Maira Kalman’s The Principles of Uncertainty first struck me as a rather ambitious
project. How can uncertainty be given governing rules? If only we could fit the
uncertain future into a neat Excel spreadsheet of principles, wouldn’t life be
easier? I was suspicious of anyone who claimed to be able to do that. Upon
completion of Kalman’s book, however, I began to appreciate her project and
direction. She tell us that she is “curious about all the little things that
make up a life” (50), and she strings together a collection of random moments,
captured in illustration. These moments are indicative of real life. After all,
life itself is simply a collection of moments, and it’s up to us to string them
together in whatever way we can. Sometimes time is the only thing that connects
our random collection of identities together, and I was struck by this thought
when reflecting upon Kalman’s book. She asks the big questions outright, and
does not pretend to have any answer to “Are things normal?” or “What will
happen to us all?” She chalks it all up to life’s uncertainty, but shows us her
own methods for getting along anyway.
The illustrations-coupled-with-musings form is one we’ve
seen before. Amy Sedaris’ fascinating entertainment guide also matched her own personal
anecdotes with a hodgepodge of images, and followed the same kind of wandering
plotline. Some of her comments, such as “You cannot order a deluxe grilled
cheese sandwich. There are limits to deluxe,” and “I would love you to come to
my party. It will be on a Sunday afternoon. Let’s avoid a nighttime party,”
even sound like phrases of which Sedaris would approve. Both women break the
convention of a normal novel, and personalize their words with their own
worldviews.
This book also reminded me a bit of the
Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup. It wasn’t
the quiet, musing nature of Kalman’s work that brought the rowdy vaudeville troupe
to mind, but rather the breaking of convention. The works of the Mark Brothers
and Kalman, and, indeed, Sedaris as well, take the form of a collection of
moments, only marginally held together by linear time or plot. While the
moments are quipping and hilarious for Groucho, Chico and Harpo, and quietly
funny and reflective for Kalman, both brands of humor cause the audience to
look inward. The plot is not the point of either, but it is the character study
that is of most interest. In both instances I wondered whether I was like one
of the characters in their stories. The Marx Brothers made me consider whether
or not I am also ridiculous in some way, but Kalman made me think about whether
or not I am one of the people whose photograph will be discovered on a flea
market keychain in a bin in forty years. They are the same question—the
question of identity and the way that identity fits into the larger point of life—but
asked in different ways. We can never be certain of this identity until it is
in retrospect, but, for now, Kalman lends us her worldview to help us get along
anyway.
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