I See You’ve Called in Dead

 

I See You’ve Called in Dead 

By John Kenney

Cindy chose this book for our next book club, and my immediate reaction was…sounds uplifting, lol and I wonder how this will go.  It seems that honest narratives about death would be really hard to write, in my humble opinion.  I thought the premise itself was instantly intriguing, and Kenney walked a careful line between dark humor and genuine introspection. I think he pulls it off. There are some funny parts…the kind where you laugh and then immediately question your moral compass.

At the center of the story is Bud Stanley, an obituary writer who is, somewhat ironically, afraid to live. Bud is armed with a sharp, self-deprecating wit, especially in his exchanges with Tim, his wheelchair-bound friend and former art dealer, who often feels like the only person fully awake in the room.

The plot kicks into motion when Bud, drunk and spiraling, writes his own obituary. In a twist of bureaucratic absurdity, his newspaper, already itching to fire him, finds itself in a bind. After all, you can’t exactly fire a dead man. Bud, recognizing an opportunity wrapped in a clerical glitch, begins attending the funerals of strangers, hoping proximity to death might finally teach him something about life.

And oddly enough…it does.

As Bud drifts from wake to wake, inserting himself into the grief of strangers (which is not, by most standards, a normal hobby), he begins to reconnect with people, with meaning, with himself. There’s something quietly compelling about watching a man come back to life by lingering in rooms meant for goodbye.

One of the most meaningful moments in the book, to me, is Bud reflecting on his mother’s obituary…just seventy-four words. Seventy-four. That’s all it took to summarize an entire life. And yet, none of the real things made it in…the small, human details that actually are a life:

how she loved the beach
how she did a little hip shake when a song she liked came on
how she hummed when she was happy
how she leaned over the toaster on cold mornings, warming her face
how she’d smile and raise her eyebrows twice…their little secret

It makes you wonder: what would be left out of yours?

Maybe the real exercise isn’t writing your own obituary…but asking someone who loves you to write it for you. That version might be the truer one.

And yet… while I liked it, I didn’t quite love it.

It’s been hard to pinpoint why, but I think it’s a bit like a conversation that almost turns meaningful…right before someone changes the subject.

The characters are interesting, though sometimes kept at arm’s length, and the premise does a lot of the heavy lifting. You keep reading because it’s unusual and thoughtful…but you’re left wishing it dug just a little deeper into the messier, more uncomfortable truths it circles.

Still, there’s something that undeniably resonates about Bud’s journey. At its core, this is a story about being stuck…stuck in fear, in routine, in the past, and the quiet, often awkward ways we try to claw our way back into living. There’s a kind of revelation to that kind of awakening, and it stays with you.

One passage, in particular, captures the whole idea beautifully…a reminder that life is less about grand turning points and more about the accumulation of small, seemingly insignificant choices:

“𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘣. 𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵-𝘪𝘧𝘴…𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘴, 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘶𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘒𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴' 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯. 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

It’s funny. It’s sad. It’s a little unsettling. It’s true…it is truly a portrait of living.

I recently heard someone say that we die twice: once when our body does, and again when people stop saying our name.

That thought stayed with me. It made this story feel heavier in hindsight.

Because in the end, I See You’ve Called in Dead isn’t really about death…it’s about noticing the life we’re already in, before it quietly slips into seventy-four words.