Still Life at Eighty: The Next Interesting Thing by Abigail Thomas
Nonfiction/Memoir
2023
Finished on October 31, 2026
Rating: 4.5/5 (Very Good)
Publisher's Blurb:
In her new memoir, Abigail Thomas ruminates on aging during the confines of COVID-19 with her trademark mix of humor and wisdom, including valuable, contemplative writing tips along the way.
As she approaches eighty, what she herself calls old age, Abigail Thomas accepts her new life, quieter than before, no driving, no dancing, mostly sitting in her chair in a sunny corner with three dogs for company—three dogs, vivid memories, bugs and birds and critters that she watches out her window. No one but this beloved, best-selling memoirist, could make so much over what might seem so little.
Memories fall like confetti, as time contracts, shoots forward, dawdles, and there she is, back in her twenties in Washington Square Park, drinking, having sex with strangers, falling in and out of love, believing in a better world. Whole decades evaporate as she sits in her chair, and a spider takes up residence beside her, who will become her boon companion for the next week.
Sometimes dread arrives, inhabits her body like a shadow and all she can do is write it away, pay attention to what catches her eye, sticks in her brain. Whatever keeps her in the moment.
Pull up a chair, have a cup of tea and enter Abigail Thomas's funny, mesmerizing, generous world.
I have now read four of Abigail Thomas's memoirs beginning with A Three Dog Life back in 2007 (coincidentally for that year's nonfiction book challenge). In that memoir, the author's husband suffered a TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) and Thomas had to create a new life in which her husband remained in a care facility. There is a lot in that memoir that resonated with me, and I was eager to read more by the author. I went on to read What Comes Next and How to Like It in 2016. I loved that memoir even more than the previous one. Unfortunately, the next book, Safekeeping: Some True Stories From a Life, fell short for me. As with her previous works, Safekeeping is comprised of short vignettes, but the shifting POV and timeline made for a bumpy read.
And now, a fourth memoir. I loved it. First, let's look at that gorgeous cover art. The vibrant colors in the sweater are so lovely. I am not familiar with the artist, so I did a little digging.
Louisa Matthíasdóttir was an Icelandic-American painter. Louisa was born in Reykjavík. From 1925 to 1937 she grew up in the famous Höfði house since her family resided there. She showed artistic ability at an early age, and studied first in Denmark and then under Marcel Gromaire in Paris. (Wikipedia)
The painting is called Self Portrait in Long Striped Sweater. Matthiasdottir did several self-portraits and paintings of Icelandic life, as well as that of Maine. Take a look here.
Back to the book. As with her earlier memoirs, Still Life at Eighty contains vignettes ranging from one paragraph to no more than three pages. The book is divided into four parts: Being This Old, Stay-at-Home Order, Wisteria, and A Few Thoughts About Writing. It's perfect for reading in fits and spurts, which I love. Of course, I had to restrain myself from reading the entire book in one evening. I wanted to read slowly, savoring Thomas's ruminations.
There were moments when I stopped short, thinking that Abigail sounds so much older than eighty. I have two dear friends who are 79 and much more active and involved than this author. But the book was written during the Covid lockdown, which as we all know created great isolation for everyone. (How fortunate I was to be with my husband and mother during those months. I can't imagine what it would have been like to be completely alone.) And, of course, we're all different. One person at eighty may be unable to care for themselves and suffer from various physical ailments, while another is perfectly capable of living a life much like a sixty-year-old. But there were moments when I felt sad for Abigail, and that her life seemed lonely and bleak.
On Memory:
But I know I made chicken soup three days ago and ate the last of it yesterday. I know I had two pieces of toast this morning. I sent an essay to three places two weeks ago but only remember two of them. I know I fed the dogs. I watered the geraniums and my tiny eucalyptus tree. I can still figure out the long-sleeved pullover. As long as I can put it on successfully, I'm good to go. It's when you get your head stuck in the sleeve and keep on pulling, that's when your last marble rolls under the radiator. But still. What happened last week? I come up with nothing. But nothing happened, which is a point in my favor. Does losing memories presage losing my mind? It's odd that I'm not afraid. I'm curious, but I'm not afraid.
On Chronology:
My memory is full of gaps and tiny holes. But even if I remembered everything in its proper sequence, there's a lot of life that's interesting to live but not so interesting to write about, let alone read. I'm bored by chronology. I don't even believe in chronology. Time is too weird. It contracts, then it shoots forward (or back), it dawdles, stops still, and then suddenly we're twenty years down the road. Whole decades evaporate.
Once I finished the book, I toyed with the idea of reading it again, but I think I'll hold off. It might be fun to read the three memoirs of hers that I loved back-to-back later next year.
A Three Dog Life (4/5)
About the Author:
Abigail Thomas worked as both a book editor and book agent before writing her first short story collection, Getting Over Tom. Her second and third books An Actual Life, and Herb's Pajamas, were works of fiction. Her memoir, A Three Dog Life, was named one of the Best Books of the Year by The Los Angeles Times and The Washington Post. She is also author of the memoirs Safekeeping, Thinking About Memoir, and What Comes Next and How to Like It. The daughter of renowned science writer Lewis Thomas (The Lives of a Cell), Thomas has four children, twelve grandchildren, and two great grandchildren. She lives in Woodstock, New York, with her dogs. (Simon & Schuster)
