Dancing with Death: A review of "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" by Caitlin Doughty

Ah, la mort. Controversial topic, is it not?

I went from technology to fashion to the death industry. 

See, this is the kind of variety I’m looking for. 

My relationship with our species’ mortality has always been strictly long distance and platonic. I know it’s there, twiddling its dastardly fingers as it waits for the day it’ll bite me and everyone I love in the ass. Even so, I’ve only seen it in the edge of the curtain, waving its bony hand and winking mischievously.  I’ve never had a direct experience with it.

I can assure you -as I adjust my hipster glasses- that I was there to see Caitlin Doughty’s first “Ask a Mortician” video premiere on youtube, and from day one I was hooked. She got me thinking about things I had never thought to consider before. What is death? What would I do once I died? How would I feel about my loved ones dying? And most importantly of all, What’s the death industry like? We grow up seeing it as something so alien, so taboo, that we end up having erroneous ideas. And that’s where Ms. Doughty comes in.

Part anecdotal autobiography, part historical paper and part philosophical romp through the valley of the shadow, “Smoke gets in your eyes & Other Lessons from the Crematory” was an absolute delight to read.

Caitlin Doughty chronicles her years of working in the death industry, from crematory operator to Mortuary Science student, and what led her to make these decisions in her life. As she describes all sorts of processes such as cremating or embalming (super gross by the way, this is why I never followed my families footsteps in the medicinal field), she clarifies many misconceptions we have about the death industry and death itself, tying in information of different cultures, history and even famous author’s writings without breaking a sweat. Sounds like a big mouthful, but I loved how she was able to weave all of this pretty seamlessly, without breaking flow or tiring the reader.

Having seen her videos so many times (obsessed creepy fan? Moi? Nahhhh) I can clearly hear her voice in her writing style, which remained fluid and direct during my entire read. No paragraphs were skipped, and every word was taken in with absolute fascination and –in some instances- horror.

I’ve always said a book isn’t a real personal masterpiece until it really makes me feel something: anger, sadness, hilarity, or all of the above. “Smoke gets in your eyes” delivered all of this and more. I wouldn’t call it a roller-coaster of emotions… that expression feels too intense and jarring. Instead, it felt more like an old friend holding me gently by the hand into a museum, showing me different paintings while she explained them to me in rich detail. Some could be awe-inspiring, others could make me cry, and some might even make me want to throw up. But I would leave that building with something inside of me, a sort of realization of self-discovery that I would cherish for a lifetime.

What can I say? I laughed! I cried!  It was amazing. Books are awesome.

The only flaw for me personally was that it felt a bit too short, since I finished it in two days. I find myself craving more of her thoughts and descriptions on the subject, but I do not fear, for there’s not only her youtube channel with plenty of informative videos, but a nice little list of books she recommends in her notes on sources. I’m planning on reading them as soon as I finish reading Harry Potter for the 33^rd time, I swear on my puppy surprise.

My short little book review ends here. If you want to know my thoughts on kicking the bucket, read on! It’s kind of a downer though.

Death was something never discussed in my house. My dad wasn’t interested in pursuing the subject, and my mother was terrified of the mere thought of it (as a cardiology nurse, is this ironic or fitting?). I never had a childhood pet to mourn over, nor has anyone in my immediate circle left me (as of this writing), except for very old and sick relatives I rarely saw.

I took from my catholic upbringing that I wasn’t really going to die, just go to heaven where I could see God, and maybe ask Him my most important questions (are ghosts real? What makes jell-o green?).

Hard-hitting questions 

courtesy of the 3-year-old.

But as I reach adulthood a careful agnostic (“The poor man’s atheist!”- Pierce Hawthorn) I start to seriously think about it. There’s my parents, steadily growing older, especially since they had me over 40. My boyfriend, my friends, my relatives. People whose death could hit me like a very cold, scary rock.

My fear was never my own death. Curiously, I’m perfectly at peace with that thought, my only wish being not to die violently. My best friend’s fiancé described a funeral where there was no crying or sadness, just friends and family talking about their favorite stories with the departed. I totally want that, with fancy shrimp cocktails and spreading my ashes into the sea so I can finally mingle with mermaids.

I’m serious. Write that down. 

The day I finally kick the proverbial bucket, I want to be prepared and face death head on, looking at it right in the eye and saying “I’m not afraid”. I want to spend as much time as I can with my loved ones, and let them know that wherever we end up after the great adventure of life, I love them deeply and unconditionally.  I want to see every country in my bucket list, see all the Disney parks, jump out of a plane, run a marathon, have the swankiest apartment you ever did see and get married in an art gallery. 

This is why life is so beautiful, so precious: it has to end eventually. So squeeze every drop you can out of it.