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Back Margery Kempe Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. Biographical Notes
  3. Title Page
  4. INTRODUCTION
  5. MARGERY KEMPE
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. Dedication
  8. Front
  9. PART ONE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. PART TWO
  27. 17
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. 22
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. 25
  36. 26
  37. 27
  38. 28
  39. 29
  40. 30
  41. 31
  42. PART THREE
  43. 32
  44. 33
  45. 34
  46. 35
  47. 36
  48. 37
  49. 38
  50. 39
  51. 40
  52. 41
  53. 42
  54. 43
  55. 44
  56. 45
  57. 46
  58. PART FOUR
  59. 47
  60. 48
  61. 49
  62. 50
  63. 51
  64. 52
  65. 53
  66. 54
  67. 55
  68. 56
  69. MY MARGERY, MARGERY’S BOB

I leave Margery in a suspended moment as the inevitability of L. subsides along with my fear of dying. I dreamt that Margery wants to see me. Who would know to pass himself off as her? Only L., I surmise, because I asked him not to contact me. Now I am the god of nonrelation. If he takes my place as Margery, do I take his place as Jesus? At last my position is not so fixed. I feel the anguish of rejecting him, but I’m not sure I do—a quandary of wanting and not wanting.

A failed saint turns to autobiography. Love amazes me; I exult in my luck, in our sex; L. exasperates me; I am exasperating; I am abandoned. I want to contain my rambling story in a few words.

exult, exasperate, abandon, amaze

MY MARGERY, MARGERY’S BOB

Margery Kempe is a novel of obsession, grief, and farce, loss of self and excess of self. The unrequitedness of life in general is conveyed through the specifics of a love story. A woman who lived in the first part of the fifteenth century tries and fails to become a saint. Her steamy romance with Jesus is framed by Bob’s obsessive love for a young man, L., until the two stories merge to become one: “Bob” becomes Margery, L. becomes Jesus. Bob’s ability to enter the fifteenth century is “underwritten” by Margery’s own travel through time to the events of Jesus’ life.

I did not want Margery to be an historical novel, a genre that hardly interests me (unless executed by Flaubert and a few others). What is an historical novel? A time machine that seems to restore another era and give us access to its citizens. That is, we get to know Alexander the Great. There’s a lie involved, but is that lie different from the lie fiction generally tells? An historical novel describes people and events we are already loyal to because they occur in the world we inhabit, yet they are unapproachable for that very reason. Alexander the Great will always be unknowable, his story beyond my control.

I wanted to use Margery’s story, but also to let it alone, to retain the Margery who coextends—however distantly—with the world the reader inhabits. What drew me to Margery’s life could only be known by us in the present: the difference between her high aspiration and her failure. In a way, my book is about what Margery could not know about herself—the mix of periods her story embodies (medieval, modern). I feel this describes my own condition—a mix of periods in which scales of judgment, of interpretation, do not jibe. Will the future understand this disparity?