Dear Readers, I have some exciting news. In the coming weeks, I will be publishing the never before seen SEQUEL TO THE BUDDHA OF SUBURBIA, exclusive to Substack. It’s a short book and it will be paywalled, so please do become a paid subscriber if you enjoy The Kureishi Chronicles, believe in paying for good writing, and want to be the first to read the sequel, which is titled
Dear Hanif Please don't ever apologise for sounding gloomy or sad , we ( I would imagine most of us reading your blog feel the same) would much prefer to read what you really feel, and life , quite frankly, is really shit sometimes . The way you write is so profoundly easy, clear and so articulate about such an indescribably awful seemingly inarticulate moment in your life that I am amazed and can't help feeling like we are accompanying you in this, even if at a distance. Here's to rehab !
So good to hear your optimistic words. Rehab is bringing you nearer to going home so your friends and children can be with you in your environment. Your desperation about your situation is palpable at times and no doubt it ebbs and flows . I went swimming today for the first time in 5 years. I never thought I would be able to as my body has changed so much since cancer and treatment. I am still so thin and have felt very self conscious in exposing myself . A programme by Dr Michael Mosley on the benefits of swimming changed my mind. So I got over myself, ordered a small size swimsuit and there I was down at the Ashbourne leisure centre doing 4 laps . I was so pleased and proud of myself as are my family . This time 2 years ago I was given a few months to live which I basically ignored and got on with living . I am a different version of the me before 2020 as you have written about how we develop different ways of being when faced with an unforeseen crisis or trauma
Sep 30, 2023·edited Sep 30, 2023Liked by Hanif Kureishi
I spent many hours over many days, weeks, months and years accompanying my Brother as a care partner. Your writing makes me wish i had written about some of our days just 'being'.
I was so glad to read how you recognise that what is happening between writer and reader - you and us - is beautiful. To hear of your pain is jarring, but how can we be honest participants if we’re not willing to hear your sadness? We owe you that, because you have shared your soul and your wrenching heartache with us. When it’s no longer helpful to you, then you must stop, but for now, you have an international cheering squad, crossing fingers and toes that your move on Thursday is a positive one. Fondly, Anna
Dear Hanif, I’m a 43 year old woman from Australia. I studied creative writing and my parents are children of Jewish Eastern European Holocaust survivors who migrated to Melbourne post ww2. I had only heard your name but never read any of your books.
I picked up Intimacy a month ago in my local second hand book shop in Daylesford, because it had wonderful endorsements and was short (I work full time and have three kids and my marriage is rocky) - it looked perfect!
I have not stopped consuming your work since then. Intimacy was a revelation. I gave it to my husband (whom I barely have anything complex and interesting
to discuss besides the children) and he said it was the best book he’s ever read. He doesn’t read much anymore but he was a history and literature major in his undergraduate degree.
I’m now reading the Buddha of Suburbia and I am enthralled . I can’t wait to read the sequel you mention here!
Thank you for being so brave - now and seemingly always. You speak the things we think , but don’t say. Sorry for the long winded comment- if I think too hard about what I’m saying I won’t say anything at all...discovering you and your writing, and the way you are documenting and sharing this absolutely nightmarish situation you’re in, has added meaning to my life (if I can say that). Good luck with the move to the rehab ! If anyone can get themselves out of this miss - it’s you!
I regard the continued existence of this blog as a bright spark; a signifier that its writer has not given up on himself, or on life, despite being back-handed off his perch and landing awkwardly. Like all bright sparks it requires nurturing, though in my case that has to be in the form of oxygen. I have little else of any value to offer.
While its individual stones may appear gloomy, it pays to stand back every so often and contemplate the entire building. A few months ago, your lack of appetite was a cause for concern. I was worried, and I know that others were too. You've got to eat. I was weighing up whether it would be appropriate to contact a hospital dietician I knew, to see if she had any suggestions. Now here you are dining on Indian food, and tuna and cucumber sandwiches.
Your concern that writing about family and friends might irritate or expose them reminded me of something that the singer Nick Cave says in the documentary '20,000 Days on Earth'. I had to look it up, I couldn't remember it verbatim:
“You can ask my wife, Susie, she'll tell you. Because she's usually the one that's getting cooked, cos there is an understanding between us. A pact where every secret, sacred moment that exists between a husband and a wife is cannibalised and ground up and spat out the other side in the form of a song, inflated and distorted and monstrous.”
The film was released around the same time as Cave put out 'Push the Sky Away'. The monochrome photo on the album cover depicts the singer dressed in his customary suit – the model of a Dickensian villain – thrusting open one of the shutters in a set of floor-to-ceiling windows in his bedroom, as his naked wife crosses the floor in profile, with her head buried in her hands. The image wasn't staged but was captured by a fashion photographer during a shoot. It illustrates well the point that Cave was making: It is hard to tell stories about ourselves without also shining a light on those who are closest to us. It is to the credit of everyone involved that you are able to share open and wide-ranging discussions with your children. Large parts of my life are forever closed to my parents. They have never been introduced to anyone who I care about romantically and they never will.
Generation Z, and the tail-end millennial generation have suffered the misfortune of growing up in a very confusing era. I could wax lyrical about it, but this isn't the appropriate forum. There seems to be a lot more pressure and also I think that it is harder to extricate oneself from the bad actors and the destructive mindsets than it was when I was growing up. A few years ago, a visiting nephew had a very dark moment. It was enough for my mother to gather up every sharp object in the house and lock them in the boot of her car. I spent the night awake on the landing, leaning against the wall with my bent legs forming a barrier across the foot of the stairs, where I would be able to intercept my nephew if he left his room. He towers over me by a good foot and would have easily manhandled me out of his path if it had come down to it. I would have stood in front of him anyway for whatever that was worth.
I respectfully take issue with Kier's bold proposition that Monday was the last good day of the year.
Wednesday was warm enough for me to become severely dehydrated while lost in woodland, east of Croydon. London is a very green city. You don't have to venture very far out before you encounter fields of grazing horses. Today seemed nice too, though I am unwell and have spent most of it in bed. I was awoken around 8pm, in a pitch-black stone of a house, by a cacophony of fireworks that were being launched a few miles away from a barge adjacent to Southend Pier.
Returning to the gaunt figure of Nick Cave, I am thinking about his song 'Jesus Alone', written a few months before the tragic death of his son, Arthur. The opening lines seem to creep forward in time as if they are mapping out the bones of that terrible event. The lyrics dwell on the isolation that lies at the heart of the human condition.
“Let us sit together in the dark until the moment comes,” croons Cave.
I hope that you continue to find solace in those who are near and dear to you, and that they too benefit from their conversations with you.
Wonderful commentary, Sam. "Returning to the gaunt figure of Nick Cave, I am thinking about his song 'Jesus Alone', written a few months before the tragic death of his son, Arthur. The opening lines seem to creep forward in time as if they are mapping out the bones of that terrible event. The lyrics dwell on the isolation that lies at the heart of the human condition."
There is isolation at the heart of the human condition, isn't there? We humans know this and do our best to look the other way. At times there is no other way. Isn't it interesting that animals also have the isolation but without the mourning? Well, not as we might if we stayed focussed on it- or are they in a state of constant combined mourning and acceptance?
Can't imagine anything more gloomy than waking up, after a day in bed, in a pitch dark house at 8pm. You have done well to survive that.
Well, it sounds like your move will challenge the family and friends with the extra travel time, so it may be a more of a solitary slog for you. And you can focus intently on your rehab and come out equipped like a warrior to face the life you have ahead. We are all warriors in our own realms if we take up the challenge, as you must. I guess we like the complaining and the honesty. It was born of necessity- you couldn't keep all this to yourself, that would have been even more awful. And you have not glorified yourself, made yourself out to be a hero- you are letting us do that if we need to. We can say, and some of us do, "That is an amazing person! Look what he is doing, under such dreadful circumstances- would I be able to do what he's doing?" And some of us have done what you are doing, in one form or another, that is enduring extremely difficult, painful, lonely, frightening, depressing circumstances, which can humiliate and humble us, baring our bodies and our spirits to the eyes of strangers, brought down low before all but mostly before ourselves as our estimations of who we are shift with incredible rapidity through an archive of images, always seeking out a new image that we can live with. And all the while, just being. As you are. It makes me feel that the challenges of our younger generations are really related to what you are going through. So many potentials have been removed from the menu, and replaced by images, images, images- and do they fit? Do they mean anything to us, really, or are they simply ideas, someone's ideas, and possibly so shallow or damaging in their very fickleness and egoism that all they can do is hurt us ultimately. I think you are a leading figure now in the exploration of the new frontiers of personhood, don't you?
Thank you for sharing. It is good that you are progressing and moving on to rehab. I was in a rehab for 45 days last year, recovering from pneumonia. It was a terrible place where I was served food I was allergic to. Nevertheless I improved with the help of dedicated therapists, the daily visits of my brother, who brought me fruit, nuts, and yogurt, and sheer hard headed determination to get out before my birthday. Having a date to shoot for helps on deep levels! Bless you, I think of you often. Rochelle
I like the honesty of your gloomy posts, but it's also wonderful to hear about the good food you enjoy, the walks, and most of all the love of your children. When I hear such stories, I always think of the Lennon-McCartney line: and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.
"My last few blogs, I’ve been told, have been gloomy, if not outright sad. But from the start, I have tried to keep this journal as honest as I can, writing down exactly how I feel." Exactly - being honest about whatever you feel is one of the most powerful features of your writing. Carry on regardless. Of course I want you to feel happier, but if you don't, you don't, and I definitely don't want you to pretend otherwise, or ignore your feelings.
It is so easy to get accustomed to our surroundings no matter how temporary. This next step is critical. Also how fortunate to have such devoted partners and children. Looking forward to Buddha! Hospital food is notoriously awful. Why is that? Although I was fed some really excellent meals after my total hip replacement surgery. Maybe because orthopedic surgeons command high fees??? Who knows.
Your posts blast me back sometimes to the agony and isolation I experienced for a year after my fall. Then my heart bursts remembering what it feels like to have your cheering squad. And now you’ll be off to rehab soon! All of it is such a gift. Keep it coming, keep it going. I’ll keep reading and sharing.
Dear Hanif Please don't ever apologise for sounding gloomy or sad , we ( I would imagine most of us reading your blog feel the same) would much prefer to read what you really feel, and life , quite frankly, is really shit sometimes . The way you write is so profoundly easy, clear and so articulate about such an indescribably awful seemingly inarticulate moment in your life that I am amazed and can't help feeling like we are accompanying you in this, even if at a distance. Here's to rehab !
So good to hear your optimistic words. Rehab is bringing you nearer to going home so your friends and children can be with you in your environment. Your desperation about your situation is palpable at times and no doubt it ebbs and flows . I went swimming today for the first time in 5 years. I never thought I would be able to as my body has changed so much since cancer and treatment. I am still so thin and have felt very self conscious in exposing myself . A programme by Dr Michael Mosley on the benefits of swimming changed my mind. So I got over myself, ordered a small size swimsuit and there I was down at the Ashbourne leisure centre doing 4 laps . I was so pleased and proud of myself as are my family . This time 2 years ago I was given a few months to live which I basically ignored and got on with living . I am a different version of the me before 2020 as you have written about how we develop different ways of being when faced with an unforeseen crisis or trauma
Ways which were unknown to us previously
Onward and upward
Much love
I spent many hours over many days, weeks, months and years accompanying my Brother as a care partner. Your writing makes me wish i had written about some of our days just 'being'.
Dear Hanif,
I was so glad to read how you recognise that what is happening between writer and reader - you and us - is beautiful. To hear of your pain is jarring, but how can we be honest participants if we’re not willing to hear your sadness? We owe you that, because you have shared your soul and your wrenching heartache with us. When it’s no longer helpful to you, then you must stop, but for now, you have an international cheering squad, crossing fingers and toes that your move on Thursday is a positive one. Fondly, Anna
I love your writing - thank you for sharing your life.
Dear Hanif, I’m a 43 year old woman from Australia. I studied creative writing and my parents are children of Jewish Eastern European Holocaust survivors who migrated to Melbourne post ww2. I had only heard your name but never read any of your books.
I picked up Intimacy a month ago in my local second hand book shop in Daylesford, because it had wonderful endorsements and was short (I work full time and have three kids and my marriage is rocky) - it looked perfect!
I have not stopped consuming your work since then. Intimacy was a revelation. I gave it to my husband (whom I barely have anything complex and interesting
to discuss besides the children) and he said it was the best book he’s ever read. He doesn’t read much anymore but he was a history and literature major in his undergraduate degree.
I’m now reading the Buddha of Suburbia and I am enthralled . I can’t wait to read the sequel you mention here!
Thank you for being so brave - now and seemingly always. You speak the things we think , but don’t say. Sorry for the long winded comment- if I think too hard about what I’m saying I won’t say anything at all...discovering you and your writing, and the way you are documenting and sharing this absolutely nightmarish situation you’re in, has added meaning to my life (if I can say that). Good luck with the move to the rehab ! If anyone can get themselves out of this miss - it’s you!
I also recommend the film version of Intimacy. It's very good.
I’ll check it out thanks 😍
I regard the continued existence of this blog as a bright spark; a signifier that its writer has not given up on himself, or on life, despite being back-handed off his perch and landing awkwardly. Like all bright sparks it requires nurturing, though in my case that has to be in the form of oxygen. I have little else of any value to offer.
While its individual stones may appear gloomy, it pays to stand back every so often and contemplate the entire building. A few months ago, your lack of appetite was a cause for concern. I was worried, and I know that others were too. You've got to eat. I was weighing up whether it would be appropriate to contact a hospital dietician I knew, to see if she had any suggestions. Now here you are dining on Indian food, and tuna and cucumber sandwiches.
Your concern that writing about family and friends might irritate or expose them reminded me of something that the singer Nick Cave says in the documentary '20,000 Days on Earth'. I had to look it up, I couldn't remember it verbatim:
“You can ask my wife, Susie, she'll tell you. Because she's usually the one that's getting cooked, cos there is an understanding between us. A pact where every secret, sacred moment that exists between a husband and a wife is cannibalised and ground up and spat out the other side in the form of a song, inflated and distorted and monstrous.”
The film was released around the same time as Cave put out 'Push the Sky Away'. The monochrome photo on the album cover depicts the singer dressed in his customary suit – the model of a Dickensian villain – thrusting open one of the shutters in a set of floor-to-ceiling windows in his bedroom, as his naked wife crosses the floor in profile, with her head buried in her hands. The image wasn't staged but was captured by a fashion photographer during a shoot. It illustrates well the point that Cave was making: It is hard to tell stories about ourselves without also shining a light on those who are closest to us. It is to the credit of everyone involved that you are able to share open and wide-ranging discussions with your children. Large parts of my life are forever closed to my parents. They have never been introduced to anyone who I care about romantically and they never will.
Generation Z, and the tail-end millennial generation have suffered the misfortune of growing up in a very confusing era. I could wax lyrical about it, but this isn't the appropriate forum. There seems to be a lot more pressure and also I think that it is harder to extricate oneself from the bad actors and the destructive mindsets than it was when I was growing up. A few years ago, a visiting nephew had a very dark moment. It was enough for my mother to gather up every sharp object in the house and lock them in the boot of her car. I spent the night awake on the landing, leaning against the wall with my bent legs forming a barrier across the foot of the stairs, where I would be able to intercept my nephew if he left his room. He towers over me by a good foot and would have easily manhandled me out of his path if it had come down to it. I would have stood in front of him anyway for whatever that was worth.
I respectfully take issue with Kier's bold proposition that Monday was the last good day of the year.
Wednesday was warm enough for me to become severely dehydrated while lost in woodland, east of Croydon. London is a very green city. You don't have to venture very far out before you encounter fields of grazing horses. Today seemed nice too, though I am unwell and have spent most of it in bed. I was awoken around 8pm, in a pitch-black stone of a house, by a cacophony of fireworks that were being launched a few miles away from a barge adjacent to Southend Pier.
Returning to the gaunt figure of Nick Cave, I am thinking about his song 'Jesus Alone', written a few months before the tragic death of his son, Arthur. The opening lines seem to creep forward in time as if they are mapping out the bones of that terrible event. The lyrics dwell on the isolation that lies at the heart of the human condition.
“Let us sit together in the dark until the moment comes,” croons Cave.
I hope that you continue to find solace in those who are near and dear to you, and that they too benefit from their conversations with you.
Wonderful commentary, Sam. "Returning to the gaunt figure of Nick Cave, I am thinking about his song 'Jesus Alone', written a few months before the tragic death of his son, Arthur. The opening lines seem to creep forward in time as if they are mapping out the bones of that terrible event. The lyrics dwell on the isolation that lies at the heart of the human condition."
There is isolation at the heart of the human condition, isn't there? We humans know this and do our best to look the other way. At times there is no other way. Isn't it interesting that animals also have the isolation but without the mourning? Well, not as we might if we stayed focussed on it- or are they in a state of constant combined mourning and acceptance?
Can't imagine anything more gloomy than waking up, after a day in bed, in a pitch dark house at 8pm. You have done well to survive that.
Well, it sounds like your move will challenge the family and friends with the extra travel time, so it may be a more of a solitary slog for you. And you can focus intently on your rehab and come out equipped like a warrior to face the life you have ahead. We are all warriors in our own realms if we take up the challenge, as you must. I guess we like the complaining and the honesty. It was born of necessity- you couldn't keep all this to yourself, that would have been even more awful. And you have not glorified yourself, made yourself out to be a hero- you are letting us do that if we need to. We can say, and some of us do, "That is an amazing person! Look what he is doing, under such dreadful circumstances- would I be able to do what he's doing?" And some of us have done what you are doing, in one form or another, that is enduring extremely difficult, painful, lonely, frightening, depressing circumstances, which can humiliate and humble us, baring our bodies and our spirits to the eyes of strangers, brought down low before all but mostly before ourselves as our estimations of who we are shift with incredible rapidity through an archive of images, always seeking out a new image that we can live with. And all the while, just being. As you are. It makes me feel that the challenges of our younger generations are really related to what you are going through. So many potentials have been removed from the menu, and replaced by images, images, images- and do they fit? Do they mean anything to us, really, or are they simply ideas, someone's ideas, and possibly so shallow or damaging in their very fickleness and egoism that all they can do is hurt us ultimately. I think you are a leading figure now in the exploration of the new frontiers of personhood, don't you?
Thank you for sharing. It is good that you are progressing and moving on to rehab. I was in a rehab for 45 days last year, recovering from pneumonia. It was a terrible place where I was served food I was allergic to. Nevertheless I improved with the help of dedicated therapists, the daily visits of my brother, who brought me fruit, nuts, and yogurt, and sheer hard headed determination to get out before my birthday. Having a date to shoot for helps on deep levels! Bless you, I think of you often. Rochelle
“…from the start, I have tried to keep this journal as honest as I can, writing down exactly how I feel.”
Bravo. This is why we read. Not for a steady diet of cookies and chocolate.
Glad for your news of family and impending move to new rehab. Hopeful it will be good for you & yours in the long run. Aloha from Hawaii, US.
I like the honesty of your gloomy posts, but it's also wonderful to hear about the good food you enjoy, the walks, and most of all the love of your children. When I hear such stories, I always think of the Lennon-McCartney line: and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.
"My last few blogs, I’ve been told, have been gloomy, if not outright sad. But from the start, I have tried to keep this journal as honest as I can, writing down exactly how I feel." Exactly - being honest about whatever you feel is one of the most powerful features of your writing. Carry on regardless. Of course I want you to feel happier, but if you don't, you don't, and I definitely don't want you to pretend otherwise, or ignore your feelings.
It is so easy to get accustomed to our surroundings no matter how temporary. This next step is critical. Also how fortunate to have such devoted partners and children. Looking forward to Buddha! Hospital food is notoriously awful. Why is that? Although I was fed some really excellent meals after my total hip replacement surgery. Maybe because orthopedic surgeons command high fees??? Who knows.
Dear Hanif,
Your posts blast me back sometimes to the agony and isolation I experienced for a year after my fall. Then my heart bursts remembering what it feels like to have your cheering squad. And now you’ll be off to rehab soon! All of it is such a gift. Keep it coming, keep it going. I’ll keep reading and sharing.
Just in case you are moving to the same facility I just got to, the following may be of special interest.
https://diaryofapunter.substack.com/p/rehab-report-1
Perhaps we will meet soon?
Wishing you the best as you make the move to the rehab centre. And also to your crew of family who have been so diligent and caring.