Who the hell is Frank Waters?

Woman At Otowi Crossing by Frank Waters

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


One of the benefits of reading The Woman At Otowi Crossing was that I was forced to admit that not only am I woefully ignorant about the American Southwest, but there is a ton of history, religion, philosophy, science and mysticism tied to an area I had written off as “that hot stretch between California and Texas.” Another confession: ignoring all evidence to the contrary, as a Washingtonian, I have always claimed Colorado as one of “our” states (i.e. northwestern), mentally fudging its location to approximately that of southern Montana and northern Wyoming, two states I am at times guilty of disregarding entirely. Thanks to Frank Waters’ tremendous novel, my geographic prejudices have been corrected and a vast territory has been opened for me to belatedly explore.

Fortunately, there are millions of folks out there who have lived and breathed the Southwest all their lives and many of them have opinions about Water’s depiction of Edith Warner, the “Woman” of the title. This isn’t surprising since Ms. Warner perfectly personifies the unique intersection of past, present and future (concepts she ironically didn’t believe in); of Spanish, Native American and Anglo; and of science, religion and mysticism; that existed where two bridges, railroad and automobile, crossed the Rio Grande down the hill from the top secret Los Alamos Laboratory. In deference to the debate, I plan to check out The House at Otowi Bridge: The Story of Edith Warner and Los Alamos written by one of her close friends, a distinguished American Poet, Peggy Pond Church; as well as Patrick Burns’ In the Shadow of Los Alamos: Selected Writings of Edith Warner. With that said, Waters’ perspective appears to be unique because he worked at Los Alamos and spent years studying Hopi, Pueblo and Navaho culture and history.

At first I was surprised there haven’t been more retellings (that I could find) of what is truly a remarkable American story, but after reading Waters’ book, I realized that the gripping subject matter is both a blessing and a curse. While intrinsically fascinating, it would be awfully easy to muck up the story with anything more dramatic than an encyclopedia entry. Waters pulls it off with an almost journalistic objectivity (he was also a newsman), in which human beings with normal human failings and passions collide like the atoms on top of the hill. There are no saints, only sinners and if you thought that the Pancho’s Bar scene in The Right Stuff was anachronistic, wait until you read about Manhattan Project scientists helping patch the roof of a tearoom without running water. You’ll find those kinds of juxtapositions throughout this captivating novel. Underlying it all, of course, is the question of perception and reality. The people, the landscape and the events transfix us, but we’re constantly challenged to decide whether any of it truly matters (pun intended).



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