TOUCHING FROM A DISTANCE: Deborah Curtis' Book and My Need to Write

Dear Reader,

Touching From A Distance: Ian Curtis And Joy Division (1995), written by Ian Curtis’ widow Deborah Curtis, inspired the movie Control (see my 11/29/09 blog post), explores Manchester, England post-punk singer Ian Curtis’ quickly earned fame as lead singer and lyricist for the band Joy Division, and his immaturity and/or mental illness that may have led to his death at 23. He neglected his young wife and his newborn baby. He carried on an affair and traveled with a Belgian woman. He had an epileptic condition, which led to grand mal seizures while he performed. In May 1980, he hanged himself, leaving behind a wife, 1-year-old daughter, and lots of questions, the most important being Why? Deborah Curtis didn’t have and answer. No one does.

I read Touching From A Distance because I hoped to learn about Ian Curtis’ writing process, specifically how came up with songs like “Transmission” and “Control.” As it turned out, Deborah wasn’t included in his private process, and his band mates were too involved in their lives to care, so there wasn’t much to learn from the book. But I came away with something more interesting than his writing process: my thoughts evoked by this quote from page 121 (paperback 2007).

“The one good thing to come out of Ian’s attempted suicide [several months before his death] was that an appointment was made for him to see a psychiatrist at Parkside Hospital. Amazingly, when the day came for Ian’s visit to the psychiatrist, we went together. On the way there he told me how unhappy he was in the music business. He said that when “Transmission” and Unknown Pleasures had been released, he had achieved his ambitions. Now there was nothing else left for him to do. All he ever intended was to have one album and one single pressed. His aspirations had never extended to recording “Love Will Tear Us Apart” or Closer. As I drove along, he told me how he wanted to leave Joy Division and join a circus.”

Ian Curtis said all he wanted to do was release one album and one single. He didn’t intend to record more music, but he did. Why? Did he expect it of himself? Did other people push him? Could he have stopped after just one success? If he’d quit, would he still have been considered an artist, a genius? Did writing past his initial desires deplete him, cause his death? I don’t know.

I wonder how many talented writers also strive to publish that one book, story, or poem, and once they do, they shut away their talent. (Or painters, actors, and so on.) Do they consider their job done? Do they ever feel like they’re wasting their talents? When I was a dance teacher I choreographed dozens of dances for my students but never managed to do the same for myself. Until I did. Terrified, I performed my dance for hundreds of students and their families, and I succeeded beautifully. The audience loved me. And as I carried my box of congratulatory bouquets to my car I thought I’m done. There wasn’t anything left to do. I didn’t need dance anymore.

So I left dance, but I didn’t join a circus. I joined writing. And I expect I’ll be there a long time. I can’t imagine there’ll come a day when I’ll no longer need writing.