Martyr!
Chapter One
by Kaveh AkbarThe chapter introduces Cyrus, a medical actor at Keady University Hospital who portrays dying patients or grieving family members for medical students to practice difficult conversations. He finds purpose in inhabiting various roles, from Sally Gutierrez, a mother losing her daughter, to Buck Stapleton, a Catholic coach facing his wife’s brain death. The job requires him to calibrate emotional responses based on pain scales while evaluating students’ empathy through score sheets. Cyrus enjoys the performative aspect, though his roommate Zee expresses concern about the psychological toll of repeatedly simulating trauma.
Cyrus’s work involves nuanced scenarios, such as organ donation discussions, where he must react authentically to students’ attempts at persuasion. He takes pride in embodying diverse characters, from a diabetic amputee to a German immigrant with terminal illness. The hiring doctor prefers non-actors like Cyrus, believing professional actors would make the scenarios about themselves. This detail hints at Cyrus’s natural talent for emotional authenticity, though his motivations remain complex—blending financial need, artistic curiosity, and an unspoken reckoning with personal history.
Zee’s discomfort with Cyrus’s job emerges as a recurring tension. He argues that simulating grief could negatively impact Cyrus’s mental health, especially given their shared “shit” they’ve endured—a vague reference to past struggles. Cyrus deflects with humor, citing the $20/hour wage and potential creative benefits for his stagnant poetry. Their exchange reveals Cyrus’s avoidance of deeper introspection, using practicality and artistic justification to sidestep Zee’s valid concerns about emotional labor.
The chapter contrasts Cyrus’s present sobriety with his former alcoholism, where he romanticized drinking as essential to his writing process. Now sober but creatively blocked, he clings to the medical acting job as both income and subconscious material for future work. Zee’s enthusiastic praise of Cyrus’s rare poetic drafts underscores his untapped potential, leaving readers to question whether Cyrus’s hospital performances are a form of artistic expression or emotional avoidance. The narrative sets up an exploration of performance, trauma, and the blurred lines between lived and simulated experience.
FAQs
1. Comprehension Question
What is Cyrus’s job at Keady University Hospital, and what does it entail?
Answer:
Cyrus works as a medical actor at Keady University Hospital, earning $20 per hour for 15 hours weekly. His role involves simulating various patient scenarios to train medical students. He portrays different characters—such as grieving family members or terminally ill patients—based on notecards detailing their identities, conditions, and pain levels (e.g., Sally Gutierrez, a mother reacting to her daughter’s death, or Buck Stapleton, a Catholic coach considering organ donation). Cyrus evaluates the students’ empathy and communication skills through score sheets, while cameras record interactions for review. The job requires emotional range, from restrained grief (a “2” on the pain scale) to intense distress (an “8”).
2. Analytical Question
How does Cyrus’s roommate, Zee, view his hospital job, and what underlying concerns does this reveal?
Answer:
Zee expresses discomfort with Cyrus’s job, calling it “unhealthy” and suggesting it could negatively impact his mental well-being. He argues that the brain “doesn’t know the difference between acting and living,” implying that repeatedly simulating trauma might exacerbate Cyrus’s past struggles (hinted at by references to his sobriety and “all the shit you’ve been through”). Zee’s skepticism contrasts with Cyrus’s pragmatic view of the job as financially beneficial and potentially inspiring for his writing. This tension highlights themes of emotional labor and the psychological costs of performance, as well as differing coping mechanisms between the two characters.
3. Critical Thinking Question
Why might the hospital prefer hiring “non-actors” like Cyrus for medical training simulations?
Answer:
The doctor explains that professional actors tend to make the scenarios “about themselves,” likely meaning they overperform or prioritize dramatic flair over authenticity. Non-actors like Cyrus may provide more genuine, subdued reactions that better mimic real patient behavior, allowing medical students to practice with realistic emotional cues. This preference underscores the hospital’s goal of training students in nuanced, patient-centered care rather than theatrical interactions. Cyrus’s ability to modulate his responses (e.g., dialing grief to a “6”) demonstrates the balance the role requires—authentic enough to be instructive but controlled enough to maintain consistency for evaluation.
4. Application Question
How might Cyrus’s experiences as a medical actor influence his poetry, based on the chapter’s details?
Answer:
Cyrus mentions the job could eventually benefit his writing, referencing the idea of “living the poems [he’s] not writing yet.” By embodying diverse identities and emotional states (e.g., a diabetic accountant facing amputation or a grieving immigrant), he accumulates raw material for future work. The chapter also notes his past struggle with writer’s block and reliance on alcohol for inspiration. The simulations could serve as a sober alternative, offering visceral experiences to channel into his poetry—particularly themes of mortality, identity, and human connection. His attention to language (e.g., quoting the Quran’s phrasing about death) suggests he’s already processing these experiences artistically.
5. Reflective Question
What contradictions or ironies do you notice in Cyrus’s relationship with performance, both in his job and personal life?
Answer:
Cyrus thrives on performance—whether pretending to die for medical students or theatrically quoting lines about drinking in bars—yet these acts reveal deeper vulnerabilities. His hospital role lets him safely explore mortality and grief, but Zee’s critique hints that Cyrus might be using performance to avoid confronting his own trauma. Similarly, his past reliance on alcohol as a “sacramental” creative tool contrasts with his current writer’s block, suggesting performance has been both a crutch and a catalyst. The irony lies in his job’s demand for authentic-feigning; it requires emotional honesty even as it involves artifice, mirroring his complex relationship with truth in art and sobriety.
Quotes
1. “Cyrus would step into the fourth-floor hospital office and a secretary would hand him a notecard with a fake patient’s name and identity on it beside a little cartoon face on the 0–10 pain scale where 0 was a smiling ‘No hurt at all’ face, 4 was a straight-faced ‘Hurts a little more,’ and 10 was a sobbing ‘Hurts worst’ face, a gruesome cartoon with an upside-down U for a mouth. Cyrus felt he’d found his calling.”
This quote introduces the surreal yet clinical nature of Cyrus’s work as a medical actor, blending performative artifice with raw human emotion. It captures the book’s exploration of identity and the commodification of suffering.
2. “The med students were often overeager to console him, like daytime talk-show hosts. Or they’d be repelled by the artifice of the situation and barely engage.”
This observation highlights the tension between genuine empathy and performative professionalism in medical training. It underscores the chapter’s critique of institutionalized compassion.
3. “When he raised an eyebrow, she quickly explained: ‘Non-actors, I mean. Actors tend to get a little—she spun her hands in tight circles—’Marlon Brando about it. They can’t help making it about themselves.‘”
This ironic exchange reveals the hospital’s preference for “authentic” performances of grief over theatricality, while simultaneously acknowledging the inherent artifice of the exercise. It speaks to the novel’s themes of authenticity and performance.
4. “Zee made a little face, then said, ‘It just doesn’t seem healthy, Cyrus.’…‘I mean, your brain doesn’t know the difference between acting and living.’”
Zee’s concern introduces the psychological toll of Cyrus’s work, foreshadowing deeper explorations of trauma and identity. This exchange marks a turning point where Cyrus’s coping mechanism is questioned.
5. “Before getting sober, Cyrus didn’t write so much as he drank about writing, describing booze as essential to his process, ‘nearly sacramental’—he really said it like that—in the way it ‘opened his mind to the hidden voice’ beneath the mundane ‘argle-bargle of the every-day.’”
This self-aware reflection on artistic pretension reveals Cyrus’s struggle with authenticity in both life and art. The quote exemplifies the novel’s examination of creative paralysis and self-deception.
Quotes
1. “Cyrus would step into the fourth-floor hospital office and a secretary would hand him a notecard with a fake patient’s name and identity on it beside a little cartoon face on the 0–10 pain scale where 0 was a smiling ‘No hurt at all’ face, 4 was a straight-faced ‘Hurts a little more,’ and 10 was a sobbing ‘Hurts worst’ face, a gruesome cartoon with an upside-down U for a mouth. Cyrus felt he’d found his calling.”
This quote introduces the surreal yet clinical nature of Cyrus’s work as a medical actor, blending performative artifice with raw human emotion. It captures the book’s exploration of identity and the commodification of suffering.
2. “The med students were often overeager to console him, like daytime talk-show hosts. Or they’d be repelled by the artifice of the situation and barely engage.”
This observation highlights the tension between genuine empathy and performative professionalism in medical training. It underscores the chapter’s critique of institutionalized compassion.
3. “When he raised an eyebrow, she quickly explained: ‘Non-actors, I mean. Actors tend to get a little — she spun her hands in tight circles—’Marlon Brando about it. They can’t help making it about themselves.‘”
This ironic exchange reveals the hospital’s preference for “authentic” performances of grief over theatricality, while simultaneously acknowledging the inherent artifice of the exercise. It speaks to the novel’s themes of authenticity and performance.
4. “Zee made a little face, then said, ‘It just doesn’t seem healthy, Cyrus.’…‘I mean, your brain doesn’t know the difference between acting and living.’”
Zee’s concern introduces the psychological toll of Cyrus’s work, foreshadowing deeper explorations of trauma and identity. This exchange marks a turning point where Cyrus’s coping mechanism is questioned.
5. “Before getting sober, Cyrus didn’t write so much as he drank about writing, describing booze as essential to his process, ‘nearly sacramental’—he really said it like that—in the way it ‘opened his mind to the hidden voice’ beneath the mundane ‘argle-bargle of the every-day.’”
This self-aware reflection on artistic pretension reveals Cyrus’s struggle with authenticity in both life and art. The quote exemplifies the novel’s examination of creative paralysis and self-deception.
FAQs
1. Comprehension Question
What is Cyrus’s job at Keady University Hospital, and what does it entail?
Answer:
Cyrus works as a medical actor at Keady University Hospital, earning $20 per hour for 15 hours weekly. His role involves simulating various patient scenarios to train medical students. He portrays different characters—such as grieving family members or terminally ill patients—based on notecards detailing their identities, conditions, and pain levels (e.g., Sally Gutierrez, a mother reacting to her daughter’s death, or Buck Stapleton, a Catholic coach considering organ donation). Cyrus evaluates the students’ empathy and communication skills through score sheets, while cameras record interactions for review. The job requires emotional range, from restrained grief (a “2” on the pain scale) to intense distress (an “8”).
2. Analytical Question
How does Cyrus’s roommate, Zee, view his hospital job, and what underlying concerns does this reveal?
Answer:
Zee expresses discomfort with Cyrus’s job, calling it “unhealthy” and suggesting it could negatively impact his mental well-being. He argues that the brain “doesn’t know the difference between acting and living,” implying that repeatedly simulating trauma might exacerbate Cyrus’s past struggles (hinted at by references to his sobriety and “all the shit you’ve been through”). Zee’s skepticism contrasts with Cyrus’s pragmatic view of the job as financially beneficial and potentially inspiring for his writing. This tension highlights themes of emotional labor and the psychological costs of performance, as well as differing coping mechanisms between the two characters.
3. Critical Thinking Question
Why might the hospital prefer hiring “non-actors” like Cyrus for medical training simulations?
Answer:
The doctor explains that professional actors tend to make the scenarios “about themselves,” likely meaning they overperform or prioritize dramatic flair over authenticity. Non-actors like Cyrus may provide more genuine, subdued reactions that better mimic real patient behavior, allowing medical students to practice with realistic emotional cues. This preference underscores the hospital’s goal of training students in nuanced, patient-centered care rather than theatrical interactions. Cyrus’s ability to modulate his responses (e.g., dialing grief to a “6”) demonstrates the balance the role requires—authentic enough to be instructive but controlled enough to maintain consistency for evaluation.
4. Application Question
How might Cyrus’s experiences as a medical actor influence his poetry, based on the chapter’s details?
Answer:
Cyrus mentions the job could eventually benefit his writing, referencing the idea of “living the poems [he’s] not writing yet.” By embodying diverse identities and emotional states (e.g., a diabetic accountant facing amputation or a grieving immigrant), he accumulates raw material for future work. The chapter also notes his past struggle with writer’s block and reliance on alcohol for inspiration. The simulations could serve as a sober alternative, offering visceral experiences to channel into his poetry—particularly themes of mortality, identity, and human connection. His attention to language (e.g., quoting the Quran’s phrasing about death) suggests he’s already processing these experiences artistically.
5. Reflective Question
What contradictions or ironies do you notice in Cyrus’s relationship with performance, both in his job and personal life?
Answer:
Cyrus thrives on performance—whether pretending to die for medical students or theatrically quoting lines about drinking in bars—yet these acts reveal deeper vulnerabilities. His hospital role lets him safely explore mortality and grief, but Zee’s critique hints that Cyrus might be using performance to avoid confronting his own trauma. Similarly, his past reliance on alcohol as a “sacramental” creative tool contrasts with his current writer’s block, suggesting performance has been both a crutch and a catalyst. The irony lies in his job’s demand for authentic-feigning; it requires emotional honesty even as it involves artifice, mirroring his complex relationship with truth in art and sobriety.
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