This mysterious watcher will stalk our ailing protagonist through the pages of the book. But I have the sense - I can’t help having the sense that someone is watching me,” he writes. I don’t go around looking over my shoulder for surprises. Shepard complicates his narrative by forcing us to see his protagonist through the eyes of an unnamed observer, a second narrator (hence the book’s title). Why do you think I’m in here? He just looked at me with a blank stare.” When the doctor tells him there’s a problem, his response is pure Shepard: “I know something is wrong. The similes give way quickly to the cold, hard facts of the case, when Shepard writes a few pages later about a series of tests he underwent at Mount Sinai. When we first meet him, he is confined in a wraparound screen porch and has difficulty recognizing his own family members. The book opens on a recurring protagonist, a man with an unspecified illness affecting his motor skills that one can assume is drawn from the author’s experience. Ultimately, Shepard drops all pretense, closing out this collection with two heartbreaking chapters detailing his final days, and bringing the reader up close to what Rilke called “undiluted death.” It is neither celebratory nor maudlin, but rather matter of fact, making it all the more powerful. “Spy of the First Person” is a farrago of memories, observation and glimpses of the end. Clearly Shepard lived by the maxim laid down more than two centuries ago by the poet Novalis: “The artist belongs to his work.” His friend, the singer-songwriter Patti Smith, sat with him and helped make final edits on the completed manuscript. Then when that became impossible, he dictated. When he could no longer type, he picked up a pen. “Spy of the First Person” was literally written on his deathbed, with final edits made during his last days. Writing was the alpha and omega of his Shepard’s life, and he kept at it right to the very end. He was equally proud of his short stories, many of which appeared in The New Yorker, and were published in six previous collections. The author of more than 55 plays, including the Pulitzer Prize-winning “Buried Child,” and an actor with roughly five dozen film roles to his credit - one of which earned him an Oscar nod - his place in our cultural firmament is secure. Its short chapters intermittently tell the story of a man imprisoned by a merciless illness, who, stoicism aside, isn’t ready to go. If “The One Inside” signaled trouble ahead, Shepard’s new book, “Spy of the First Person” pulls no such punches. The main character in the linked collection of stories suffers from mysterious spasms, sometimes has trouble walking, and is told by an emergency room nurse she can tell something “catastrophic” is wrong with him. ![]() ![]() However, attentive readers of his book of prose, “ The One Inside,” released last February, would have noticed more than a dozen tip-offs that something might be going on. Shepard had been struggling for more than a year with worsening effects of ALS. Indeed, like a wounded cowboy, he slipped into the welcoming shadows of the surrounding hills near his Kentucky ranch, quietly gathered his family, and took his leave. His death took most people by surprise, for neither Shepard nor his family made his illness public. One of my favorite subjects - so long as you can keep it at arm’s length."ĭeath came for Shepard this past summer, when at age 73 the renowned actor and playwright succumbed to amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS. Sam Shepard once said, "I could go on and on about death. ![]() Facebook Email This article is more than 5 years old.
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