THE DEAD ARE GODS

A deeply felt, searching examination of the feelings and memories provoked by the death of a best friend.

“Would I have been this person without you? Would I have been bold and fearless without you by my side, provoking me and laughing with joy when I succeeded at anything? I will never know, you were with me throughout my most formative years, you are so intrinsically linked to my molding that I cannot think about my fundamental traits…without also thinking of you." Carson and her best friend, Larissa, were a magical pair—not just tall and gorgeous, but also smart, funny, and very well-read Black models who shared a flat in London and went out to clubs, where people got in line to pay for their drinks. Their connection was intense, their love for each other radiant in the anecdotes and text exchanges included here. The decision to include the texts was inspired, since the friends' silly nicknames for each other ("shmoo" and "shmoomies,” "poo head," "poopoo," and more) and their many declarations of love ("You're my soulmate, do you know that?" "Of course I know that") brilliantly evoke the particular flavor of the friendship. Carson was married and living on the West Coast with a husband and baby at the time of Larissa's death at 32; at first, she was only told that she died in the bath. The author didn't know her friend was involved with heroin, so when that was revealed, a whole new set of painful, unanswerable questions emerged. "You know the obsessiveness—weeks spent poring over the minutiae of the days and hours prior to death, as if somewhere, hidden in plain sight, is the answer. Something you missed that could have prevented it all," she writes. So many of us fully understand this obsessiveness, and in sharing the specifics of hers, Carson strikes a deeply resonant chord.

As elegant and moving as a grief memoir can be.