Reviewed by: Tough Enough by Deborah Nelson Hannah Shea (bio) Deborah Nelson, Tough Enough (University of Chicago Press, 2017), 174 pp. Deborah Nelson's Tough Enough presents for study Diane Arbus, Hannah Arendt, Joan Didion, Mary McCarthy, Susan Sontag, and Simone Weil. She brings these women together on the basis of their similar styles of writing and thinking about suffering. At some point, each of them has been called "unsentimental" by a reviewer, a term that confers praise for resisting emotion; an unsentimental writer might also be called "clear-eyed," "refreshing," or "unflinching." (Full disclosure: It was in Nelson's course on 20th-century literature and culture at the University of Chicago that I first encountered most of these women.) Their attributes call to mind a whole list of women working around the same time, including Elizabeth Bishop, Elizabeth Hardwick, and Flannery O'Connor, as well as writers of our own time––Rachel Cusk, whose most recent novels Outline and Transit have received such praise as "lethally intelligent" and "hazardously penetrating." Nelson points out that unsentimentality is a value more associated with personality or character than with philosophy or strategy. Considering unsentimentality as a strategy for dealing with pain and suffering rather than just a prose style, Nelson reveals a similar ethic in the work of these women and draws them together in a serious philosophical study rather than personality-focused portraits. Instead of writing toward an overarching theory, Nelson rebuilds her argument six times, arriving at six distinct, though related, ideas about "facing reality" without resorting to the comforts of empathy or strong feeling. Her distillation of ethic from aesthetic, using historical context for evaporating agent, is thrilling to observe and does great credit to the works she considers. How to confront and represent the painfulness of suffering, especially on a large social scale, a scale which, at the time these six were writing, had just been exploded by the Holocaust? Not to ignore suffering, but to approach it most effectively, without succumbing to emotion, which supplants it. Not to relieve pain, but, by facing it, to allow it to change minds and actions. As Nelson defines unsentimental work, it "prizes the object of reflection over feelings about that object." Emotion, then, curtains reality, and we can choose to feel the warmth of the sun through it or, moving the curtains aside, face the light of day. However, the window is not a window but a photograph, painting, or block of prose––facts accrue power through composition––and these women were (are, in Didion's case) crafters of prose and photographs as well as prominent intellectuals. [End Page 339] Nelson implicitly argues that style itself can be more than a superficial quality of art. Says Nelson about Didion's self-mandated prose style, "The inability to tolerate one's own pain––that is, to 'control' one's own self-pity––begins the slippery slide from moral softness to stylistic sloppiness to self-delusion. To 'impose' that self-delusion, rooted in self-pity, on others in the act of writing is, for Didion, a violation of the writer's public trust." In this account, style guards between "moral sloppiness" and "self-delusion." And style, being vulnerable to influence, must itself be guarded vigilantly. Each time pen meets paper or a finger releases a shutter, the writer or photographer's resolve is tested and reinforced. Though Nelson doesn't extend her arguments into our contemporary political context, except to say that we live in a "paradise of facts" and yet "the problem is not that we do not know what is happening but that we cannot bear to be changed by that knowledge," she could have. But she didn't have to. Any politically aware reader could clutter the margins of this book with––pithy, I'm sure––commentary for our times. Once again, emotion dominates political discourse. On any given day an article appears about liberal snowflakes, handwringers, or heart-bleeders, and, the next, about conservatives at the mercy of their emotions, motivated by insecurity, blinded by religion. Reality and all its facts––war, racism, xenophobia, natural disaster––goes on in the background, heavily curtained. As we've seen...
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