Russo's writing is meant to be savored. I forget that sometimes, and try to rush things along. And then I remember and go back and take my time with each word and phrase and I am moved.
As I was making my way through this collection of stories, some short, some not-so-short, I was becoming overwhelmed with the morose and beleaguered sensibility that Russo's work is often steeped in. And then I remembered.... "slow down, you move too fast." While these stories are not generally imbued with the slapstick observational humor I so adore in his writing (and which serves to leaven the woebegotten nature of some of his observations), they are full of wistfulness. And they are lovely gems. But if you read them, slower is better. Savor.
And, of course, the last story made me weep. As your guitar gently does....or young boys and baseball. A few comments on each, with some lengthy quotes:
1. The Whore's Child - an ancient nun joins a creative writing class, and pretends she is writing fiction. Russo's introduction to the story, humor and despair paired together: "Sister Ursula belonged to an all but extinct order of Belgian nuns who conducted what little spiritual business remained to them in a decrepit old house purchased by the diocese seemingly because it was unlikely to outlast them."
2. Monhegan Light - Many years after his wife's death, Martin sees her through the eyes of her former lover, and finally understands how much he squandered. But first, a slice of that wicked observational humor regarding his wife's sister, whom he loathes: "Of all the things that Joyce's sort of woman said about men, Martin disliked the he-just-doesn't-get-it riff most of all. For one thing it presupposed there was something to get, usually something obvious, something you'd have to be blind not to see. And of course the reason you couldn't see it -- as women were happy to explain -- was that you had a dick, as if that poor, maligned appendage were constantly in a man's line of sight, blocking his view of what women, who were not similarly encumbered, wanted him to take notice of, something subtle or delicate or beautiful, at least to their way of thinking. If you didn't agree that it was subtle or delicate or beautiful, it was because you had a dick. You just didn't get it."
3. The Farther You Go - A man finally realizes the true depth of his wife's understanding of him. A strange, but ultimately beautiful, trip. Literally.
4. Joy Ride - The most depressing of the lot. A child's first person experience with his parents' dysfunctional relationship.
5. Buoyancy - A sad, confused tale of a long and passionless marriage that ends with sunshine and unicorns. And you are made happy. But only after a lot of confusion and sadness.
6. Poison - if you have read much of Russo, you probably know about his rage at the poisoning of the rivers and streams in his home town by a chemical company with the usual corporate greed. While all of Russo's writing never seems too far from his own experiences, this one is particularly and sadly close to the bone. The poison of the title is both for the actual poisoning of the town he grew up in, and the poisoning of his relationship with a boyhood friend who is also a writer, whose rage exceeds his own. I suspect Russo is both characters....
7. The Mysteries of Linwood Hart - Ten-year old Linwood Hart, who has been described by school personnel as "possessing an active interior life", which as all who have been trained in edu-speak, correctly translate as "he doesn't pay attention." His father is a jerk ("Slick" is his nick name), but sadly, his mother can't quit him. A lengthy passage, but one that puts you into Linwood's first person, and one, I have to admit, I greatly identified with...
Someone asks him, what do you think you are? Special?
"Lin understood that this was a rhetorical question whose answer was supposed to be "No," even though most of the time, he thought it might be "yes." It was hard to imagine that all of his personal thoughts had already been thought. When he lay on his stomach in the grass and watched an ant climb up one side of a blade and then down the other, his truest sense of things was that in the world's long history, no one had ever witnessed this exact event, and he couldn't help feeling special to have done so. Why shouldn't his thoughts be special, too? What if he was right to think them, even if no one else had?
For instance, why shouldn't inanimate objects be capable of desire? Take leaves. They wanted to dance, didn't they? He understood that it was caused by wind, of course, but this didn't explain why they didn't all get up and dance with each new gust, instead of just certain ones. Leaf A would rise and do its jig while Leaf B, right next to it, wouldn't even stir. The ones dancing in this gust might rest during the next, and to Lin, this meant they were expressing a desire. And Wiffle balls. Their frantic wiggle after leaping off a plastic bat suggested a similar desire, though his father, who at the moment wasn't living with Lin and his mother, explained that the symmetrical holes cut into the plastic sphere were responsible for the ball's erratic and exciting flight. Okay, but to Lin's way of thinking, the holes merely set free the inner spirit of the ball."
Having spent a lot of my elementary school days in such contemplation, I was all in with Linwood.