Cynical.
Obese.
Misanthropic.
A saint?
Angus Truax—Mr. Misery to his colleagues—profiles victims of misfortune. His articles touch hearts and inspire charity.
Unfortunately for Angus, he loathes his job, his subjects, and his life—so much that he decides to end it.
More Fool than Hamlet, this unlikely hero jokes his way to the grave, soothing his own despair with rude, audacious honesty.
But even a suicidal hermit can’t shut out life completely. Before he can make his exit, one last unlucky soul comes knocking at his door, pleading for help, and Angus finds himself falling into what he calls the world’s oldest trap.
To his astonishment, he discovers that his story isn’t over yet.
Laser works writing magic… [T]he novel becomes a seesaw of tender moments, total screw-ups, and a suspense that becomes unbearable… Laser… mounts a steamroller of a novel
— Kirkus Reviews
Michael Laser has written a down-to-earth New Jersey love story that convinces with every detail and rings powerfully true—a real achievement. Funny, mordant, soulful, with a sneaky plot that grabs you, My Impending Death is a hard book to put down
— Ian Frazier
Laser’s third novel is a charming and satisfying story, funny without being an out-and-out comedy, a beautifully executed character study… Laser isn’t as well known as he ought to be, but, with any luck, this book will give him some serious exposure.
— Booklist
With clever writing and surprisingly fitting humor…. My Impending Death is more a story about living than about dying… Infused with humor about both the most serious of topics and the most mundane elements of life itself, My Impending Death never disappoints.
—San Francisco Book Review [5-star review]
Excerpt:
Because I can barely persuade myself to climb the stairs each day—
Because, if I have to tell one more heart-tugging tale of misfortune, I will go on a rampage with a machete—
Because the prospect of escaping the pain in my ankles and osteoarthritic knees arouses something close to joy—
Because it’s impossible to accomplish anything worth doing—
Because I’m weary, stale, fat, and unprofitable—
Because I don’t really give a shit about anyone, and that’s no way to live, or so I hear—
Because my own glib wit has grown tiresome to me—
Because no one will miss me—
Because I’d rather choose the date and manner of my departure than be found by EMTs, naked on the bathroom floor—
I choose to be done.
It was Dr. Bronner who inspired me. Unable to summon the will to leave the shower, I read the entire loony label on his liquid soap, and found this amid the prophetic babble:
Face the world with a smile, life is always worthwhile!
The optimism drove me like a golf ball to the opposite edge of the universe. While hot droplets pelted my back, I saw that nothing obligates me to keep going. I’m free to open the door and let myself out at any time.
If a book gives you no pleasure, you can stick with it till the unsatisfying end, or you can put it back on the shelf. Chances are my life story isn’t going to turn into a white-knuckle thriller two-thirds of the way through.
There’s no unbearable misery here, no howling despair. That’s what makes the idea original.
Note to self: eschew melodrama, and don’t leave a mess. Just step quietly off the night ferry when no one’s looking. A splash in the dark, covered by engine noise. (Not literally, of course. No way will I go by drowning. My last words will not be blub blub.)
Comments:
The concept for this book began with Angus’s job. Reading the “Neediest Cases” articles in the New York Times, which profile real people with tragic stories, reminded me of my own work writing fundraising materials for nonprofits. The need is real and the cause is important, but the work can be maddening. Just as reciting the same truth over and over again makes you feel as if you’re lying, the piety of this sort of writing becomes hard to bear. The wish to say something rude builds up like intestinal gas, until…
Once I figured out what sort of man Angus was—aggressively witty, depressive—I still needed a story. My inspiration came from the Charlie Chaplin movie City Lights. If you’re going to write about a supremely pessimistic, misanthropic guy, what better counterpoint than a sentimental, romantic tale that throws him together with a lovely dying woman?