Dear Reader
I’m now a person who cries at book dedications—especially if they’re from a mother to her daughter. And so it was that as I finished Lauren Beukes’ latest novel, Bridge, I found myself wiping away a few drops coming out of my eyes as she wrote of loving her child Keitu, “in every world, every life.”
Those lines make sense in the context of the novel which, as the Shining Girls author has become known for, is set in a mix of otherworldly here and there. Only this time, she explores the multiverse, and her own take on a fraught mother-daughter relationship story. If this sounds a little Everything Everywhere All At Once, that’s purely coincidental, since this book was in motion before the Oscar-winning film came out. Besides, there can never be enough stories that speak to the range of experiences within that most intricate of relationships.
The basic premise is about a woman, named Bridge(t), who is dealing with the grief of losing her mom. Only she’s not processing it too well, since she believes her mom is waiting for her in another realm—another universe where her mother hasn’t died, where another version of her mother followed a different life path with knowledge that prevented her death. This world can only be accessed by ingesting what’s called a “dreamworm,” and so Bridge does that, as she tries to go looking for the clues her mom left behind for her to find. It’s part thrilling drama, part sci-fi choose-your-own-adventure, part existential crisis blow-up.
I think I was drawn to the book’s premise so much because I used to really grapple with thoughts of the different paths my New York life could have taken if I had made different decisions upon moving here from South Africa. Not so much, what if I had chosen a career other than journalism, but more like, what if I had made better choices? ‘Better’ is a tricky word, because you can’t really measure it and so it can keep a perfectionist like me stuck in a cycle of frustration and inaction. But I used to really struggle with the idea that I should have figured out how to live in New York City quicker than I did; that I wasted so much time. I feel like it took me ten years to finally be able to breathe properly, and part of me wishes I got here sooner—if only by making decisions other than the ones I did.
For example, I told myself for years that I was just a radio journalist; that my writing wasn’t good enough for my dream publications, and so let many years go by before pitching to magazines like The Hollywood Reporter and Billboard. I moved here as a freelance U.S. correspondent for a network of radio stations back home, and spent a long time earning rands and living in dollars, which, in New York City currency, is an unforgiving exercise.
I spent time on relationships that didn’t go anywhere and broken hearts that took too long to mend, and at one stage, truly lost sight of ever seeing a fulfilling future in that regard. I have ideas that never took off, drafts that remain unfinished, books I still hope to write. In some of the most trying of times, it was so easy to go full Sliding Doors, and slip into thoughts of what I should’ve, could’ve, would’ve done differently in another world. There are lessons I wish I’d learned faster.
But, as the old adage goes, all of that—the years in between where I was and where I now am—weren’t a waste. Moving to a new place, be it city or country, with no existing network of colleagues or family to lean on is no mean feat. It does take time. Years, for some. Decades, for others. And more often than not, mountains of credit card debt.
Somehow, I was always able to make it work; I learnt to develop so many different skills, and how to assert myself in ways that I couldn’t before; how to lean on a community I am privileged to have been able to build as a white immigrant. All the small wins I accrued, after countless hours of chasing invoices and sending emails that seemed to go to that place where lost socks and unanswered prayers go, turned into a portfolio to be proud of. I also learnt how to live frugally in one of the most expensive cities in the world—and hey, if you can make it (living like that) here, you can make it anywhere, right?
The cheesiest cliches are often the truest; I had to go through all that to get to here. And here is where I am: Feet planted so lovingly in Brooklyn, with my partner and baby daughter in tow. And a whole lot of grace for the person—and the therapy—that got me here.
But every once in a while, the idea of what it may have been like if a different me had made a different move at any one point in time catches hold in my mind. The multiverse, with its offer of alternate plots and divergent paths, can be so appealing. In those moments, I try to lean on gratitude for the here and now, and the knowledge of hard-won victories along the way is worth its weight in the moon and stars.
So while I was drawn to Bridge for the “what-ifs” it allowed me to explore through its characters—and I’d highly recommend it if you’re in the market for a new read—I am glad that at the end of it I felt a happy satisfaction for this universe that I live in right here, right this moment. One in which I have a baby girl, who I now think of when I read book dedications, and is the reason for my (happy) tears.
Thank you for reading.
Stay well,
Your neighbour
Nadia