Under My Bed and Other Essays

by Jody Keisner

University of Nebraska Press, 2022. $21.95

Reviewed by Whitney (Walters) Jacobson

When I received a copy of Jody Keisner’s Under My Bed and Other Essays (University of Nebraska Press, 2022), I had some apprehensions about the content. The collection examines various fears that have distressed and distracted Keisner, from childhood to present day.

As a woman, I know the unease of being on my own as well as the rabbit-hole of anxiety motherhood can bring with it. So, Keisner’s confession that “Even when leaving my apartment for a quick trip to the basement to use the communal laundry room–especially then–I secured my windows, front door, and the rickety back door” (14) and her observation, “my baby could be hurt because of something I did wrong, something easily prevented, something as simple as tripping over a pair of shoes” (41) quickly drew me into her apprehensive state of mind.

Thus, I was concerned this book may stimulate or exacerbate those fears, but I needn’t have worried. Keisner expertly braids together her life’s stories with research to guide readers through the immediate experience of fear as well as the effort to reckon with it:

Neurologists have discovered that during pregnancy the anatomical structure of the brain changes in ways that are so profound that they describe the transformation as ‘brain remodeling’ . . . These and other maternal brain changes may explain why many new mothers suffer from postpartum blues and anxiety disorders, compulsively checking their infants at night for signs of life . . . I tiptoe into Lily’s moonlit bedroom, push back her sweaty hair from her sleeping face . . . Every night she’s shed a former self . . . this is a good thing, the right thing, and it fills me with dread. (93)

The way she effectively zooms in and out between public facts and private truths within those threads makes the research accessible and meaningful to readers.

However, it is Keisner’s endeavor to not only face her dragons (a concept endorsed by Sondra Perl and Mimi Schwartz in their craft text Writing True: The Art and Craft of Creative Nonfiction), but to stare them down, which enables readers to trust her even as she reveals perceived weaknesses: “I will always be ill, either from the medicine or from the disease–or, more likely, a combination of both. This fact is the toughest pill for me to swallow. // I choke it down” (147).

Keisner is undoubtedly a smart writer; her “Side Effects” chapter, with its wordplay and asides, was a pleasure to read, and I was both startled and pleased to see Keisner’s meta-analysis of her book in the preface, noting the rhyme and reasoning for her writing choices. That reflection continues throughout the book and prevents it from becoming insular: “I have always regarded sickness in my own body as an inconvenience. I realize now that it’s an arrogant attitude granted only to those who are healthy or who have access to affordable healthcare” (119).

Yet, one frustration I had with the essays was the repetitive description of her father’s anger and physical presence—i.e., after noting that “he stayed mean” (185), I didn’t need the descriptive sentence following. Certainly, given the text’s structure, details may need to be reestablished in the context of an individual essay, were it to be read alone, but perhaps the descriptions could have been pared back a bit when looking at the book as a whole. However, the collection itself is not repetitive. Although Under My Bed and Other Essays is about fear, Keisner provides variation and nuance in each essay, making the overall discussion fresh and engaging.

How many of us are honest about our fears: with the public, with family / friends, or even with ourselves? In her preface, Keisner asserts, “I want this book to empower readers” (xiii), even as she later reveals, “I, too, worry that voicing my fear might summon it, turning it into a self-fulfilling prophecy” before proposing, “perhaps when you name your fears, they can’t get you” (8).

Keisner does not provide magical answers to exterminate all her readers’ fears—how could she possibly do so? Instead, the resounding comforting message she broadcasts is “You are not alone.”

Whitney (Walters) Jacobson holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Minnesota State University Moorhead. Her poetry and creative nonfiction have been published in Punctuate, Feminine Collective, Up North Lit, After the Pause, and In the Words of Womyn International, among other publications. She is currently working on a collection of essays exploring skills, objects, and traits passed on (or not) from generation to generation. She maintains a curiosity in memoir and the themes of feminism, water, inheritance, blue-collar work, and grief.