December 14, 2023
YTA: everything you wanted to know about the novel*
The story is about the outwardly gracious Keturah (whose parents secretly named her Kettlecorn as a socio-political statement or popular cultural stunt) and her therapist, a dog named Stig, who explore issues and themes euch as Reddit's AITA, the existence of heaven, the value of revenge, guilt (or lack thereof), 22 peanut butter cups, innate stupidity, roofs, childhood, Christmas lights, ornamental burritos, a Gothic dollhouse, curs, balloons, anti-vaxxers, cherpumples, freedumb convoys, dating foibles, triumph, Neo-Calvinism, Elizabeth Taylor, and a bubblegum-pink Loro Piana cardigan - all this and a Schubert reading soundtrack!
*but were afraid to ask
Keturah (née Kettlecorn)
Stig (a bull terrier: her therapist and best friend)
Woody (longtime pal - only human who knows Keturah's real name)
Bram (Abraham, né HPHTWHB: spouse)
Ruth (Keturah's mother)
Owny (Keturah's father)
Johnson, Robert and Buddy (an assortment of doinks)
Franz Schubert - Impromptu in B-flat major "Rosamunde"
We were born with the exit gene. Stig knows what this is; he has it too. Part of the reason we are intent on being societally relevant is that it’s tempting to back away from those who no longer have life ahead of them, who no longer participate in living. It shouldn’t be that obvious, but we can’t help it. We backed away from Ruth when her mental acuity began to falter. We felt pity for Stig’s predecessors – pity commingled with an awful hope that if the end was nigh, let it happen quickly.
Ruth used to muse every now and then: “I wonder whatever became of Auld Owny, over the years.”
“He might be dead,” we replied. We felt it was what we both wanted to hear.
“He might. Yes, he might,” said Ruth, nodding, with only a hint of amusement inflecting her voice. “Not that we wish that he were dead.”
“No, but if it is his time, let the time pass swiftly, and with the blessing of peace.”
“Agree. Let his hopeful and inevitable demise have been peaceful and quick.”
The truth of the matter is that neither of us would learn the true fate of Auld Owny unless we put in a concerted effort to track him down. Technology being what it is lately, we don’t want to be seen as the kind of person who tracks people down, follows, stalks. There are a few YTAs who are not worth the possibility of an “aha moment”. Who knows if they’re tracking their viewers, waiting for the charge of pointing a finger: We know your type. We knew you would be following us.
As it turns out, Auld Owny stretches his life out a good eight years beyond Ruth, though they both extinguish at the same age.
“Must be a cosmic thing,” says Stig. “There’s a point to marriage after all. The pious freedom fighters at the picnic will insist that husband and wife are reunited in heaven. Holy cow, I wonder what that’s going to look like with Owny and Ruth. It’ll be a real picnic when Auld Owny’s next wife shows up. I didn’t think there’d be ‘splainin to do in heaven, but it looks like I was wrong.”
Heaven is a big tundra, according to Bram. Apart from that, he refuses to discuss it. We have asked him many times, since this is clearly a topic of family interest, what heaven is like. Every time he turns away, angrily, as though we’ve tried to make a fool of him.
Eventually, we tire of his petulance and ask the questions he doesn’t want to answer. Is there food in heaven? How does it stay hot if it’s supposed to be hot, like pizza?
We comprise a list of questions about heaven and the more Bram pulls away, the more we press, to the point of being obnoxious, to have those questions addressed.
The 100 Questions We Ask About Heaven (but Bram is Afraid or Unwilling to Answer):
1. Is there pizza in heaven?
2. If there is pizza, is it the best pizza, consistently? Is there no such thing as bad pizza?
3. Where does the pizza come from? Is there equal representation from Italy, and say, New York, where pizza is different but famously good?
4. Is there alcohol in heaven?
5. Can people in heaven have too much to drink?
6. Do they get tipsy?
7. Are there drunks in heaven?
8. Is there such a thing as leftover pizza?
9. Can you eat too much?
10. If you eat too much, is it gluttony – and do you get kicked out of heaven as a result?
11. Is there a need for food in heaven, or is it all just whim-oriented?
12. Are there teeth to brush?
13. What happens to the pizza if there is pizza?
14. Is there plumbing in heaven? (this question more than any other irritated Bram; he heaved himself out of his chair and stomped away when we asked it)
15. What happens to hygiene in heaven?
16. What happens to DNA families as opposed to societal families?
17. What if you never found out what your true lineage was in life? Do you learn the truth in heaven, and is everyone OK about it?
18. What clothing is available in heaven?
19. Do you get your favourite outfits? From what decade?
20. What colour is your hair? Do you get to pick?
21. Is heaven always one specific time of day, or are there different times, as there is here?
22. Is there weather in heaven?
23. Do angels sleep?
24. If they do, then where?
25. How big is heaven?
26. How far can you travel there, say, to visit people you knew as acquaintances?
27. Are there dogs?
28. Are the dogs owned by angels, or are they free?
29. Do they have to eat dog food, or is there something better, like filet mignon?
30. Do bad dogs come to heaven anyway, because there is no such thing as a bad dog, just a bad human?
31. What about the people (like the super-straight freedumb fighter) who are horribly misguided and think they have been godly throughout life but have just been massive YTAs?
32. What about us, who behaves more graciously than most, but who harbours resentment and mockery for the YTA crowd, even for Bram, who is, at his core, just not nice?
33. Is there any stuff in heaven that isn’t like the stuff we have here?
34. Is there furniture in heaven?
35. Roads?
36. Is there a universal language?
37. Is everyone understood in heaven?
38. Is God available?
39. Are there senior angels showing the new angels around?
40. Can we have all the candy we want in heaven?
41. What about the candy we had a long time ago, when we were kids?
42. What about teeth?
43. What about artificial sweeteners? Are they necessary?
44. Are there hunters?
45. Is there fresh fruit? From heaven-grown trees?
46. Are there pious people who walk around saying ‘I told you so,’ and if so, do they get away with it?
47. Is there light and dark in heaven?
48. Is there cold and hot?
49. Is there anything bad?
50. Are there jokes?
51. Are there dirty jokes?
52. Is anything dirty in heaven?
53. Is heaven boring?
54. Do people work in heaven?
55. Can people read in heaven?
56. If people were blind, can they see in heaven?
Are all the angels friends with each other?
58. Do angels have names? Are they the same names that they had when they were alive?
59. Do angels dance?
60.Can angels become expert in things they always wanted to do on earth but never did?
61. Are there babies in heaven?
62. If so, do they grow up?
63. Do people in heaven ever wonder what’s going on in in hell?
64. What do people do all day in heaven?
65. Are there such things as “day” and “night” in heaven?
66. Do people in heaven get to hang around with God?
67. If you were ugly in life, can you be beautiful in heaven?
68. How do you travel around heaven?
69. Is there art in heaven?
70. Is there philosophy in heaven?
71. Is everyone happy all the time in heaven?
72. How are people grouped in heaven?
73. Can people ever be alone in heaven?
74. What age are we in heaven?
75. Is it forever?
76. Can we pick it?
77. Are people in heaven aware of what’s happening on earth?
78. Do people still talk about the Bible in heaven?
79. What do Jews talk about in heaven?
80. Do angels walk, fly, or float around?
81. Are their wings made of feathers?
82. Are angels part avian?
83. Can you confront anyone in heaven once you get there and see them?
84. Does heaven have anything to do with life on other planets?
85. What is Christmas like in heaven?
86. Can you not want to go to heaven but still end up in heaven?
87. Are there seasons in heaven?
88. Is there water?
89. Is water necessary?
90.Where does it come from?
91. Do people have a sense of smell in heaven?
92. If so, how?
93. If people eat in heaven, then how do they do it without internal organs?
94. Is anything tangible in heaven?
95. Is love a concept in heaven?
96. Can people in heaven listen in on people on earth? Can they eavesdrop?
97. Can angels really protect people on earth from calamity?
98. Is heaven crowded?
99. What can you do in heaven that you can’t do here?
100.What can you do here that you can’t do in heaven?
We think this is a concise list, written off the top of our head. After quick consideration we can see the reason why Bram is angered by the few questions we’ve asked; he can’t answer them, and he thinks we’re trying to make a monkey out of him by asking things that he would purport to disprove the existence of heaven.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” says Stig, eyes rolling. “These are questions that any chucklehead might have. Bram doesn’t like the notion that you might be poking holes in the reverence he’s decided you should carry. I don’t see disrespect in what you’re asking, and he must see that you’re mystified by his hostile behaviour. Even if he believed you were mocking or ignorant, this would be a good opportunity for him to step up to the plate and educate you. You were asking for that. But, cutting to the chase – Bram wants you to see how unpleasant he feels to be around you. He wants you to feel uncomfortable about that. He’s decided that you’re a subordinate. You have a line to toe. He sets the boundary and your job is not to come near it.”
This realisation is what makes us want a good slug of champagne and a mess of Hallowe’en chocolate bars to sweeten us up. Woody once told us that we were easily satiated. We’d agree. We’re also easily mollified, pacified, bribed, cajoled, soothed, appeased, assuaged, and placated. A hundred tiny chocolate bars washed down with fine champagne – think of that! If there is a heaven, surely it has a good supply, a never-ending one, ready and waiting for us. Our questions about food in heaven are the realest questions you’ll find. Bram has no good reason to sneer at us. He’s told us several times, don’t you know, that he’d once eaten 22 regular-sized peanut butter cups at a single sitting. 22 in one go. How do you like that?
How could you stomach a quantity like that, we’d asked. We were repelled by his admission. It was an admission of a loss of control, like soiling one’s underpants or groaning the name of an ex during an intimate moment.
“That’s an ugh for me,” says Stig.
22 regular-sized peanut butter cups, Stig, think of it. We also asked him, Did you not find all of this sickening after a while - say, after the first eight or nine?
He replied that no, on the contrary, the peanut butter cups tasted better and better the more of them he crammed into his mouth. We can practically taste it, see it – the mouth caked with peanut butter crumbs and chocolate smears. Bram has never been the tidiest around food. We wonder if he slowed down as he approached the magic 22, and we had more questions afterwards. Why did he choose 22? Why not more, or less? How long did this dreadful spree last? Was there any impetus, like a relationship going pear-shaped? Was this intentional, as in ‘I’m going out to buy 22 peanut butter cups and then wolf them down in a single act of gluttony? And finally, with all the Christian ideals packed into this chap, how could he reconcile himself with the sin, the gluttony, the failure to be a good steward of his God-given body?
Yet here we are, years after shuddering at the man’s revelation. We’re slavering at the thought of gnawing a hundred Hallowe’en miniatures paired with good champers - a crass juxtaposition. Granted, we’re envisioning heaven, and we’re probably trying to balance the good, the godly with the cheap and humble. Still. A hundred of them. We see ourselves peeling off the tiny wrappers, snuffling, stuffing the bars in, one after another.
We’re not ennobled by admitting to this heavenly desire, but we can’t look at Bram as a philistine, a clod, either, at least not looking at our reflection in the mirror with a mouth crammed full of KitKats. We think of Elizabeth Taylor, cheeks full of fun-sized candy bars, leaning over a bowl and spitting the wad of chocolate before starting over again – the clean version of the vomitorium, we suppose.
