The Book of Grief and Hamburgers by Stuart Ross

  Stuart Ross was a mentor to me in my undergrad and, at the time, I charged through several of his poetry collections (shout out to You Exist. Details Follow.). Strangely, I never branched out into any of his ‘novel-esque’ projects and much less his memoirs. Well, that ends today (technically last week when I finished it, but what even is time?)一here we are with The Book of Grief and Hamburgers.

The Book of Grief and Hamburgers exemplifies the masterful happy-sad tone of some of Ross’ best works. The central conceit is that when Ross writes poems that are getting too heavy, he throws in a hamburger. Hamburgers are delightful, they’re a surprise, they’re funny. They displace / replace feelings that are too difficult to deal with. Despite the apparent silliness of Ross’ poems sometimes, there’s also a tenderness and sadness that feels even more powerful precisely because of the apparent silliness. He walks the razor’s edge between whimsy and sorrow wonderfully.

The Book of Grief and Hamburgers in particular operates—somewhat—as a “research” exercise (Ross himself uses that term loosely). Ross scans through poems looking for references to hamburgers as a form of consolation and, often not finding them, instead writes hamburgers into famous poems, historical quotables, and novel lines. It’s a fun, silly surprise. Try it. “It was the best of hamburgers, it was the worst of hamburgers.” “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the hamburger.” “I saw the best hamburgers of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical bunless.” The motif of seeking hamburgers and creating hamburgers is a source of amusement, but again, reinforces the sadness at the core of the book.

Indeed, death permeates the pages of the memoir project. Ross recounts the loss of several of his family, his friends and fellow poets, his dog. There’s such a human approach to addressing the challenges of grief (what is grief, anyway?), including reconciling political tensions with estranged siblings briefly before their passing and doing the ‘death math’ of the proper sequence of death. Ross notes that, in his family, he is the only one that will die in the ‘right order.’ In a particularly moving section, Ross describes the passing of David W. McFadden, another notable poet that I had the privilege to see do a reading. Ross describes McFadden’s Alzheimer's, which is absolutely tragic, but also McFadden reading love haikus at Ross’ wedding, which is absolutely beautiful. After his passing, McFadden’s remains were buried in a Dilbert cookie jar, and the specificity of that image will resonate with me forever.

Many of Ross’ losses are described as vignettes, as short stories. In one, a poet friend rages against the dying of the hamburger—I mean, rages against the euphemisms we use for death. Not pushing daisies, not passing on, not succumbing to illness. He dies. When asked about arrangements for his death, he continually replies: “I don’t care, I’ll be dead.” Does he want his “collected works” to be published posthumously? He doesn’t care: “I’ll be dead.” There’s a bleakness in the repetition spread out throughout the vignette. After his gradual decline, he’s eventually asked again about having works published after his death and provides a slight nod. It’s a beautiful character study that, I hope, brings Ross some consolation.

This book-length essay on grief explores what grief is, how to feel it, what it means to grieve. A conclusive definition continues to elude us, but the exploration takes readers on an emotional journey where Ross demonstrates his deep appreciation and love of those he has lost. It’s quite an achievement in memorialization.

Add to this Ross’ voice. His tone, certainly, and that careful blend of sadness and extra pickles, but his literal voice, too. I listened to The Book of Grief and Hamburgers as an audiobook and it’s a delight to hear Ross’ reading voice. He has a distinct reading style, and it made the book feel all that much more personal to hear that reading voice again, probably for the first time since around 2012.

I really liked this longform essay. Even in its brevity, it captures the feeling, hard to describe, of mourning. It offers beautifully crafted narratives and moments replete with happiness and sadness, all while offering elegies to some of Ross’ loved ones. “Don’t ever tell any hamburgers anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.”

Happysad reading!