Response: "About That Day"

According to the Pew Research Center, 97% of Americans remember where they were on 9/11. It’s something that comes up in every conversation I’ve had “about that day”: Where were you when you found out? (My answer: Homeroom, ninth grade.) In terms of both content and style, Rhett Miller’s essay on experiencing 9/11 as a New Yorker offers lots of interesting points for discussion.

Immediacy: Tense Changes and Fragments

A major feature of this story is its sense of immediacy. In part, Miller achieves this effect by switching into the present tense, which could have felt gimmicky but worked for me in this particular story. In addition to the introduction, we have this opening paragraph in the past tense:

“Went to bed at three last night after writing a song, 'Lovebird,' and making love with Erica. About 9 a.m., heard two loud explosions. [ . . . ] It’s not unusual to hear construction in the morning, and I think I muttered a sleepy complaint about the loud noise.”

After a few lines of dialogue, we move into present tense, launching us into a play-by-play of the day’s events:

“Terrace is locked. A girl getting on the elevator says we can go stand in the stairwell. There’s an opening with a view. A half-dozen people already there.”

Aside from one brief switch back (“Six weeks ago, E’s parents came to the city . . .”), the story stays in the present tense until the last paragraph. Here, it returns to past tense, with a hint of present at the very end:

“I didn’t write a word about the engagement ring in the journal. I was afraid Erica would see it. [. . .] We got married, had two kids, and now live in a quiet spot in the Hudson Valley. We don’t discuss the events of that day much anymore.”

Those last two sentences are interesting to me because of their movement through time. They describe what happened (“We got married, had two kids . . .”), what is happening presently (“. . . and now live in a quiet spot . . .”), and suggest a trend continuing into the future (not discussing 9/11 anymore).

To achieve a sense of immediacy in this piece, Miller also uses fragments and short, choppy sentences. It makes the story feel more off-the-cuff, like a pure stream of thought. It’s useful to consider the effects that different constructions could have:

Miller’s construction: “We run. In our stupid Birks. Down to where the street dead-ends. South.”

Another option: “We run south in our stupid Birks, down to where the street dead-ends.”

Another option: “In our stupid Birks, we run south, down to where the street dead-ends.”

Repeated Themes

- Loss. Miller doesn’t mention knowing anyone who died in the attacks, so the sense of human loss in more abstract in this story than in other 9/11 pieces I’ve read. (It’s mostly represented by the recurring image of the falling man. It’s an image of hopelessness, but also an image of a person taking control of their fate.) This piece was more about Miller’s loss of “home”—not just material possessions like his guitar and notebooks, but the sense of security and personal control that “home” suggests.

- Confusion/Disorientation. The characters in this story are at a total loss as to how to handle the situation. They don’t know if to stay or leave, they fail to wear good running shoes, they’re on “autopilot.” At one point, Miller says simply: “We don’t know where to go.” Later, he reflects on how E’s mother said that younger generations wouldn’t be able “to deal with a catastrophe;” 9/11 entailed, as it’s often been said, a loss of innocence. In a particularly telling moment, the characters seek comfort in a place that feels familiar—a restaurant called Buffa’s, where they eat their typical eggs and bacon.

- The bodily experience of 9/11. This is a really “physical” story, as opposed to a reflective one. My favorite line of the bunch was: “Breathing feels like chewing and swallowing.”

Digital Components

The Atlantic augmented this story with video and links to Miller’s related writings. The latter offers images of his notebook—but only of the pages where he had written lyrics. I wish they had included a snapshot of his actual journal writings. For one thing, I’m curious about how much of this piece is straight transcription (from his diary) and how much has been added to assist in the flow of the story.

A few parts feel reflective, as if they were added in once Miller had more time to process how he was feeling. (Like when he senses that he’s beginning to distance himself, an instinct of self-defense that he acquired in childhood.) But in the end, this essay's power seems to lie in its rawness.