Words as a Lifeline
“I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that writing saved me.” (Pg. 238)
Suleika Jaouad’s Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted is a testament to the power of telling one’s own story and seeing oneself in someone else’s – a foundation for connection that is as essential to survival as any other basic human need.
Her book is also a love letter to the written word: to her own, as writing gave her the strength and purpose to keep going in her darkest hours; to the words of other artists and writers, as she found inspiration in their wisdom and perseverance; and to the words of strangers, whose correspondence gifted her a community that has helped her live again.
First, she describes the determination she finds through her own writing in the wake of her devastating leukemia diagnosis.
“People often respond to the news of tragedy with ‘words fail,’ but words did not fail me that day, or the next, or thereafter – they poured out of me, first cautiously, then exuberantly, my mind awakening as if from a long slumber, thoughts tumbling out faster than my pen could keep up.” (Pg. 106)
Later, as she grapples with “re-entry into life” – struggling to overcome depression and anxiety and regain a sense of identity – it is again words that set her on a path toward meaning.
“For the first time in months, I crack open my journal and start to write. I decide to do this daily, to follow the thread where it leads,” Jaouad recounts toward the beginning of her transformative 100-day solo journey across the U.S. (Pg. 238)
The book is also filled with the words of artists and writers with whom Jaouad found an unexpected kinship.
She is particularly fascinated with “The Diary of Frida Kahlo.” At around the same age that Jaouad received her cancer diagnosis, Kahlo was severely injured in a bus accident and had to abandon her dream of becoming a doctor. The injuries left her bedridden for months and she began to paint. “Kahlo transformed her confinement into a place incandescent with metaphor and meaning,” Jaouad relates. (Pg. 108)
Finally, the letters Jaouad receives in response to her blog and New York Times column, “Life, Interrupted,” contain words that sustain her both during and after treatment.
The words of death row inmate Lil’ GQ sum up the universality of the human experience: “I know that our situations are different, but the threat of death lurks in both of our shadows.” (Pgs. 116-117, 225)
The words of Ned, a young man who battled leukemia and testicular cancer, haunt her at first but ultimately give way to common ground: “What inspired me to write you is something that I know you’ll be covering soon enough – transitioning back to the real world, ‘normality.’ I’ve been having a hard time getting back on that horse.” (Pg. 139)
And the words of Katherine, who lost her son to suicide, capture the very phenomenon that Jaouad has actualized with her memoir: “The power of story is to heal and to sustain. And if we are brave enough to tell our own story, we realize we’re not alone, again and again.” (Pg. 307)