Darkness Visible
On a chilly evening in December, 1985, at his home in Roxbury, Connecticut, William Styron became convinced that he was nearing the end of the road. He had been in the grips of depression since the preceding June; by October he was barely functioning. The life had left his voice, the hope had gone from his eyes, the zest from his life.
On that December evening, Styron’s wife, Rose, had invited people to dinner, old friends. They knew Styron was having severe problems. They kept up a conversation in which he was barely able to participate. Earlier in the day, at one of his twice-weekly visits to the psychiatrist, the doctor had prescribed a new drug, Nardil. Nardil is powerful, and anyone who takes it must avoid a considerable number of foods that, if ingested, might interact with the drug to cause a stroke. By this time, Styron did not care much about the dietary restrictions; his taste buds had all but vanished as his melancholia advanced. He probably did not care much about the threat of a stroke.
Such was his frame of mind that night when, after leaving his guests and going upstairs, he took his writer’s notebook—his most sacrosanct possession—wrapped it in Viva paper towels, sealed it with Scotch tape, put it into an empty cereal box, and threw it in the garbage, which was to be collected the next morning. Styron knew enough about the unconscious mind to realize that this single act was for him the ultimate humiliation, beyond which life could not be endured.
Viva towels, Scotch tape, an empty cereal box, and consignment to the garbage—these props and this act mirrored the utter lack of self-worth that had grown persistently in Styron since the previous June. Suicide loomed before and above him, a spectral and beckoning presence, a somber and enticing possibility.
Something unusual happened to Styron in June of that year, when he turned sixty.
Without warning, the author, usually a regular and heavy drinker, lost his tolerance for alcohol. When he drank, he became ill. He had no choice but to abstain. One lapse in August when he drank a glass of Scotch during a commercial flight to New York left him so ill that he knew he could never drink again.
During the summer of 1985, something was happening inside Styron that he could not fully identify and something he was hard put to discuss. He found himself
increasingly sinking into a depressive state that affected every aspect of his life: his
concentration, libido, memory, ability to work, association with others, sense of taste, even his judgment. He spent the summer, as usual, at his home in Martha’s Vineyard, but that year he became, at best, indifferent to the island’s encompassing, unspoiled nature that had initially drawn him there; at worst, it became menacing and made him fearful to the point of panic. His hypochondria was running out of control.
The situation was exacerbated by the fact that he could find no words to describe what he was going through. His was not the kind of depression that afflicts some people after a dented fender or five successive days of rain; it was more intense even than the kind one feels after the death of a child or a spouse.
Ever sensitive to the nuances of language, Styron rails against the term “depression,” which he equates with the ridge left on a soggy lawn after a vehicle has passed over it. What he was suffering was much greater than a small declivity in the earth; it was, in his words,...
(This entire section contains 1849 words.)
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“a howling tempest in the brain.” Because Styron could not directly communicate the intensity of his psychic pain, he became more and
more isolated from anyone who could help him.
Styron’s situation had reached a critical stage by late September or early October. He and his wife were scheduled to fly to Paris so that Styron could receive the Prix Mondial Cino del Luca, an award established by Simone del Luca in memory of her late husband, publisher Cino del Luca. This was a high honor: Previous recipients included Andrei Sakharov, Jorge Luis Borges, and Jean Anouilh. Only one other American, Lewis Mumford, had been so honored.
Arriving in Paris on a gray October day, Styron was whisked from the airport to his hotel, the plush Pont-Royal. As the car rode through streets that glistened with autumn rain, there came into view the run-down H6tel Washington, where Styron had stayed in 1952 on his first trip to Paris. Perhaps seeing this hotel so unexpectedly, remembering, and contemplating that he was entering the seventh decade of his life triggered something in his already fragile psyche that provoked some of what was to follow—though, clearly, he had begun the downward course before his trip to Paris.
Prior to leaving for France, Styron called to schedule an appointment with a New York psychiatrist who had been recommended to him whom he calls Dr. Gold (presumably to suggest the cost of his services). He told the doctor that he was entirely willing—possibly subconsciously eager—not to go, but Gold told him he thought the trip would not harm him. Their first meeting was set for later in October so that Styron could make the trip. The account of this trip was not included in Styron’s essay, “Darkness Visible,” as it first appeared in Vanity Fair in December, 1989. The Paris section, with which this book begins, had been written, but the essay was longer than most Vanity Fair articles and therefore was excluded to conserve space. The Paris section is nevertheless important because it reveals some of the outward manifestations of Styron’s problem that help to explain the intensity of his experiences at the time.
Simone del Luca had clearly informed Styron months in advance that the late-morning awards ceremony would be followed by a luncheon in his honor. As the invited guests from the Academie Franeaise prepared to enter the upstairs dining room in the mansion, however, Styron informed Mme. del Luca emphatically that he could not stay because he had agreed to meet his French publisher, Francoise Gallimard, at a restaurant for lunch. Mme. del Luca was incredulous; she could not mask her irritation. Finally, Styron relented and stayed for the luncheon, explaining to Mme. del Luca that he was ill, that he was suffering from “un probleme psychiatrique,” his first public acknowledgment that he had a problem.
The next day, the Styrons left Paris aboard the Concorde, escaping as fast as they could to familiar territory. Before long, however, Styron knew that there was no escape, that his enemy was inside him, that it was eating away at him at every waking moment. Despite the total exhaustion he suffered at that time, he had acute insomnia, which exacerbated his already desperate situation. Simple objects began to appear to him as instruments with which he could end his life—kitchen knives, a bathtub in which he could sit and open his arteries.
His therapy with the Yale-trained Dr. Gold began almost immediately after the Paris trip. Styron, who was not an easy patient, saw Gold twice a week. He had read most of the books from which Gold was getting his information, and he was well informed about the pharmaceuticals available for someone with his symptoms. Dr. Gold put him on medication, but it was slow to act; once it acted, it remained in the system for up to two months in some cases, so that Styron suffered agonies if the drugs caused bad side effects. He also suspected that Dr. Gold, who resisted hospitalizing Styron, was overmedicating him.
As the weeks passed, Styron sank deeper and deeper into his hopeless state. He mused about Jean Seberg, former wife of his close friend Romain Gary, whose marriage could not survive her continued depressions. She eventually committed suicide by taking an overdose of drugs. Not long afterward, Gary put a bullet through his head. Styron’s mind wandered to other friends who had taken their lives: Randall Jarrell, Abbie Hoffman. Even after his illness, he became obsessed with Primo Levi, an Auschwitz survivor who forty years afterward ended his own life, presumably breaking under the strain of caring for an elderly mother.
As Styron stood in his kitchen on that December night after pushing his packaged notebook deep into the garbage, he pondered on the grief and shame his friends’ suicide had brought to the survivors. Styron could not bear the thought of inflicting on his family and friends the pain that would accompany his suicide. He cried out for help, demanding that he be hospitalized at once. With hospitalization, his depression began almost immediately to abate. Within two months, he was able to leave the hospital, the worst of this terrifying episode behind him.
On the surface, Styron’s deep depression seemed to be triggered by the biochemical changes that made him unable to tolerate alcohol. Certainly his situation deteriorated when he reacted badly to the medications Dr. Gold prescribed. Styron, however, has sought to identify other causes for his illness. In reviewing his novels, he found that three of his protagonists had committed suicide and that depression was a fundamental part of their psychological makeups. Other characters in his novels also suffered from depression, suggesting that suicide and depression had been a part of his subconscious throughout his productive life. He pondered as well on the effect his mother’s death had on him. He had been thirteen when she died. In the book, he explains that many psychiatrists think that losing a parent—especially a mother—as a child approaches or is barely into puberty leaves an indelible mark for the rest of the child’s life, particularly if the grieving has been incomplete or unresolved, as Styron’s was.
Whatever the cause of Styron’s depression—and the full cause may never be known—this book suggests that even when one has passed into such depths of despair as to be virtually unable to benefit from psychiatric help, the depression can eventually be managed successfully, as it was in his case.
Styron has never been in better control of his writing. His metaphors and similes are never more haunting than in Darkness Visible, a title he borrowed from Milton’s Paradise Lost. This is also an extremely valuable document that offers hope to those who suffer from deep depression.
Suggested Readings
Booklist. LXXXVI, July, 1990, p.2043.
Chicago Tribune. September 2, 1990, XIV, p.3.
Commentary. XC, November, 1990, p.54
Cronkite, Kathy. On the Edge of Darkness: Conversations About Conquering Depression. New York: Doubleday, 1994.
Karp, David Allen. Speaking of Sadness: Depression, Disconnection, and the Meanings of Illness. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996.
Wurtzel, Elizabeth. Prozac Nation: Young and Depressed in America. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1994.
Library Journal. CXV; August, 1990, p.127.
Los Angeles Times. August 28, 1990, p. El.
The New York Times Book Review. XCV; August 19, 1990, p.1.
Newsweek. CXVI, August 27, 1990, p.60.
Publishers Weekly. CCXXXVII, July 13, 1990, p.46.
Time. CXXXVI, September 3, 1990, p.73.
The Washington Post Book World. XX, August 26, 1990, p.1.
Darkness Visible
During the summer of 1985, William Styron catapulted at break-neck speed into an abyss that almost claimed his life. By October, he was barely able to function. Shortly after that, he did something that convinced him his suicide was imminent: He took his writer’s notebook, wrapped it in paper towels, stuffed it into an empty cereal box, and put it into the garbage.
This simple action, he realized, was an ultimate act of humiliation, one from which suicide must surely follow. Destitute of every vestige of self-worth, despite the awards he continued to receive and the celebrity brought to him by novels such as LIE DOWN IN DARKNESS (1951), SET THIS HOUSE ON FIRE (1960), THE CONFESSIONS OF NAT TURNER (1967), and SOPHIE’S CHOICE (1979), Styron saw nothing before him but a mine field of the emotions that he lacked the will to negotiate.
Only his sense of the pain his suicide would bring his family and friends--as it had the family and friends of some of his literary associates who had committed suicide--caused Styron to demand the hospitalization that finally resulted in his shaking his tenacious despair and again being able to function.
His account of this struggle is candid and balanced. As an anatomy of the kind of severe depression that often culminates in suicide, DARKNESS VISIBLE is a deeply personal statement. Overall, however, it is optimistic. Styron lives today and is productive. He could not have predicted this outcome during the troubled days of late 1985.
Suggested Readings
Booklist. LXXXVI, July, 1990, p.2043.
Chicago Tribune. September 2, 1990, XIV, p.3.
Commentary. XC, November, 1990, p.54
Cronkite, Kathy. On the Edge of Darkness: Conversations About Conquering Depression. New York: Doubleday, 1994.
Karp, David Allen. Speaking of Sadness: Depression, Disconnection, and the Meanings of Illness. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996.
Wurtzel, Elizabeth. Prozac Nation: Young and Depressed in America. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1994.
Library Journal. CXV; August, 1990, p.127.
Los Angeles Times. August 28, 1990, p. El.
The New York Times Book Review. XCV; August 19, 1990, p.1.
Newsweek. CXVI, August 27, 1990, p.60.
Publishers Weekly. CCXXXVII, July 13, 1990, p.46.
Time. CXXXVI, September 3, 1990, p.73.
The Washington Post Book World. XX, August 26, 1990, p.1.
Historical Context
The 1980s and Drugs in America
In 1985, Styron experienced a mental breakdown, occurring two years before the introduction of Prozac, which would become the world's most popular antidepressant. Prior to the development of Prozac by the pharmaceutical giant Eli Lilly, individuals with depressive disorders were typically treated with monoamine oxidase inhibitors and tricyclics, like Nardil, which Styron was prescribed. These older medications often came with severe side effects. Prozac, known generically as fluoxetine hydrochloride, operates differently in the brain compared to its predecessors by regulating serotonin levels. It requires only a once-daily dosage and, according to Lilly, has minimal side effects. Within its first decade, Prozac was prescribed to over ten million Americans for a range of conditions, including depression, anxiety, and personality disorders. Since its market debut, Prozac has become a media sensation, even gracing the covers of major magazines such as Newsweek. The ongoing popularity and widespread use of Prozac have sparked significant controversy, focusing on issues of human identity and financial gain. Critics argue that Prozac is overprescribed, with doctors increasingly using it to address minor personality traits, thus turning it into a "designer drug." They contend that while many patients regain emotional stability, they often lose a part of their identity. Other detractors, like Peter Breggin, author of Talking Back to Prozac, claim that Eli Lilly rushed Prozac to market despite inconclusive test results. Breggin suggests that Lilly prioritizes profits over patient health and that adverse side effects, including decreased libido, nausea, and insomnia, are more prevalent than reported.
The 1980s and 1990s saw a surge in the use of new antidepressants like Prozac, along with other so-called prescription designer drugs. One such drug was Halcion, a sleeping aid that Styron himself used and partially blamed for his depression. Other notable drugs included the diet pill phen-fen and, in the late 1990s, Viagra from Eli Lilly, which treats male impotence. While Americans were increasingly turning to prescription medications to enhance their lifestyles, the U.S. government was simultaneously fighting a battle against illicit non-prescription drugs. Cocaine, much of it trafficked from Latin American countries like Colombia and Peru, became a popular recreational drug among many middle- and upper-class Americans. In contrast, crack, a smokable and highly potent form of cocaine, was frequently used by poorer individuals who quickly became addicted. During Ronald Reagan’s administration, the focus was on highlighting the dangers of drug use to families, societal morals, and business costs. Nancy Reagan's "Just say No" campaign specifically targeted children in an effort to prevent drug use before it began. Continuing Reagan’s efforts, President George Bush launched his own "war on drugs" in 1989, outlining the federal strategy to eliminate drug use. The majority of Bush’s $8 billion plan was allocated to law enforcement, with only 30 percent directed toward prevention, education, and treatment. This emphasis has led to a record number of incarcerations for drug-related offenses, most of which are victimless crimes.
Literary Style
Style
Darkness Visible is narrated from a first-person perspective and falls under the genre of memoir. Memoirs are autobiographical narratives focusing on specific segments of the author's life. They involve the narrator reflecting on past experiences or periods and attempting to understand them. In this case, the narrator is Styron himself, recounting a six-month period when he struggled with severe depression, written from a viewpoint four years later. Each character in the memoir contributes to the overarching theme, which explores the resilience and triumph of the human spirit in the face of severe challenges. The narrative centers on his depression, and other characters and their stories are significant only in relation to Styron’s experiences. Styron’s storytelling is direct and literal, with minimal use of figurative language, which suits the nonfictional nature of a medical condition.
Flashback
Flashbacks are often used to provide background information or events that occurred prior to the main story. Styron starts Darkness Visible with a flashback to his initial visit to Paris, thirty-three years earlier in 1952. By contrasting his feelings during this first visit with his mood during a visit in 1985, Styron highlights the transformation in his emotional state. Once young, curious, and hopeful, he is now older, weary, and overwhelmed by despair.
Tone
Tone reflects the speaker's attitude toward the subject matter. In Darkness Visible, Styron’s tone aligns with the book’s title. As he describes his battle with depression, his language captures the essence of the illness. His sentences are often slow and methodical, and he sometimes repeats himself, mirroring his struggle to articulate his experience. Despite the occasional sluggishness of his prose, readers trust Styron’s voice because he writes from a place of reflection. His writing, though sometimes heavy, is also careful, rational, and as objective as possible.
Setting
The setting of a story refers to the time and place where the narrative unfolds. Frequently, settings are physical locations; for instance, Mark Twain’s Huck Finn is set on and around the Mississippi River during the mid-nineteenth century. While Styron mentions several physical locations such as Paris, his Connecticut home, Martha’s Vineyard, and the hospital where he was admitted, these descriptions are brief and not central to the story’s progression. The primary setting is Styron’s mind, focusing on his emotional state, the interplay of his actions, and the progression of his depression and recovery.
Media Adaptations
• William Styron’s novel Sophie’s Choice was adapted into a film in 1982, featuring Meryl Streep as a Holocaust survivor and Kevin Kline as an American Jew fixated on the Holocaust.
• Styron made a cameo appearance in the 1994 comedy Naked in New York.
• Susanna Styron, William Styron’s daughter, directed the 1999 movie Shadrach, which is based on a short story by her father. The film, starring Andie MacDowell and Harvey Keitel, was distributed by Columbia Pictures.
• In 1979, Dick Cavett interviewed William Styron on PBS. The recording can be obtained from the Public Broadcasting System.
Bibliography and Further Reading
Sources
Breggin, Peter, and Ginger Breggin, Talking Back to Prozac: What Doctors Aren’t Telling You about Today’s Most Controversial Drug, St. Martin’s Press, 1994.
Prescott, Peter S., ‘‘Journey to the End of Despair,’’ in Newsweek, Vol. 116, No. 9, August 27, 1990, p. 60.
Saari, Jon, Review in Antioch Review, Vol. 49, Issue 1, Winter 1991, p. 146.
Sheffield, Anne, How Can You Survive When They’re Depressed, Harmony, 1998.
Sheppard, R. Z., ‘‘Page Fright,’’ in Time, Vol. 136, Issue 10, September 3, 1990, p. 73.
Shuman, R. Baird, ‘‘Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness,’’ in Magill Book Reviews, Salem Press, 1990.
Styron, William, Darkness Visible, Vintage, 1990.
Further Reading
Ross, Daniel William, ed., The Critical Response to William Styron, Greenwood, 1995. This compilation of critiques features essays spanning from the 1950s to 1995 on novels like Lie Down In Darkness, The Long March, and Darkness Visible. The essays explore themes such as Styron’s position in the literary canon and the various influences on his work.
West, James L. W., William Styron: A Life, Random House, 1998. In this comprehensive biography of Styron, West delves into the creative process behind each of Styron’s novels. However, there is a noticeable lack of focus on Styron’s life beyond his writing.
Bibliography
Suggested Readings
Booklist. LXXXVI, July, 1990, p.2043.
Chicago Tribune. September 2, 1990, XIV, p.3.
Commentary. XC, November, 1990, p.54
Cronkite, Kathy. On the Edge of Darkness: Conversations About Conquering Depression. New York: Doubleday, 1994.
Karp, David Allen. Speaking of Sadness: Depression, Disconnection, and the Meanings of Illness. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996.
Wurtzel, Elizabeth. Prozac Nation: Young and Depressed in America. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1994.
Library Journal. CXV; August, 1990, p.127.
Los Angeles Times. August 28, 1990, p. El.
The New York Times Book Review. XCV; August 19, 1990, p.1.
Newsweek. CXVI, August 27, 1990, p.60.
Publishers Weekly. CCXXXVII, July 13, 1990, p.46.
Time. CXXXVI, September 3, 1990, p.73.
The Washington Post Book World. XX, August 26, 1990, p.1.