Getting away from myself

I promised a while ago that I would write something about two other books I have read and re-read by Ron McLarty. So people averse to book reviews can skip this page. The first book was The Memory of Running, very special to me in personal ways.

Traveler by Ron McLarty
I liked this book too, but I didn't write about it right away and thus the details are a little foggier. Writing is my main memory tool. The book is a murder mystery, but McLarty also exposes without solving the mysteries of the heart: the mystery of the murderer who couldn't help loving one failed human being; the mystery of those who care for others without reward; the mystery of motiveless evil. One of the most endearing aspects of the novel is the loving relationships of parents with their children's friends. I cannot really remember anything like the warmth that emanates from some of these good people coming from any of the parents of my friends. They were just there in the background. I think that as a parent I was no better. I liked the friends of my children when they were growing up, but I don't think that any of them would return to our home looking for affection and understanding.

Art in America by Ron McLarty

This book was wonderfully satisfying, mythic and realistic both at the same time. I liked the occasional typewriter-look typeface too.

There is a huge cast of characters, and they are characters in every sense of the word. I can see this book as a play or a pageant, which is a central feature of the novel—except it is too complex for any stage I can think of.

So much of Ron McLarty's writing is fabulous in the dictionary meaning of the term—not real, fable-like. Yet the people are believable, each with his or her own shtick. There are people almost too good to be true, and bad people who want to hurt others, and do, but there is a satisfying measure of retribution and forgiveness, a certain amount of change and a certain amount of staying the same.

The men and women are varied, each interesting in his or her own right, no matter how brief our encounter with them. Each with his or her own view of reality, which often is self-serving and faulty.

The satisfying arc of the story, from the near despair of Steven Kearney, would-be-published-but-ever-unpublished writer, to Steven Kearney, in love, successful writer of a huge drama of the history of a Western town. Steven Kearney, caught in his teens it seems (he says "Cool"), yet in his forties and without stability in his life, his work, his loves.

Here are some things that grabbed me: The lovely whoosh of the raft trip that begins the secondary plot, the fight of Ticky for his land and the right of Mountain Man to run rafting expeditions on Ticky's river. The satisfying growth of Mountain Man as a person. I just loved the know-it-alls on the raft, and MM's reaction to them.

The sheriff, Petey, his wife Vy, and his constant (mental) companion Reedy (dead but still there in Petey's mind), who always knows what to do. The continual, escalating distortion of Petey's killing of the Bonnie and Clyde type killers who would have killed him. His unerring ability to do the right thing, to defuse any situation.

The saintly ones: Minnie, Ticky's wife; Roarke, with the beautiful hands. The relationship between the author, Steven and Roarke, who comes to the rescue as director. The writer's complete confidence in Roarke's ability to bring out of the chaos of his work something smooth and understandable. Are there really directors who can do that? No matter. We believe in Roarke. The unpredictability of love: Steven falls in love withe the pageant's scene designer and after suspicion (why should he love a woman with one breast, a cancer survivor), she returns his love.

The book is full of Characters (again in every sense of the word), like Cowboy Bob, who is always spouting awful verse, a little short guy who likes to ride a big horse and thinks very highly of himself—and all in that neighborhood agree with him. Characters appear as they are needed and don't necessarily return.

Then there are The Evil Ones, the Libertarians, especially fat, rejected angry Sandy, and the punks out to destroy. And the professor who uses politics to get into his co-eds' pants. The book begins with a taxi knocking Stephen over, the taxi driver leaving when he realizes no one has seen the accident. That's the kind of casual evil that so much of the novel works against: that is, the evil is always there, but the good is there too, often (but not always) ready to break out when needed.

The book opens with a funny, sad record of all the plays, poems, epics, etc. that Kearney has written over many years, all rejected for publication. This record is a parody of McLarty's own effort to be published, which has happened suddenly. Now his books are published in dozens of languages. And the constant image of a good woman in the best sense of the word--fully independent, warm, giving, seems to be McLarty's tribute to his own lovely wife, Kate, an actress.

A delight.

Something more personal soon. I am thinking of these books especially now because we are planning to send the set to our friends Dave and Betty. He is recovering very very slowly from the concussion he suffered in an encounter between his bike and a dog a few days ago. He cannot speak, but was able to sing along with a speech therapist. He is not sure where he is or what he is doing there. Betty, with the help of her wonderful family, is holding up as well as she can. Having suffered a similarly disastrous concussion 3 years ago, she is not as frightened by Dave's symptoms as she might have been: she knows he will get better as she did.

Love to all,
Bernice