MARCH 9, 2023 – At the outset of last year’s personally notable medical expedition, I experienced unusual anxiety. Physically, I was feeling, well, not so well. The worst occurred when my side of the earth was turned away from our local star, and the worst of the worst was when I climbed into bed each night. The definitive diagnosis of a serious disease increased my anxiety. This anxiety wasn’t about my earthly fate, as it were, but how I’d fare in the meantime. My oncologist prescribed an anti-anxiety drug—in minimal dosage—which, for a time, allowed me to avoid freaking out when climbing under the covers at night, otherwise known as anxious insomnia, something I’d never before experienced.
But I needed something more effective—psychologically, I believed, not pharmaceutically. I was lucky enough to find near-term availability on the schedule of John S., a psychologist on the roster of our health care provider. We hit it off well from the outset, and after a few weekly sessions, I felt myself emerging from the dark zone of nighttime anxiety—without the aid of Lorazepam. As I, a total medical wimp, later approached the intimidating prospect of a stem cell transplant, John coached me well away from the ledge of “catastrophization” . . . his term, my fear.
Our sessions continue but on a less frequent basis, and they’ve evolved into status checks, not remedial encounters. They’ve achieved the same status as my tree garden up at the lake: even when I’m away from the woods I find reassurance just knowing that the trees are there. As I glide through the three-week-intervals between therapy sessions, I often reflect on insights I’ve derived from our talks and note observations that might humor John on our next Zoom call.
If by nature and nurture I still qualify as an “anxious person,” I’ve learned to confine trepidation to manageable limits and without the aid of pills.
Recently, however, the “new me” (yet, still a Swede) was put to the test when our book club chose its March selection: Anxious People by Swedish author, Frederik Backman. The disparate characters, each a human being, and therefore, truly not all that disparate, display ample anxiety, individually and collectively. In the fashion of every good novelist, Backman corrals the anxiety and brings it to a reassuring, multi-faceted resolution. In the real world, of course, anxiety resolution usually eludes us. Being part of our evolutionary make-up, however, and therefore omnipresent, anxiety is a shared trait across our species. In that reality, I find a fundamental connection with everyone I encounter—including the characters among Anxious People.
Backman is a gifted and entertaining writer. His generous use of splendidly apt metaphors is most remarkable for their originality. Often while reading I’d think, From which ear canal did he pull that perfect analogy?! His supreme command of irony and its common companion, humor, draws the reader in until there’s no escape. Then, with clever use of timing and turning assumptions upside down, he reveals as much about his readers as he does about his characters. The effect stirs contemplation long after the book is closed.
The story centers around an unsuccessful bank robbery followed by a bizarre hostage crisis, when the would-be bank robber targets a residential real estate showing on New Year’s Eve day. The setting is an unidentified medium-size city in Sweden in the figurative shadow of Stockholm, which, it turns out, is a double-entendre—a character thinks, though the reader can’t be sure. But in reality, the setting is wherever humans interact. Almost nothing is what it appears to be. One assumption after another fails, then falls upon the next. Nearly everyone is an idiot, so writes Backman—but not really. Likewise, everyone is a failure—but again, not really; in fact, not at all.
I so liked the book and its insights into the human condition that I’ve recommended it to several friends, and by way of this post, to many more. I also recommended it to my therapist, who’s not supposed to be a friend but well could be. He was properly amused by the title, which he jotted down along with the author’s name and convinced me that he intends to read the book.
To underscore Backman’s credentials (as a human being), in the end credits he mentions his own therapist, who’s helped the writer get through panic attacks. As it is said in the opening class of the community ed extension course, How to Write a Novel, “Write about something you know.”
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
