The Writing Life

Chapter 7 is the most traditionally biographical within the book because it primarily recounts Dillard’s affiliation with the aviator, Dave Rahm, in a successive string of interactions. Her recollections still jump out of chronology on occasion, but it is the first chapter where Dillard gives specific temporal context for her memories—June of 1975 and the successive few months. Other chapters only vaguely allude to when they occur based on what she was writing. The attention to specifics in Chapter 7 indicates the importance of this relationship for Dillard. Since the reader finds out Dave Rahm has since died, the chapter acts as a serious memorialization of his art and his person.

Dave Rahm’s story also works to exemplify the subjects on writing Dillard has examined over the course of the book. Where Dillard’s younger self is frequently a counterexample to her advice, Dave Rahm symbolizes the pinnacle of these artistic practices in action. Dillard lauds Rahm’s dedication, relentlessness, selflessness, and immersion in his art. His performance is so thrilling that she feels as if she had only “begun learning about beauty” on that day (98). Like how Dillard “always want[s] to paint, too, after [she] see[s] the Rembrandts” (97), she believes Rahm’s performance can inspire others to imitate him—either directly, like the swallow does, or indirectly through imitation of his persistence.

Parallels to traditional arts illustrate the imaginative aspect of Rahm’s flying. Dillard observes that his performance has a ceaseless rhythm, like music that “had no periods, rests or endings” or like a “beautiful sentence [that] never ended” (97). Unlike the other performers, Rahm does not straighten his plane out between tricks; he blends his movements together in a seamless progression. For Dillard, Rahm’s plane traverses the air in a meandering line that creates dynamic “landscapes and systems” in the sky (95).

As a writer aims to incorporate literature into their body, Dillard speaks of Rahm as being physically combined with his work. Rahm isn’t visible during the performance, but Dillard describes his movements as if the plane was “his whole body” (95). He pushes his body and the plane “inexhaustibly” to the absolute limits of their abilities. Aviation is the extreme display of incorporating the self into one’s art because Rahm’s body is always necessarily within the performance operating the plane. After flying with Rahm, Dillard knows that the tricks make him feel “as if his brain were bursting his eardrums” (109). However, Rahm is determined to not acknowledge his discomfort because if he “noticed how he felt, he could not have done the work” for the audience (110). This harkens back to Dillard’s advice about hiding the arduousness of the writing process because it is unkind to share these struggles with the reader.

The image of the line returns for the final time in Dillard’s and Rahm’s own description of his flying. Rahm “thought of the air as a line” (102) and says his movements try to follow a rhythm along that line. His description echoes Dillard’s advice for writers to follow the line of words in whatever direction it goes. The fear of following the line because it could potentially lead to nothingness poses a more literal and mortal threat to Dave Rahm, and therefore makes his style of flying more courageous and awe-inspiring. The fear of crashing, of disaster, never dissuades Rahm from pushing the boundaries of his plane because the possibility of new, exhilarating performances outweighs any risk. Dillard reveres Rahm’s relentless improvisation and his confidence when faced with danger.