical collection, essayist and poet Dixon (The Incredible Shrinking Woman, 2020) reflects on what it means to be lonely. "I am someone in the background of a picture," she writes, describing a life of disconnection and isolation. "I feel like a ghost." Worried about dying alone, Dixon becomes transfixed by stories of women who became "lonely corpses," searching online for clues about their lives. She talks to her therapist about her desire for a romantic partner and considers whether she is missing out by not having children. As older members of her family die, she wonders whether she should move back to a hometown so changed as to be unrecognizable. She writes thoughtfully about grief, legacy, and connections with friends and family who live far away. Dixon is honest and vulnerable in these essays, and a sense of melancholy pervades the book. But she also finds moments of clarity and joy in relationships, her home, and in chosen solitude. This quiet, contemplative memoir will resonate with readers.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Poet and essayist Dixon (The Incredible Shrinking Woman) shines in this heartbreaking reflection on her sense of isolation before and during the Covid-19 pandemic. In 2020, Dixon was living in a two-bedroom apartment in Philadelphia hundreds of miles from the rest of her family. Then Covid hit, and she feared she may have lost all "connective threads" with other humans. She binged a steady stream of movies, YouTube videos, and true crime podcasts, becoming obsessed with the deaths of three women: Joyce Carol Vincent, who died in front of her TV and was not found for three years; Elisa Lam, who was caught behaving erratically on security footage before she was found dead atop a Los Angeles hotel; and Geneva Chambers, who died in bed and wasn't discovered for years, largely because she'd alienated her neighbors. Each woman provided a warped cautionary tale onto which Dixon projected her own anxieties. In 16 essays that weave together pop culture, personal history, and poetic musings, Dixon considers the cultural roots of loneliness and illuminates potential paths to salvation. It amounts to an indelible portrait of contemporary isolation that soothes and slices with the same steady hand. (Oct.)

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

A candid examination of the loneliness that lurks beyond our ubiquitous screens and the humanity that radiates in our bids for connection with one another. Poet, essayist, and editor Dixon presents a series of braided essays that explore the loneliness that pervades a world that seems more globalized and interconnected than ever before. Throughout the book, the author cultivates a palpable sense of community with her readers, diving into the dark side of late-stage capitalist society. Examining the ease with which one can be forgotten in the digital age, she also looks at the unexpectedly intimate joys that can sprout when one chooses to be alone. With lyrical, memorable prose, Dixon cracks open the fear of not being remembered and invites readers to reexamine their own sense of self amid the chaos of the modern world. "I am overwhelmingly lonely. And I cannot believe that doesn't matter and I will not believe there are not scores of others like me," she writes. "I know there are those who feel the world is always just a little too far away or a little too close--never comfortable in either situation. Those who would love to be a part of all life has to offer fully, but something just doesn't click." The author emphasizes how being lonely is not something to be ignored or overlooked; it's important and something worthy of being talked about openly. Dixon offers her own story and demons in order to bring attention to the adverse effects of loneliness during the recent pandemic as well as the need for empathy in a post-pandemic world. Though the author tackles difficult topics, she does it in an inviting way that allows readers to dissect their own struggles with loneliness. Her story is not only relatable, but significant, as she creates a sense of comfort for anyone who feels a little lonely sometimes. An honest and captivating investigation into human connection within an increasingly digital world. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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I remember loneliness because it is pervasive. It has a way of wrapping itself around me until it hides what's actually true. It squeezes tightly in my mind until what makes sense, what's actually happened, is distorted. Sometimes the loneliness makes me forget the goodness and the connection of my life. I find ways to compartmentalize these experiences until it is easy to remember only what I want. I think alone is sexy. Mysterious in its heaviness. Alone seems like a choice. Loneliness doesn't. This seems like I've been forgotten, passed over, discarded. It can feel like the world is way too bright--just an expanse of whiteness with nothing else in sight. It makes me feel singular and small. On the cusp of 2021, in a green dress and red lipstick, I told myself I could cry. One wailing, sobbing mess of a breakdown between sips of liquor because when I woke up the next morning the world would appear to be new. This New Year's Eve was only a celebration of a year that needed to end. A year that saw some of us sink into isolation and others delve further into individualism and selfishness. This night was a cap to months of loneliness. A small bit of joy and release before heading into the bleakness of what seemed to be the coming year. I'd checked out of the news months ago--too overwhelmed by death and discord that I felt myself slipping too much into darkness. This cry was a promise to myself that it would wash away the concrete deaths and dying dreams of what 2020 could have been. I had a book on the way and I'd finally started to find my voice when I'd been so sure I'd lost it. As selfish as my feelings may have been, it just wasn't fair and I wanted to wallow. I cried and then danced until my body slowed to rocking, and when the countdown ended the loneliness came in like a wave. My loneliness is not groundbreaking, though. And it is not tragic. It just is. Nothing more and nothing less. I don't expect it to be important to anyone other than myself, but I write about it anyway. I turn it over like something precious in my hands--carefully as it floats across my fingers so I can see the details of it. Where dust and dirt and grit hide--the things that irritate and choke me when I breathe too deeply. My loneliness is deep. It's oddly comforting because I know what to expect. It's like a light switch--sudden and complete--when it rears its head. My body starts to wind down and my mind disengages. Loneliness and isolation have been a slow build of contentment over the years before the sudden revelation of how the two are really disconnect disguised as choice. How between parents, a sibling, family, and friends is always the fear that I will die alone. That no one will remember me. Excerpted from The Loneliness Files by Athena Dixon All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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