everything i tell you is hearsay

enjoyable mystery novel with a degree of sensitivity and complexity missing in the usual murder investigation tale. the story told in first person, follows the climax and subsequent collapse of the personal and professional life of one detective Rob (Adam) Ryan.

it is enough to know you are out there

i’m afraid i will lose my faith

i am going to miss you

sleeping to dream about you

love songs make me cry

i just cant stop

something funny to me yesterday…

i’ve seen The Little Mermaid about 8,479 times. i can quote dialogue, sing all the songs, blah blah blah. and yet, the following escaped me;

“mom, you know how when Ariel and Flounder are exploring the shipwreck and the shark comes after them?”
“yeah?”
“why does Flounder scream ‘RUN?!’ they don’t have legs…”

no shit. huh. ha.

by Ann-Marie MacDonald

i found this work both luminous and dusky. its singing prose conjures an intimacy both of emotional and corporeal locus, and the language sings with an authenticity which absorbed me wholly. even at a hefty 811 pages this book was a pleasure to devour.

set in post World War II Canada, we are introduced to the McCarthy family as father Jack is about to assume his duties on the Centralia air force base. our first glimpse of the McCarthy’s is one of utterly bucolic happiness. parents passionately in love, children innocent and enriched by their nomadic existence. the voice of our primary character Madeline is remarkably genuine. this nine year old is intelligent and unblemished, and rarely have the impressions of a child been so authentically rendered and counterbalanced with the more sophisticated and nuanced perspective of the adults who surround her.

readers are privy to an array of forces which will begin to pull at the fabric of this singularly happy family in ways they cannot predict or even, once set adrift, begin to adapt to.

we begin with the depiction of post WWII politics and culture fraught with questions and concerns of the atomic age, and the author uses the alluring mechanism of episodic fractions of a nuclear fairy tale. the singsong narrative describing the mining techniques used to obtain material as well as slave labor practices which produced German missiles crafts a parable exceptionally evocative in the context of our sympathy for this child heroine.

in more direct, but no less compelling language the author communicates the paranoiac hysteria of the cold war mingled with a singularly Canadian sense of anti-Americanism; equal parts disgust, admiration, and inferiority complex. the author’s sense of time and place are absorbing and informative. subtle but meaningful distinctions of culture and context are woven expertly into a narrative about family dynamics, power, and abuse of trust that could take place anywhere. in the microcosm the author creates for us, we see a passionate belief in the value of the “space race” contrasted to an exquisitely sensitive and lovely portrait of a ripened romance between married adults. the innocence of childhood opposed to the cynicism of maturity. the drama of family dynamics juxtaposed against the pressures at play in the wider world.

all of these elements combine to make a mesmerizing tale and yet, this novel is, at its heart, a murder mystery. the foreshadows of tragedy are both tantalizing and oblique; simultaneously giving the reader the sense the outcome is predictable and that there is much yet to be revealed.

the book does change its tone significantly in the wake of the crime and subsequent legal proceedings. it follows Madeline into an adulthood which has aconsiderably different timbre than her childhood. eventually the tale comes full circle and all is revealed, but the jarring transition from child to adult, from singing evocative language to a quality harsher and more matter-of-fact is a mechanism i see the value of, but did not particularly enjoy adjusting to.

apart from this relatively minor (and probably totally personal) preference for more tonal consistency, i would say this is one of the finer novels i have encountered in recent memory. recommended, heartily.

“Oregon’s Social History” was the first class i attended in college while trying to get my educational bearings. i took it from the author of this book and really enjoyed it. he was funny, engaging, well-informed, and entertaining. i found the book to have these same qualities.

Dick Pintarich works as a tour guide over the summers when he isn’t teaching at Portland Community College, and this book has the tone you might expect from someone leading an especially entertaining excursion through Oregon’s colorful history. an expert on southern and eastern Oregon, he touches on many of the less-well-known aspects of culture and landscape in the far corners of the state. he recounts interesting anecdotes from his own travels and brings tidbits of information to the fore that are both interesting and, in many cases, hilarious. the chapters on place-name sanitization is particularly amusing. (hint: rooster rock was NOT the original name!)

in addition to covering the more far flung corners of the state, this book also brings up many of the less than savory aspects of Oregon’s culture that many natives, and more transplants, would rather forget. a rampant pattern of racism, prejudice, corruption, political pandering, the inflexibility of many residents toward social progress, and a legendary tight-fistedness among its residents.(remember, we’re) one of the only states in the union without a sales tax!) an entertaining and instructive read, this book is a must for anyone curious about the less-well-traveled paths of Oregon’s history. ( )

i’ve been wondering lately if the notion of a “best friend” endures into adulthood. if you’d asked me this question a year ago, i would have answered with a resounding,
“uh-huh!”
however, the person who filled that role in my life since i was about 17 and i haven’t even spoken in almost a year, and so now i am no longer sure.

the common wisdom tells us it becomes more difficult to make substantial social connections as we age. that intimacy becomes harder to establish, new friendships less likely to endure.

the way we forge connections changes radically as life goes on. our life circumstances, personalities, ethics, preferences, and degree of emotional competency take on distinct texture and permanence as we age. proximity is, then, no longer the defining characteristic of friendship. the accessibility of a playmate, once the cardinal trait of friendship, becomes largely irrelevant. our sensibilities evolve with our interests and we learn to make alliances based on hobbies, political leanings, fondness for drink, and countless other considerations.

and though these might seem to be a more sound and enduring basis upon which to form a lasting social connection, there are constraints presented by our maturity which can hamper the evolution of the emotional connection of the intensity and scope inherent to the “best friend” role. no longer can we hope to be as unaffected or vulnerable as when we were children. our actions are moderated and mitigated by our experience and politesse. the fear of revealing too much, or pressing upon the tolerance of another. we no longer possess the glorious insensitivity to the effect of our unbridled self upon others.

to my mind at least, it is in many ways the drama of our adolescence that makes the profound and enduring emotional and cognitive impressions upon us that allow us to feel as though we really, really know someone, deep down at their core. it is unusual to encounter a relationship, not romantic in nature, that can (or should) generate this same type of intensity once we are out of those tumultuous formative years. and perhaps if we don’t emerge from this time with a person who has run this gauntlet beside us, they cannot really know us; cannot appreciate our evolution and our constancy.

not to forget the logistical and practical constraints of adulthood. we don’t have time on our hands to devote to just being around to discover or communicate every damn thing.

and all of this being said, i have to admit, the conclusion i come to is that while it may be possible to have a best friend as an adult, it might not be possible to acquire one if you wrecked or lost the one you already had. and this makes me sad and lonesome and wistful. because that’s what seems to have happened. and there doesn’t seem to be anything i can do about it.