'Dispensing True Charm'

Joseph Epstein turns a sprightly eighty-seven today – “sprightly” because he is still writing, still reading, still sending notes of encouragement to those of us who can use the occasional infusion of sprightliness. In the last month he has published reviews and essays devoted to Willa Cather, Roman emperors, Hezbollah, Meet the Press, Shakespeare and other topics I have probably missed. Like the best reporters and essayists, Epstein is a generalist. He knows a little about everything and never poses as an expert on anything. He revels in what used to be called “the life of the mind” and in life itself. He is another of life’s small-“d” democrats, curious, funny, learned and open to experience, someone with whom I have swapped dirty jokes and thoughts on the novels of James Gould Cozzens.

 Of the hundreds of Epstein articles I have read in the last half-century, my favorite is likely “My Friend Matt,” published in the June 2012 issue of Commentary and collected in Essays in Biography (2012). Matthew Shanahan was a blind man, eighty-eight when Epstein met him, a high-school dropout who loved books and good conversation. He lived in a home for blind and visually impaired people in Chicago. The essay recounts the friendship between the two men, without a hint of condescension on Epstein’s part:     

 

“What I got out of my lunches with Matt, along with much laughter, a nice feeling of comradeship, and bits of education about life in Chicago before my time, was a heightened sense of life’s possibilities, even when the odds are stacked against a man. Matt played on through blindness, near deafness, old age, felt life closing in on him, and kept his poise, humor, high spirits. The plain fact is that I admired him and was pleased to hear other people tell me that he looked forward to our lunches.”

 

In Charm: The Elusive Enchantment (2018), Epstein concedes that our era delivers “a paucity of charm,” and asks, “[W]hat is one to do?” The primary answer is obvious: “Those of us who get high on, groove on, one might say are even addicted to charm find ourselves falling back on the charm of the past . . .” But Epstein hints at a rare alternative:

 

“[T]here is always the hope one will meet a person or two who is a carrier of the lovely charm virus, which fortunately is incurable but not, unfortunately, contagious. I have met such people, though not as often as I would like, finding my spirits, my sense of myself, uplifted in their company. One of the chief things charm does, even if we know we cannot emulate it, is make us feel better about ourselves. Being with charming people can make one feel oneself charming, at least tangentially, at least a little. Those dispensing true charm not only light up rooms but lives.”   

 

Let’s call that the Epstein Effect. More good news: His autobiography, Never Say You've Had a Lucky Life: Especially If You've Had a Lucky Life, will be published in April.