Thinking about Dead Bodies with John Troyer (Hay Festival)

My second of three digital Hay Festival talks this year was by John Troyer, director of the interdisciplinary Centre for Death and Society at the University of Bath. Troyer is from Wisconsin (where he was speaking from, having been trapped there during a visit to his parents) and grew up with a father who owned a funeral home. This meant that he was aware of death from a young age: One of his earliest memories is of touching the hand of a dead woman when he went to visit his father at work.

That’s not the only personal experience that went into his new book, Technologies of the Human Corpse, which I’m now keen to read. In 2018 his younger sister, Julie, died of brain cancer at age 43, so her illness and death became a late addition to the preface and also fed into a series of prose poems interspersed between the narrative chapters. She lived in Italy and her doctors failed to tell her that she was dying – that job fell to Troyer. (Unfortunately, this seems to be a persistent problem in Italy. In Dottoressa, her memoir of being an American doctor in Rome, which I read for a TLS review, Susan Levenstein writes of a paternalistic attitude among medical professionals: they treat their patients as children and might not even tell them about a cancer diagnosis; they just inform their family.)

Troyer discussed key moments that changed how we treat corpses. For instance, during the American Civil War there was a huge market for the new embalming technology; it was a way of preserving the bodies of soldiers so they could be returned home for funerals. Frauds also arose, however, and those taken in might find their loved one’s body arrived in a state of advanced decay. At around the same time, early photography captured corpses looking serene and sleeping. We might still take such photos, but we don’t tend to display them any more.

In the 1970s the “happy death” movement advocated for things like “natural death” and “death with dignity.” This piggybacked on the environmental and women’s movements and envisioned death as a taboo that had to be overcome. In recent decades a “necro-economy” based on the global trafficking of body parts (not organs for regulated transplant, Troyer clarified, but other tissue types) has appeared. While whole bodies may be worth just £2,000, “disarticulated” ones divided into their parts can net more like £100,000. Donating one’s body to science is, of course, a noble decision. Many people are also happy to donate their organs, though there remains a particular wariness about donating the eyes.

Troyer and Florence on my screen.

One section of Troyer’s book has become “uncannily resonant” in recent days, he noted. This is Chapter 3, on the AIDS corpse, an object of stigma. The biggest changes to death in the time of COVID-19 have been that family members are not able to be with a dying person in the ICU and that funerals cannot proceed as normal. In a viral pandemic, countries are producing a huge number of corpses that they aren’t prepared to deal with. (Indeed, the Washington, D.C. area is so overwhelmed with dead bodies that ice skating rinks have been requisitioned as makeshift morgues. The suburban Maryland rink I visited as a child is one such. Grim.)

Troyer spoke of the need for an everyday-ness to the discussion of death: talking with one’s next of kin, and encountering death in the course of a traditional education – he finds that even his final-year university students, studying in a related field, are very new to talking about death. A good way in that he recommends is simply to ask your loved ones what music they want played at their funerals, and the conversation can go from there.

We may not be able to commemorate the dead as we would like to at this time, but Troyer reminded the audience that funerals are for the living, whereas “the dead are okay with it – they know we’re doing our best.” The event was sensitively chaired by Peter Florence, the co-founder and director of Hay Festival (also responsible for last year’s controversial Booker Prize tie); the fact that Troyer got emotional talking about his sister only gave it more relevance and impact.


I’ve read an abnormally large number of books about death, especially in the five years since my brother-in-law died of brain cancer (one reason why Troyer’s talk was so meaningful for me). Most recently, I read Bodies in Motion and at Rest (2000) by Thomas Lynch, a set of essays by the Irish-American undertaker and poet from Michigan. I saw him speak at Greenbelt Festival in 2012 and have read four of his books since then. His unusual dual career lends lyrical beauty to his writing about death. However, this collection was not memorable for me in comparison to his 1997 book The Undertaking, and I’d already encountered a shortened version of “Wombs” in the Wellcome Collection anthology Beneath the Skin. But this passage from “The Way We Are” stood out:

After years and years of directing funerals, I’ve come to the conclusion that seeing [the dead body] is the hardest and most helpful part. The truth, even when it hurts, has a healing in it, better than fiction or fantasy. When someone dies it is not them we fear seeing, it is them dead. It is the death. We fear that seeing will be believing. We fear not seeing too. We search the wreckage and the ruins, the battlefields and ocean floors. We must find our dead to let the loss be real.


Just for a bit of morbid fun, I decided to draw up my top 10 nonfiction books about death, dying and the dead. Many of these are personal accounts of facing death or losing a loved one. In contrast to the bereavement and cancer memoirs, the books by Doughty and Gawande are more like cultural studies, and Montross’s is about working with corpses. If you need a laugh, the Bechdel (a graphic memoir) and Doughty are best for black comedy.

16 responses

  1. In the normal course of events, I’m probably much nearer to death than you. But though I’ve planned my funeral (green burial, obviously) I still tend to avoid thinking about death too much. So it never even entered my head to attend that particular Hay event. This ostrich-like attitude is the common one I think. I guess I ought to toughen up!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Death is a morbid fascination of mine. This was probably one of the less-attended Hay events, if I had to guess.

      That’s great that you’ve planned your funeral. So many people leave it too late and the family left behind aren’t aware of their wishes. I haven’t done anything in the way of a will or funeral planning, mostly because I have no direct descendants. But it would still be worth doing at some point.


  2. The Victorians were much better at thinking about death than we are for obvious reasons. If we were more open about it I think we’d all find it less difficult to accept, whether our own or that of those close to us. I plan to donate my body to science although that’s not as easy as you might think.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Even up through perhaps the Second World War people were a lot more familiar with death and would have seen a family member laid out in the front room. My husband didn’t see his first dead body until his 30s (whereas mine was my grandmother when I was 7) — I think it’s more and more common for people to get through a lot of their life without experiencing a death close to them.

      I’d be interested to hear more about that. Will it be via a local university? In forensic anthropologist Sue Black’s book All that Remains she talks about meeting her future cadaver! I’m happy to donate all my organs that are useful for transplant or research.


  3. Being Mortal and When Breath Becomes Air would definitely be in my top ten as well! I didn’t think Clarke’s Dear Life was quite as good as Being Mortal but it was still a very moving read – I thought the practical material she included on end of life directives etc was very good.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I haven’t read the Gawande since 2015. It’s in a box in America but would be one to reread when I get a chance.

      I loved how she combined personal stories and practical information in Dear Life. One of my top few NF books of the year so far (and better than the Mannix where it does similar things).

      Liked by 1 person

      1. 100% better than Mannix! Not patronising at all, and I really respected her statement re not giving her personal views on assisted dying alongside her honesty in saying that not all deaths can be pain-free, even with the best palliative care.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I’m going to have to read the Rachel Clarke book.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Highly recommended.


  5. Enjoyed this list. I’m also fascinated by this topic…

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I have Rachel Clarke’s book on my kindle; I’ll get to it one day. My interest in death is not quite as engrossing as yours but I certainly think about it a fair bit – my own mortality as well as others’. Possibly from having lost my sister shortly before her 21st birthday. This session passed me by entirely though and even if I had spotted it I’m not sure that now is the right time for me.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. There are any number of other books on death I could recommend that are less raw and/or medical. Perhaps Nothing to Be Frightened Of by Julian Barnes. I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your sister. I’m sure that’s the kind of event you never ‘get over’.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. buriedinprint | Reply

    Oh, yes, by all means, draw up a list of your favourite books about death. A top-10 list of books about books. Books about marriage. Books about cats. You’ve done all those. What else remains?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Putting ideas in my head! I’ve never narrowed those down to my top 10 lists … so why not? 😉

      Liked by 1 person

      1. buriedinprint



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