Autopsy Report

I’ve read Purpura’s Autopsy Report a few times, but even after the first reading I could tell you that it’s unforgettable. I’m a sucker for poetic language, for beautiful sentences that I can read over and over again, for cerebral stories that are unconventional and, well, weird. Purpura’s lovely, lilting language draws me in, but it’s her shocking imagery juxtaposed with metaphors that take the sting out (“mass of organs” / “cornucopia of dripping fruits”) that keep me hooked. I aspire to write as she does.

I like that this sort of writing is not for everyone. I can see why readers would be turned off by her complex sentences and heavy description. But I like that it’s unique and can hold different meanings for different readers and at different times. This time, I found myself taken by her line, “the unknowable certainty of being alive, of being a body untethered from origin, untethered from end, but also so terribly here.” I know exactly what this means. 

I also like that there’s this incredibly complicated story/message. This situation could prompt a reflection of the frailty of life, the imminence of death. Yet it is much, much deeper, so much richer and unsettling. “I’d seen how easily we open, our skin not at all the boundary we’re convinced of as we bump into each other and excuse ourselves.” The last time I read this piece, I took something different from it. This time, I am taking away a meditation on the body – this strange dichotomy between the self and the skin. While I know that this isn’t the whole story, and while I know that I’m a bit influenced by recent reflection of my own about the body, I feel like Purpura’s piece allows for variations in understanding or meaning from reader to reader, or from reading to reading. I like that. Life is complicated, and our stories, our moments, and our reflections are untethered and fleeting, intricate and perplexing – even when it comes to universal themes of life, death, the body, or change.