BLAMELESS
By Thom Lemmons
WaterBrook Press, 2007
Review by George R. Pasley
I’ve only once before read a modern Christian novel and was not disappointed, but still I haven’t gone looking for more. I found this one by accident, and it’s premise of being a retelling of the book of Job intrigued me.
It was well done, a romance about two college professors who have been hurt in love before, and are afraid of the consequences of falling in love. The basic plot line was parallel to the plot of the biblical book of Job, but even though there was a preacher in the story, and references to the question of undeserved suffering, one wouldn’t know it was Christian in nature without the “Note to Readers” posted by the author at the end.
Lemmons’ main character was Joe Barnes, a professor with a mysterious past. In the course of one horrible week he lost his job and his reputation, with little hope of finding a replacement for either one of them. His new-found romantic interest is the Dean of Humanities, who could rescue his reputation, but he chooses not to ask her, preferring instead to hope for her love.
The dean, Alexis, discerns that he indeed does love her, but does not step in when by virtue of her authority she could save his reputation. Instead, when she ahs complete freedom to do so, she saves his reputation by demanding that other parties involved tell the truth.
How she did that was a plot twist that I loved. Not a complicated read, but a book that manages to provide a thoughtful definition of what it might mean to be loved by God, and to love in return.
July 30, 2010
Showing posts with label FICTION. Show all posts
Showing posts with label FICTION. Show all posts
Friday, July 30, 2010
Friday, February 27, 2009
THE HERETIC'S DAUGHTER
THE HERETIC'S DAUGHTER
By Kathleen Kent
Little, Brown and Company, 2008
ISBN 0-316-02448-8
Book Review by George R. Pasley
My ancestors were among the group that settled Salem, so even though they left by the time of the Witch Trials, this was a book I had to read. Also, my interest in the history of theology in America made the tile of this book somewhat enticing to me.
The Heretic’s Daughter is a historical novel written by a direct descendant of one of the women executed for witchcraft, one Martha Carrier. The author has painstakingly researched all the recorded history of the trials, as well the lifestyles and culture of their times, making Heretic’s Daughter not merely interesting reading, but educational as well.
Of course, much of the novel is conjecture, but it is conjecture based on historical evidence. It does much to explain what happened, without excusing any of it. The novel portrays the corruption of the theocracy that was early colonial New England, while at the same time portraying the faith of those few who had a more benevolent view of God and a more compassionate leaning towards humanity.
Of particular interest is how the author was able to weave into the narrative the extreme pressure for land that was placed on the region by a rapidly growing population, the threats imposed by increased resistance by Native Americans, and how those two variables played into the fires of fear that were fanned by accusations of witchcraft.
The novel is a narrated by a nine year old daughter of Martha Carrier, Sarah Carrier, who was herself jailed on charges of witchcraft and forced to testify against her mother. The novel captures the normal tension between mother and daughter, and in a wonderful way offers a picture of two women who managed to bind themselves back together despite suffering together an ordeal that defied every notion of goodness residing within our human nature.
George R. Pasley
February 27, 2009
By Kathleen Kent
Little, Brown and Company, 2008
ISBN 0-316-02448-8
Book Review by George R. Pasley
My ancestors were among the group that settled Salem, so even though they left by the time of the Witch Trials, this was a book I had to read. Also, my interest in the history of theology in America made the tile of this book somewhat enticing to me.
The Heretic’s Daughter is a historical novel written by a direct descendant of one of the women executed for witchcraft, one Martha Carrier. The author has painstakingly researched all the recorded history of the trials, as well the lifestyles and culture of their times, making Heretic’s Daughter not merely interesting reading, but educational as well.
Of course, much of the novel is conjecture, but it is conjecture based on historical evidence. It does much to explain what happened, without excusing any of it. The novel portrays the corruption of the theocracy that was early colonial New England, while at the same time portraying the faith of those few who had a more benevolent view of God and a more compassionate leaning towards humanity.
Of particular interest is how the author was able to weave into the narrative the extreme pressure for land that was placed on the region by a rapidly growing population, the threats imposed by increased resistance by Native Americans, and how those two variables played into the fires of fear that were fanned by accusations of witchcraft.
The novel is a narrated by a nine year old daughter of Martha Carrier, Sarah Carrier, who was herself jailed on charges of witchcraft and forced to testify against her mother. The novel captures the normal tension between mother and daughter, and in a wonderful way offers a picture of two women who managed to bind themselves back together despite suffering together an ordeal that defied every notion of goodness residing within our human nature.
George R. Pasley
February 27, 2009
Thursday, August 7, 2008
NOCTURNAL AMERICA
NOCTURNAL AMERICA, by John Keeble
University of Nebraska Press, 2006
NOCTURNAL AMERICA is a collection of short stories, loosely connected by time, place and characters. They take place in the rural areas of eastern Washington State, and even into Canada.
The book jacket says the stories hinge on love. I agree that love is a connecting element of the stories, but I argue that they hinge more on chaos and conflict than on love. Readers familiar with Wallace Stenger’s theme of wilderness will find familiar echoes in Keeble’s book. Open and wild places are prominent in NOCTURNAL AMERICA, but the concept of wilderness here stems more from the conflict of desires and dreams than from mountains and rivers.
I loved these stories because they seemed to be honest about life without a throwing of the hands up in the air in exasperation- there was redemption woven into each story, and into the collected whole. Each character dealt with conflict in their won way, and each was able to find some sort of peace that was not provided as a gimmick by the writer.
For example, in “I Could Love You (If I Wanted)”, the character Lola struggles with issues at once: caring for an aged and dying other with a history of resenting her daughter; breaking up with a boyfriend of convenience, and moving out of her apartment into a house in the country, all the while struggling to make ends meet. The biggest struggle is with her mother, and Lola concludes that “I could love you,” mostly because she knows her mother is dying.
One earlier reviewer said that Keeble got viewpoints of both the female and male characters just right, and I agree. In fact, that subject would be a great one for a literary group (high school, college, or adult) to discuss after reading two of the stories.
Another story dealt with a character whose car was involved in an accident which killed a young immigrant women. The woman’s fiancé, also an immigrant, struggled to find a way to pronounce forgiveness.
All of the stories are relatively easy to read, yet provide ample food for thought for more serious readers. I look forward to reading them again, and to examining the other works by Keeble. He was a new author to me, but has written several novels as well as an account of the Exxon Valdez oil spill.
George R. Pasley
University of Nebraska Press, 2006
NOCTURNAL AMERICA is a collection of short stories, loosely connected by time, place and characters. They take place in the rural areas of eastern Washington State, and even into Canada.
The book jacket says the stories hinge on love. I agree that love is a connecting element of the stories, but I argue that they hinge more on chaos and conflict than on love. Readers familiar with Wallace Stenger’s theme of wilderness will find familiar echoes in Keeble’s book. Open and wild places are prominent in NOCTURNAL AMERICA, but the concept of wilderness here stems more from the conflict of desires and dreams than from mountains and rivers.
I loved these stories because they seemed to be honest about life without a throwing of the hands up in the air in exasperation- there was redemption woven into each story, and into the collected whole. Each character dealt with conflict in their won way, and each was able to find some sort of peace that was not provided as a gimmick by the writer.
For example, in “I Could Love You (If I Wanted)”, the character Lola struggles with issues at once: caring for an aged and dying other with a history of resenting her daughter; breaking up with a boyfriend of convenience, and moving out of her apartment into a house in the country, all the while struggling to make ends meet. The biggest struggle is with her mother, and Lola concludes that “I could love you,” mostly because she knows her mother is dying.
One earlier reviewer said that Keeble got viewpoints of both the female and male characters just right, and I agree. In fact, that subject would be a great one for a literary group (high school, college, or adult) to discuss after reading two of the stories.
Another story dealt with a character whose car was involved in an accident which killed a young immigrant women. The woman’s fiancé, also an immigrant, struggled to find a way to pronounce forgiveness.
All of the stories are relatively easy to read, yet provide ample food for thought for more serious readers. I look forward to reading them again, and to examining the other works by Keeble. He was a new author to me, but has written several novels as well as an account of the Exxon Valdez oil spill.
George R. Pasley
ENGLISH CREEK
ENGLISH CREEK
By Ivan Doig
Over this past year I have enjoyed reading the novels of Ivan Doig. Born in Montana, current resident of Washington, Ivan’s historical novels feature wonderful character development and a wide variety of writing styles. Most of them are set in Montana, in the time since statehood.
I want to share one scene from one novel with you. The novel is “English Creek,” published in 1984 by Scribner, printed in paperback in 2005.
English Creek is the name of a fictional rural community. It is a first person narrative told by Jick (short for Jarrick) McCaskill. It narrates the summer months of Jick’s 14th year of age. His older brother, Alec, is away for the summer- and for good, it turns out- working on the big ranch in the valley. His father, Varick, is a forest ranger. His mother, Beth, is portrayed as a no-nonsense farm wife. Thought the only woman in the household, she certainly held her own. The men in the story are always on their toes as far as Beth is concerned.
Jick is of the age where he is starting to notice things. He notices a strange relationship between his father and a local drifter, a man who is an alcoholic. He worries about the rift between his parents and his older brother. The plot of the story involves Jick trying to figure these things out, and their meaning on his place in the world, (he wonders about that, too).
The year is 1939. The rural community has suffered from plagues of locust, droughts, forest fires and collapsed economy. The old rural neighborhoods where neighbor helped neighbor are disappearing.
The scene takes place at the July 4 picnic in town. Unbeknownst to Jick, his mother has been asked to be the main speaker at the community celebration. She is a former schoolteacher and a member of one of the local school boards for the one room schools.
She stands up to speak, and it is a biography of a certain man, now deceased. But Beth takes the opportunity to talk about the way things have changed, and that change is not for the good. She finds opportunity in her speech to cleverly and subtly incriminate certain “greedy” factions of the community.
The crowd takes notice. Some cheer. Others shift nervously on their feet.
Her speech concludes, “There is much wrong in this world, and I suppose I am not known to be especially bashful about my list of those things. But I think it could not be more than right that we honor in this valley a man who savvied the land and its livelihood, who honored the earth instead of coveting it. It could not be more right that tall Ben English in his black hat amidst green fields, coaxing a head of water to make itself into hay, is the one whose name this creek carries.”
Beth steps down from the podium, and her son describes the reception of her speech:
“…but of us all, it was only to my father that she said, in what would have been a demand if there hadn’t been the tint of anxiousness in it: ‘Well? What did you think?’
My father reached and with his forefinger traced back into place a banner of her hair that the creek breeze had lifted and lain across her ear.
’I think,’ he said, ‘I think that being married to you is worth all the risk’” (p. 157)
The scenes that follow feature a 4th of July square dance in which Jick dances with his mother, a tale wonderfully told.
All in all, the novel- which also features some sheep ranching, mountain trail horse riding, and forest fire fighting- manages to capture and freeze simultaneously a moment of early adolescence and of another America.
George R. Pasley
By Ivan Doig
Over this past year I have enjoyed reading the novels of Ivan Doig. Born in Montana, current resident of Washington, Ivan’s historical novels feature wonderful character development and a wide variety of writing styles. Most of them are set in Montana, in the time since statehood.
I want to share one scene from one novel with you. The novel is “English Creek,” published in 1984 by Scribner, printed in paperback in 2005.
English Creek is the name of a fictional rural community. It is a first person narrative told by Jick (short for Jarrick) McCaskill. It narrates the summer months of Jick’s 14th year of age. His older brother, Alec, is away for the summer- and for good, it turns out- working on the big ranch in the valley. His father, Varick, is a forest ranger. His mother, Beth, is portrayed as a no-nonsense farm wife. Thought the only woman in the household, she certainly held her own. The men in the story are always on their toes as far as Beth is concerned.
Jick is of the age where he is starting to notice things. He notices a strange relationship between his father and a local drifter, a man who is an alcoholic. He worries about the rift between his parents and his older brother. The plot of the story involves Jick trying to figure these things out, and their meaning on his place in the world, (he wonders about that, too).
The year is 1939. The rural community has suffered from plagues of locust, droughts, forest fires and collapsed economy. The old rural neighborhoods where neighbor helped neighbor are disappearing.
The scene takes place at the July 4 picnic in town. Unbeknownst to Jick, his mother has been asked to be the main speaker at the community celebration. She is a former schoolteacher and a member of one of the local school boards for the one room schools.
She stands up to speak, and it is a biography of a certain man, now deceased. But Beth takes the opportunity to talk about the way things have changed, and that change is not for the good. She finds opportunity in her speech to cleverly and subtly incriminate certain “greedy” factions of the community.
The crowd takes notice. Some cheer. Others shift nervously on their feet.
Her speech concludes, “There is much wrong in this world, and I suppose I am not known to be especially bashful about my list of those things. But I think it could not be more than right that we honor in this valley a man who savvied the land and its livelihood, who honored the earth instead of coveting it. It could not be more right that tall Ben English in his black hat amidst green fields, coaxing a head of water to make itself into hay, is the one whose name this creek carries.”
Beth steps down from the podium, and her son describes the reception of her speech:
“…but of us all, it was only to my father that she said, in what would have been a demand if there hadn’t been the tint of anxiousness in it: ‘Well? What did you think?’
My father reached and with his forefinger traced back into place a banner of her hair that the creek breeze had lifted and lain across her ear.
’I think,’ he said, ‘I think that being married to you is worth all the risk’” (p. 157)
The scenes that follow feature a 4th of July square dance in which Jick dances with his mother, a tale wonderfully told.
All in all, the novel- which also features some sheep ranching, mountain trail horse riding, and forest fire fighting- manages to capture and freeze simultaneously a moment of early adolescence and of another America.
George R. Pasley
THE MAYTREES
THE MAYTREES
By Annie Dillard
HarperCollins, 2007
Annie Dillard has earned a place on a list of America’s greatest authors, and her newest book certainly adds to a rich resume.
The book is a novel, set in Provincetown on Cape Cod, telling the stories of one man and one woman who fall in love (the Maytrees, Toby and Lou, hence the title). Like all of Dillard’s body of work, this one is rich with the flavor and language of the local geography (Dillard now lives on Cape Cod after once living in the Northwest and before that, Virginia). The novel starts just after World War Two, and ends perhaps just before the turn of our century.
In The Maytrees, Dillard resumes her theme of life and death. Her first book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, earned a Pulitzer Prize. It studied the nature of life and death from a non-fiction perspective. Her lengthy novel, The Living, set in the northwest, studied life and death over the course of generations in a community. Dillard’s newest novel studies life and death from the perspective of one couple who live both figuratively and literally beneath the stars on Cape Cod. But Dillard adds a wrinkle to this particular study. Toby Maytree is a poet whose work is an effort to define love. Thus, life and death are shaped by love.
There are three spectacular twists to the love affair of Toby and Lou, and I shall not spoil the book by naming them. Each one comes as a surprise to the reader. They are provocative, and the reader will perhaps find herself muttering, “No.” Whatever the response, the twists work a strong impression on the reader and mark Dillard as a genius not only of words but of plot.
This particular work is perhaps Dillard’s sparsest use of words. The language is almost poetic, for the sparseness combines with a very vivid selection of words:
“Yankee the turtle crawled out from under the couch and stretched his snake neck. He stood square as a pack mule waiting its load, like the lowest totem-pole animal resigned to shouldering all the rest, or resigned to lifting the seas that floated the lands, if this was that kind of world. He regarded dead Dreary with the obsidian calm of a god.” (p. 181)
Some readers may find it odd and unsettling, others will eat it up. Go ahead and chew, it tastes good!
George R. Pasley
By Annie Dillard
HarperCollins, 2007
Annie Dillard has earned a place on a list of America’s greatest authors, and her newest book certainly adds to a rich resume.
The book is a novel, set in Provincetown on Cape Cod, telling the stories of one man and one woman who fall in love (the Maytrees, Toby and Lou, hence the title). Like all of Dillard’s body of work, this one is rich with the flavor and language of the local geography (Dillard now lives on Cape Cod after once living in the Northwest and before that, Virginia). The novel starts just after World War Two, and ends perhaps just before the turn of our century.
In The Maytrees, Dillard resumes her theme of life and death. Her first book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, earned a Pulitzer Prize. It studied the nature of life and death from a non-fiction perspective. Her lengthy novel, The Living, set in the northwest, studied life and death over the course of generations in a community. Dillard’s newest novel studies life and death from the perspective of one couple who live both figuratively and literally beneath the stars on Cape Cod. But Dillard adds a wrinkle to this particular study. Toby Maytree is a poet whose work is an effort to define love. Thus, life and death are shaped by love.
There are three spectacular twists to the love affair of Toby and Lou, and I shall not spoil the book by naming them. Each one comes as a surprise to the reader. They are provocative, and the reader will perhaps find herself muttering, “No.” Whatever the response, the twists work a strong impression on the reader and mark Dillard as a genius not only of words but of plot.
This particular work is perhaps Dillard’s sparsest use of words. The language is almost poetic, for the sparseness combines with a very vivid selection of words:
“Yankee the turtle crawled out from under the couch and stretched his snake neck. He stood square as a pack mule waiting its load, like the lowest totem-pole animal resigned to shouldering all the rest, or resigned to lifting the seas that floated the lands, if this was that kind of world. He regarded dead Dreary with the obsidian calm of a god.” (p. 181)
Some readers may find it odd and unsettling, others will eat it up. Go ahead and chew, it tastes good!
George R. Pasley
CORRECTING THE LANDSCAPE
CORRECTING THE LANDSCAPE
By Marjorie Kowalski Cole
HarperCollins, 2006
This is an Alaska novel, but it has next to nothing to do with hunting or fishing.
Set in modern day Fairbanks, the novel tells the story of a weekly newspaper publisher who is falling on hard financial times. Each of the other characters in the story experiences their own “hard times,” and the plot centers on their emotional response to failure. An Irish immigrant without green card status is discovered by the INS; a Native Alaskan woman who has been married and divorced four times struggles to raise her child in the modern world without forgetting her native traditions; A land developer always successful in business is divorced by his wife, then later dumped by his artistic girlfriend.
Each of those characters find their own personal landscape in need of correction, but the title of the book comes from a poem written by the Irish immigrant, and it refers to the making protest, generally in some form of artistic manner.
When do you let go of something or someone you love? When do you take a leap of faith into some new direction? How can you hold your head up after failing? The characters in this story found themselves asking those same questions.
I really enjoyed the plot line in this novel. The text itself is not great prose, but the story line is thoughtful and true. It’s especially nice to see a story that is not a success story and neither a tragedy. The characters in the story turn out to be winners not because they succeeded but because they adapted and because they discovered their real selves.
I say this is an Alaska novel, and it is. Some particular regional references are explained by the writer, but a few others go unexplained and would be totally lost on someone not familiar with the regional cultures. Too much explanation might just spoil the narrative, which is a good one, so bear with what you don’t understand.
George R. Pasley
By Marjorie Kowalski Cole
HarperCollins, 2006
This is an Alaska novel, but it has next to nothing to do with hunting or fishing.
Set in modern day Fairbanks, the novel tells the story of a weekly newspaper publisher who is falling on hard financial times. Each of the other characters in the story experiences their own “hard times,” and the plot centers on their emotional response to failure. An Irish immigrant without green card status is discovered by the INS; a Native Alaskan woman who has been married and divorced four times struggles to raise her child in the modern world without forgetting her native traditions; A land developer always successful in business is divorced by his wife, then later dumped by his artistic girlfriend.
Each of those characters find their own personal landscape in need of correction, but the title of the book comes from a poem written by the Irish immigrant, and it refers to the making protest, generally in some form of artistic manner.
When do you let go of something or someone you love? When do you take a leap of faith into some new direction? How can you hold your head up after failing? The characters in this story found themselves asking those same questions.
I really enjoyed the plot line in this novel. The text itself is not great prose, but the story line is thoughtful and true. It’s especially nice to see a story that is not a success story and neither a tragedy. The characters in the story turn out to be winners not because they succeeded but because they adapted and because they discovered their real selves.
I say this is an Alaska novel, and it is. Some particular regional references are explained by the writer, but a few others go unexplained and would be totally lost on someone not familiar with the regional cultures. Too much explanation might just spoil the narrative, which is a good one, so bear with what you don’t understand.
George R. Pasley
A YELLOW RAFT IN BLUE WATER
A YELLOW RAFT IN BLUE WATER
By Michael Dorris
1987, Warner Books
ISBN0-446-38787-8
372 pages
I loved this book. First, it is a well written story- actually, three stories. Second, it defies what seems (to me) to be the growing norm in literary art, which is stories that are frank in their observation of the awfulness of the human condition, but which make no attempt at finding redemption. This book does the first, and avoids the second.
This book came to me via the local library’s annual book discussion series. The idea is that a few dozen read a book, and then attend a public forum led by a scholar provided by the state library board. Unfortunately, I was ill and missed the discussion.
The book is the story of three generations of women, told first person. What amazed me is that the author achieved a level of authenticity many would deem impossible for a man. Of course, being a man myself, it may only seem that Dorris found an authentic female voice to write the stories. But when I raised this subject with a woman in my church that also read the book, she agreed.
The first story is told by the third generation, a 15 year-old girl, Rayona. Her particular burdens are three: her father has basically abandoned her, she is mixed race (African American father, Native American mother), and she is in constant tension with her mother. In this case, the mother seems not “unreasonable,” but irresponsible. Telling the story herself, she finds a teenaged picture of her mom. She studies it intensely, and then concludes that “Mom is still mom and I am still me.” (p. 36) Rayona’s particular burdens of poor self-esteem begin to find redemption and resolution when she enters a rodeo, is thrown of a bronco, and leaps back on.
The second story is the mother, Christine. Christine and her younger brother were raised without a father- they never even knew who he was. And their mother is never addressed as “Mom,” but instead, as “Aunt Ida”. They take this to mean that she is ashamed of them. Christine’s particular burdens begin when she is disillusioned with the church as a teenager (the world fails to come to its predicted end), a brother killed in Vietnam (she had almost forced hi into enlisting), a lifelong battle with her mother, a husband who abandons her, and a diagnosis of terminal cancer. Christine also suffers from self-esteem problems, though not in the same form as Rayona’s. More so than the other characters. Rayona always seems to be defending herself- to her daughter, to her mother, to the reader, and to society at large.
The third story is told by the grandmother, Ida. There is a very unique plot twist in Ida’s story that I do not want to reveal. Ida’s life comes across as one that is taken advantage of by the previous generation. It is also one that is not understood by the following generation, partly because of the mysteries of their births, and partly because Ida’s favorite technique of arguing is silence.
Both Christine and Ida come across as women intensely in love with their children. Christine, in particular, makes bad choices, but the choices are often inevitable. Both of them are proud women, despite the fact that their lives are in some ways “shameful.”
I wish there was more from Ida- the story ahs a wonderful ending, but it is also abrupt. It does not deal with the death of her son- a huge event in Christine’s story- or with her visit to Christine when Rayona is a child, a trip that seems incredibly consequential after the first part of Ida’s story is told. But still, it is a book that is insightful, compelling, and helpful.
George R. PasleY
By Michael Dorris
1987, Warner Books
ISBN0-446-38787-8
372 pages
I loved this book. First, it is a well written story- actually, three stories. Second, it defies what seems (to me) to be the growing norm in literary art, which is stories that are frank in their observation of the awfulness of the human condition, but which make no attempt at finding redemption. This book does the first, and avoids the second.
This book came to me via the local library’s annual book discussion series. The idea is that a few dozen read a book, and then attend a public forum led by a scholar provided by the state library board. Unfortunately, I was ill and missed the discussion.
The book is the story of three generations of women, told first person. What amazed me is that the author achieved a level of authenticity many would deem impossible for a man. Of course, being a man myself, it may only seem that Dorris found an authentic female voice to write the stories. But when I raised this subject with a woman in my church that also read the book, she agreed.
The first story is told by the third generation, a 15 year-old girl, Rayona. Her particular burdens are three: her father has basically abandoned her, she is mixed race (African American father, Native American mother), and she is in constant tension with her mother. In this case, the mother seems not “unreasonable,” but irresponsible. Telling the story herself, she finds a teenaged picture of her mom. She studies it intensely, and then concludes that “Mom is still mom and I am still me.” (p. 36) Rayona’s particular burdens of poor self-esteem begin to find redemption and resolution when she enters a rodeo, is thrown of a bronco, and leaps back on.
The second story is the mother, Christine. Christine and her younger brother were raised without a father- they never even knew who he was. And their mother is never addressed as “Mom,” but instead, as “Aunt Ida”. They take this to mean that she is ashamed of them. Christine’s particular burdens begin when she is disillusioned with the church as a teenager (the world fails to come to its predicted end), a brother killed in Vietnam (she had almost forced hi into enlisting), a lifelong battle with her mother, a husband who abandons her, and a diagnosis of terminal cancer. Christine also suffers from self-esteem problems, though not in the same form as Rayona’s. More so than the other characters. Rayona always seems to be defending herself- to her daughter, to her mother, to the reader, and to society at large.
The third story is told by the grandmother, Ida. There is a very unique plot twist in Ida’s story that I do not want to reveal. Ida’s life comes across as one that is taken advantage of by the previous generation. It is also one that is not understood by the following generation, partly because of the mysteries of their births, and partly because Ida’s favorite technique of arguing is silence.
Both Christine and Ida come across as women intensely in love with their children. Christine, in particular, makes bad choices, but the choices are often inevitable. Both of them are proud women, despite the fact that their lives are in some ways “shameful.”
I wish there was more from Ida- the story ahs a wonderful ending, but it is also abrupt. It does not deal with the death of her son- a huge event in Christine’s story- or with her visit to Christine when Rayona is a child, a trip that seems incredibly consequential after the first part of Ida’s story is told. But still, it is a book that is insightful, compelling, and helpful.
George R. PasleY
THE OTHER
By David Guterson
Alfred A. Knopf, 2008
ISBN 978-0-307-26315-5
I read Guterson’s first novel, Snow Falling on Cedars, while I was in seminary. It’s themes of life and death clung tightly to my theological studies and I have been a devotee of Guterson ever since.
Guterson’s latest work, The Other, continues his ongoing contribution to what life and death mean, and how to live in between. Unlike his previous works, The Other is written as a first person narrative, the story told by Neil Countryman, a man of my own generation.
Countryman’s narrative is a recounting of a friendship forged between himself and John William Barry. The two were an unlikely pair, Countryman being from a working class Irish family and Barry being a trust fund baby. But they met at a track meet, and the friendship worked even though they lived different lives.
Of the two, Barry was the angry one. An intelligent, thoughtful and resourceful student he believed that formal education was tantamount to being “owned.” Barry’s character is enamored of Gnosticism, a denial of the significance of all things physical (this emphasis of a spiritual/religious dimension into the plot is similar to Guterson’s work in “Our Lady of the Forest”).
The two boys become avid hikers into the backcountry of the Northwest. Both graduate and enter college, but Countryman meets a love interest, Jamie, just as college begins. I found Guterson’s narrative of the love affair between Jamie and Neil quite compelling, the best writing in the entire novel.
In college Barry’s character became angrier, more radical, and more determined while Countryman’s character edged slowly towards a more traditional lifestyle. Barry in fact dropped out of college, made a withdrawal from his trust fund, and took up residence in a remotely placed modular home. Countryman made regular pilgrimages to visit his friend.
The interesting irony in the story is that though Barry abhorred “being owned”, he seemed to own his friend Countryman. Or was it loyalty on the part of Countryman? At any rate, Countryman assisted Barry in a ruse to make his family think he had moved away to Mexico, apparently forever. The real truth was he had gone further into the woods, living as a hermit, determined not to be connected to anybody (Except Countryman) for the rest of his life.
Countryman kept his friend’s secret but it was not an easy keeping. Neither could he let his friend be, so he made continued trips, at great hardship, into the wilderness to supply his friend with a small assortment of food and literature. But the care packages were not enough, and despite his provisions and Barry’s own survival skills, Countryman made one last visit and found his friend dead. Loyal to the end, he wrapped his friend’s body in a woven bark mat and hid it deep in the cave. Other than his wife, he never told a soul.
While Countryman’s loyalty presents a conflict for the narrator, the real conflict in the novel is “How shall I live my life?” The two characters shared certain views of the world, but Countryman could not follow Barry into the woods. In the course of living his life- of falling in love, of taking a job, buying a home and raising a family, he had to decide what was important, how to live his own life and not the life dictated by his family, by society, or by necessity. A plot twist that is made evident in the opening pages and clear in the later pages adds a significant complication to that question but to the reader it will be clear that Neil Countryman made a good choice and was as loyal to the choice as he was to his friend.
Well written, thoughtful as always, and a significant contribution to our understanding of humanity.
George Pasley
August 1, 2008
Ketchikan, AK
By David Guterson
Alfred A. Knopf, 2008
ISBN 978-0-307-26315-5
I read Guterson’s first novel, Snow Falling on Cedars, while I was in seminary. It’s themes of life and death clung tightly to my theological studies and I have been a devotee of Guterson ever since.
Guterson’s latest work, The Other, continues his ongoing contribution to what life and death mean, and how to live in between. Unlike his previous works, The Other is written as a first person narrative, the story told by Neil Countryman, a man of my own generation.
Countryman’s narrative is a recounting of a friendship forged between himself and John William Barry. The two were an unlikely pair, Countryman being from a working class Irish family and Barry being a trust fund baby. But they met at a track meet, and the friendship worked even though they lived different lives.
Of the two, Barry was the angry one. An intelligent, thoughtful and resourceful student he believed that formal education was tantamount to being “owned.” Barry’s character is enamored of Gnosticism, a denial of the significance of all things physical (this emphasis of a spiritual/religious dimension into the plot is similar to Guterson’s work in “Our Lady of the Forest”).
The two boys become avid hikers into the backcountry of the Northwest. Both graduate and enter college, but Countryman meets a love interest, Jamie, just as college begins. I found Guterson’s narrative of the love affair between Jamie and Neil quite compelling, the best writing in the entire novel.
In college Barry’s character became angrier, more radical, and more determined while Countryman’s character edged slowly towards a more traditional lifestyle. Barry in fact dropped out of college, made a withdrawal from his trust fund, and took up residence in a remotely placed modular home. Countryman made regular pilgrimages to visit his friend.
The interesting irony in the story is that though Barry abhorred “being owned”, he seemed to own his friend Countryman. Or was it loyalty on the part of Countryman? At any rate, Countryman assisted Barry in a ruse to make his family think he had moved away to Mexico, apparently forever. The real truth was he had gone further into the woods, living as a hermit, determined not to be connected to anybody (Except Countryman) for the rest of his life.
Countryman kept his friend’s secret but it was not an easy keeping. Neither could he let his friend be, so he made continued trips, at great hardship, into the wilderness to supply his friend with a small assortment of food and literature. But the care packages were not enough, and despite his provisions and Barry’s own survival skills, Countryman made one last visit and found his friend dead. Loyal to the end, he wrapped his friend’s body in a woven bark mat and hid it deep in the cave. Other than his wife, he never told a soul.
While Countryman’s loyalty presents a conflict for the narrator, the real conflict in the novel is “How shall I live my life?” The two characters shared certain views of the world, but Countryman could not follow Barry into the woods. In the course of living his life- of falling in love, of taking a job, buying a home and raising a family, he had to decide what was important, how to live his own life and not the life dictated by his family, by society, or by necessity. A plot twist that is made evident in the opening pages and clear in the later pages adds a significant complication to that question but to the reader it will be clear that Neil Countryman made a good choice and was as loyal to the choice as he was to his friend.
Well written, thoughtful as always, and a significant contribution to our understanding of humanity.
George Pasley
August 1, 2008
Ketchikan, AK
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