The People Who Watched Her Pass By

by Scott Bradfield

Salome Jensen is three years old when she is taken from her home by the man who fixes the hot water heater. As Sal drifts through Laundromats and people’s homes, she develops a perspective of the world and an understanding of its people more meaningful than the most erudite observer could muster.

Sal is never a victim or abused, she’s simply a child providing a humorous and fresh take on society.

The People Who Watched Her Pass By is often hilarious as well as startling, and it is a poignant new contribution to the body of literature of a respected prose craftsman.

"Brave and unforgettable. Scott Bradfield creates a country for the reader to wander through, holding Sal's hand, assuming goodness." -Los Angeles Times


"Scott Bradfield is an otherworldy writer. There is an inarguable wholeness to [The People Who Watched Her Pass By], as in certain dreams." -Rain Taxi


"Drive[s] straight into the Zen void at the heart of the classic road." -Bookforum


"A wake-up call shouting Bradfield's humorously erudite take on modern American life." -WOSU


In his fifth novel, Scott Bradfield delivers an arresting and unsentimental childhood voice.

Genres: Fiction, Novels

162 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2010

About the author

Scott Michael Bradfield is an American essayist, critic and fiction writer who resides in London, England.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scott_B...

Reviews

[Jason Pettus · Rating 4 out of 5]

(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com:]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)

One of the obvious main benefits of small presses is that since both costs and expectations are lowered, it allows for much more passionate and idiosyncratic choices over what exactly gets published in the first place, titles which everyone involved knows beforehand will be intensely disliked by some readers, which is then made up for by the equal number of people who intensely love it; take for example the tiny Ohio press Two Dollar Radio, who I became a big fan of earlier this year because of the wondrous Some Things That Meant the World to Me by Joshua Mohr, and who was kind enough to send along a couple of their other new titles as well. I just finished one of them this week, Scott Bradfield's The People Who Watched Her Pass By, which like I said strikes me as the very reason small presses exist in the first place; because even though I ended up liking it quite a lot, it's patently obvious that many others will not do the same, the kind of book guaranteed to cause controversy the moment its subject matter is even brought up. And that's a testament to Two Dollar Radio, I think, for taking a chance on a deserving book like this, when most mainstream publishers wouldn't touch a hot potato like this with a ten-foot pole.

Because what this book is about, see, is a five-year-old girl who gets kidnapped one day by a creepy neighbor; but instead of being the usual Lifetime-movie cautionary tale, lit veteran Bradfield (this is his fifth book) uses the concept to turn in a lyrical, surreal, surprisingly poetic tale, a journey across the backwater parts of the US that by the end becomes an intriguing combination of Sam Shepard and David Lynch. And this takes some getting used to, to be frank, with even I not quite sure at first what to think of it all, which is quite obviously why this is the kind of book you'll only find on a small press; because either you'll eventually accept the idea of our spartan heroine Salome Jensen being merely a symbol, in service of a larger and grander point that Bradfield is trying to make, or you'll never accept the idea, and instead see this book as some sort of icky ode to the fun adventures that come with child kidnapping.

In fact, this story really comes off more like a fairytale than anything else, albeit the kind of challenging, grown-up fairytale that fuels such similar projects as, say, Gus Van Sant's equally audience-splitting movie My Own Private Idaho; because far from ever being in any kind of serious trouble, for example, our adolescent protagonist actually manages to thrive for months at a time as a survivalist camper, and also manages to stay for a time in the homes of dozens of random adults without a single one of them bothering to call Child Services. Add to this, then, that Salome often speaks with the complexity of an adult herself, plus the plenty of plot turns that sometimes border on the ludicrous (such as a religious cult whose members have infiltrated the various educated sectors of the child-welfare system, like a judge and a lawyer and a social worker, so that they can work in collusion to illegally "punish the wicked" and bring about a new golden age), and you suddenly start seeing more of what Bradfield is going for in this book -- that it's more a sly examination of the tics and quirks found in so-called "White Trash America" (my term, not his), a look at the crumbling backroads and small towns of this country that at some points turn almost post-apocalyptic in his characterizations. (In fact, there are big parts of this book that reminded me of a kiddie version of Cormac McCarthy's The Road.)

If you're able to get into the groove of such an unusual story, you're going to be immensely pleased by the end, a book that turns out to be as quietly disturbing as it is subtly funny; but there's also a good chance that you'll never get into this groove, in which case you will likely find The People Who Watched Her Pass By nothing more than a piece of glib, manipulative garbage, with neither of these opinions necessarily "wrong" or "right" from an objective standpoint. And like I said, this is what I find so great about small presses, is that they tend to be filled with visionaries who understand the artistic importance of titles like these; and since these presses aren't bogged down with dozens of mid-level executives all with Brooklyn condo payments to make, they can afford to take bigger chances with what exactly they put out, which is why such presses so imminently deserve our gratitude and support. Although it may very well not turn out to be your cup of tea, I highly encourage you to take a chance on this book anyway; and needless to say that I'm looking forward to the next Two Dollar Radio title in my reading queue, Xiaoda Xiao's The Cave Man, which I'll be tackling here at the website in just another couple of weeks.

Out of 10: 8.8

[Beatrice · Rating 5 out of 5]

The amount of philosophical reflection there is in this book, and the clarity with which it is communicated, is astounding. I sincerely wish this book did not exist so that I could write it myself -- that is how deeply I found I could relate to some of its passages, how awed I was by its blunt and honest writing style. This story is painfully bleak, a more realistic kind of art than I can generally bear to expose myself to, but I love it completely. I am very grateful to have found this text and to have read it.

"Happiness is in the people you leave behind."

[Lori · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sent by publisher for review

God, I love indie publishers. They put out some of the most interesting books I have ever read.

The People Who Watched Her Pass By is author Scott Bradfield's fifth novel, though it is the first book I have read by him.

And it's a horrifying concept - a 3 year old girl kidnapped from her home by the hot water heater fixer. Not only does this guy kidnap her, he deserts her too. And it's the story of this 3 year old girl wandering from house to house, being taken in, and then being let go, over and over and over again. Until she takes matters into her own hands and chooses when she will be taken in, and when she will walk away.... Until the world finally catches up to her.

So, although it's every mother's worst nightmare - to have her child stolen from her, and not being able to find her, or know what has happened to her - and not a very easy novel to digest, it has some of the most amazing and quotable lines I have read in a very long time.

Bradfield twists and manipulates the english language so beautifully that you actually forgive him for writing a book about such a terrible and unspeakable crime. He takes the life of 3 year old Salome and turns it into poetry.

Seriously. Read this line:

"Life is a sweet mistake that happened when the world wasn't looking."

I love this line so much that I almost want to take it to a tattoo parlor and have it etched into my skin so I can keep it with me forever.

And this one, that describes a major turning point of sorts between Salome's previous life (of living in a laundromat) and her next life:

"We can only have one home at a time. But if we are not ready to appreciate it, or we forget the keys, then we can't have any home at all."

One more, I promise:

"When we die... All the things we ever loved become furniture. The hollowness we feel turns into a house. There aren't any other people in it, and that's one of it's blessings. It's just filled with the ghosts of objects we used to own, things we used to feel, memories of patience and heat... In the afterlife, everything is already over. We don't have anything to regret or anything to look forward to."

The entire novel is peppered with these gorgeous moments that simultaneously grab you by your heart and break it in two.

It is this strange, surreal account of a little girl who wanders almost aimlessly through backyards, and down dirt roads, into and out of peoples lives, people who for some reason don't call Child Services, who don't question this little blonde haired angel they have suddenly crossed paths with, who seem hell-bent on bestowing words of wisdom and advice on her, on telling her their sad soul-crushing stories, on giving her a temporary place to stay...

It is not a book for everyone. It will stir some strong emotions. It will piss some people off. It is a book to be experienced, at the very least.

It is the type of book that only an indie publisher would take a risk on, and bravo, Two Dollar Radio... for the opportunity to review it!

[Raina · Rating 1 out of 5]

I did not enjoy this book at all. It made absolutely no sense. The events that occurred and the language attributed to the 4-year old girl (protagonist) was completely unbelievable. This book was described as "often hilarious" on the back cover. I didn't find anything funny about it. Maybe I just didn't "get it."

[Mark · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was my first exposure to Scott Bradfield's writing, and I agree with another reviewer on here, that some passages are so beautiful that I wanted to clip them out and save them as keepsakes. The storyline itself is odd, and somewhat disturbing. Three-year-old Salome is abducted by the water heater repairman, and then shuffled from house to house, and at times even living in a laundromat. The story is told through her eyes, although not in her voice. In fact, the voice of the novel is quite poetic and philosophical.

By the end of the book Salome has walked through the desert, and emerged as an almost Christ-like figure. Visitors drive from afar in the hopes of seeing her emerge from her seclusion. Once "Sal" leaves the edge of the desert to return to civilization, she decides on her direction and destination. She has become wise beyond her years, and certainly wiser than the adults who watched her pass by.

[Eric · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm pretty torn on this one. I want to like it so much and scenes/thoughts/philosophies are described beautifully but things are also too... stagnant. Every paragraph feels shaped for the last sentence and refuses to go beyond that point. I felt like the author thought each paragraph needed to end with a bang in order to be justified as a paragraph. Ultimately it just made me constantly wonder what the next point he was trying to make was. I suppose it just seems a bit too formulaic.

But, having said this. The paragraphs are pretty great. I read a lot of stunning one liners and found myself terribly interested in the life of Sal.

It just needs a bit more variety to shake things up.

[H R Koelling · Rating 1 out of 5]

I just never got into this book. I think I just found it too creepy that there was this underlying sense that the young girl, who is the protagonist, was being taken care of by the ocassional pedophile. It just made me feel very uneasy.

I also found the book very unbelievable, because a young child cannot form the kind of thoughts the author put in her head.

I recommend you skip this book and read something else.

[Dustin Reade · Rating 4 out of 5]

a bit pretentious, but overall rather enjoyable. Hard as hell to read at certain moments, but I like that sort of thing in my fiction.
That said:
I never actually believed I was reading the thoughts of a three year old. In that respect, the writer failed miserably. It is as though he had never listened to a child speak before.
ever.
Still, I liked this book a lot.

[Johanna · Rating 5 out of 5]

when a review gushes, "i really identified with the main character!" i usually stop reading. (unless i know you, it's not necessarily a recommendation.) but a few pages in to The People Who Watched Her Pass By i realized it's a caveat. you can't trust anything i say about this book. i identified so strongly with this voice that my critical faculties are suspended.

[Vivienne Strauss · Rating 4 out of 5]

I loved all the metaphors and the creepiness.

[Jeffrey · Rating 3 out of 5]

A man steals a little girl from her family and then abandons her. She sets out on her own journey, learning to survive with just her pink dress. The state intervenes.

A man steals a little girl from the state and once again abandons her. A coyote guides her through the desert to the house of a shaman. The state intervenes again.

Reality is never so simple. Kafka once described distortion as the form things assume when they are forgotten. Could it be, then, that the distorted story of Sal, the little girl in question, is actually the productive end of behavioral therapy? The resolution of long forgotten trauma through storytelling? And if so, as readers can we accept that?

I think so and here’s why. The People Who Watched Her Pass By is the type of story that should be resplendent with pathos. We live in a culture where children are fetishized. Simple ‘boo boos’ inspire daily tragicomic operas. Pram-pushing parents converse with their charges in conspicuously elevated voices, a vocal bumper sticker advertising ‘baby on board’. Snatched kids used to adorn milk cartons. Now they trigger amber alerts. One New York City based security firm fields daily calls from parents eager to implant tracking devices inside their little darlings.

The filial relationships that Scott Bradfield imagines for Sal, however, are devoid of pathos. Sentiment lives not here. Sal speaks of her biological parents, her ‘daddy’, and her institutional custodians in the same detached, clinical manner. Every subject that makes its way into the story, if not her life, seems to have been born on the bed of the anaylsand. “It’s better when the world comes looking for you, Sal thought, lying on the rocky mattress with the damp white dishcloth on her forehead…When you go into the world, you waste energy and momentum.” Better to meet life subjectively, as shadows on the walls of a cave.

Slowly, though, we come to realize that Sal is in fact healing. The desert shaman, who she knows as the old young man, her analyst, says to her “You just continue lying there if it makes you happy. But whatever you decide about staying or leaving, I’ll still be here when you’re gone.” The desert shaman is a gatekeeper of memories and we recognize that the tides have turned. Sal’s world changes. She moves from external reality to internal subjectivity, and so the text follows. What begins situated in the real quickly gives way to a story that feels distorted, fantastic, unbelievable. Disconcertingly, the transition is nearly imperceptible.

I think Sal’s voice itself provides further evidence to my argument that this is a story of psychotherapeutic intervention. In the first iteration of her story, objects feature prominently. The plastic kitchen set, the comforter, the flooded house, even the saucy landlady are all described with aplomb. But as the story migrates to a second telling, objects move to the background and we begin to hear the voice of an adult whose trenchant observations about the world, about social relations, and about the uselessness of material things could only come from an observer at a remove. Sal replaces crisp and succinct memories with distortions of the forgotten. She calls it writing a book. I don't think this is meant to be ironic.

The book she ‘writes’ is not an easy book to read and it’s bound to frustrate many a would-be reader. The prose itself is straightforward and unadorned, not beautiful but effective, but the story operates according to its own logic. To suggest that Bradfield wrote the story without implying that Sal has been sexually assaulted is asinine. One need read no further than the oral fixation of her mirrored ‘little sister’. Equally confused, in my opinion, is any reductionist reading of Sal that depicts her primarily as a vehicle to carry the reader through outré landscapes of pedophilia or poverty. Nor is she simply a caricaturist giving form to institutional madness or the absurdity of the fetishization of the material world. To read her as such is to miss the humanity of the narrator, a survivor who refuses to be outdone by past events, nor to carry the mantle of victimization. And so we arrive at what I take to be perhaps the most radical gesture this book has to offer, a veritable thumb to the nose of a culture that sanctifies both children and victims. © Jeffrey L. Otto, December 29, 2015

[MaggyGray · Rating 2 out of 5]

Dieses Buch hat mich verwirrt.

Die 3-jährige Sal wird eines Tages vom Heizungsmonteur, der den Boiler im Haus ihrer Eltern repariert mitgenommen. Er hat sich vom ersten Augenblick in Sal verliebt, setzt sie in sein Auto und bringt sie zu einem heruntergekommenen Haus in einer etwas schmuddeligen Wohnsiedlung. Sal nennt den Mann "Daddy" und lässt sich von ihm die Welt erklären. Er hat keinerlei sexuelle Gefühle für sie, rührt sie nicht an, möchte sie nur lieben, wie eben ein Vater seine Tochter liebt. Eines Tages verschwindet Daddy und Sal kommt für ein Weile bei der Vermieterin der Wohnanlage unter. Aber auch diese ist eine seltsame Person, immer darauf aus, einen Mann abzugreifen und neugierig bis zur Penetranz.

So macht Sal sich auf den Weg und wandert ziellos durch Städte und Ortschaften, schläft am Wegesrand oder in mehr oder weniger windigen Unterschlüpfen. Ab und an wird sie von anderen Menschen eine Zeitlang aufgenommen, doch letztendlich zieht sie immer weiter. Eine Zeit lang kommt sie in einem Waschsalon unter, dann bei einem jungen Mann, der sich um seine demente Oma kümmert. Bis die Fürsorge auf sie aufmerksam wird und sie mitnimmt. Aber auch da reißt sie aus und wird eines Tages wieder von "Daddy" aufgegabelt, auf den sie die ganze Zeit unbewusst gewartet hat. Er hat dieses Mal ein zweites Kind mitgenommen, die Sal "die kleine Schwester" nennt. Doch auch hier verschwindet "Daddy" nach einiger Zeit, und dieses Mal für immer. Sal beginnt eine Wanderung ohne Ziel, immer geradeaus, durch die Wüste, und kommt, letztendlich, wieder bei ihren tatsächlichen Eltern an. Die sind ihr aber in der Zwischenzeit so fremd geworden, dass sie nicht recht weiß, was sie mit "der Frau" und "dem Mann" anfangen soll.

Was wollte der Autor mit diesem Buch erzählen? Dass eine Dreijährige ohne die geringste Emotion von zu Hause weggeholt wird und fortan ein Leben als mehr oder weniger Obdachlose führt? Im Buch blitzt ab und an der Hinweis auf, das Sal natürlich auch älter wird, aber mehr als ein, zwei, maximal drei Jahre dürften nicht vergangen sein, bis sie in ihr Elternhaus zurückkommt. Sie stellt ihre Entführung nie in Frage, sie wirkt generell wie leb- und gefühllos. Sie betrachtet alles mit einer gewissen Neugier und macht sich ihre Gedanken, bleibt aber distanziert bis hin zur völligen Gleichgültigkeit. Soll gezeigt werden, wie schlimm es ist, ein Kind von den Eltern zu trennen, sodass die Wiedervereinigung für alle zum Albtraum wird? Dass die verschiedenen Personen, die Sals Weg kreuzen, bestimmte Typen verkörpern und versteckt hinter Metaphern und Vergleichen ihre wahre (und schlechte?) Natur zeigen? Dass die Fürsorge nur dahinter her ist, den Kindern vorgefasste Meinungen und Geständnisse einzuimpfen?

Echt: ich habe keine Ahnung. Das Buch ist gut geschrieben, und es gibt immer wieder kleine Highlights, die das Lesen aufgehellt haben, aber was nun der genaue Sinn hinter dieser Geschichte sein soll, erschließt sich mir nicht. Zum Schluss bleibt ein bitterer Geschmack auf der Zunge, wenn man sich vor Augen führt, welche Lawine an dramatischen Folgen eine Handlung wie sie "Daddy" vollbringt für alle Beteiligten lostritt.

Kann man lesen, muss man aber nicht.

[Joseph Pfeffer · Rating 3 out of 5]

A book about a kidnapping unlike any kidnapping you could ever imagine. Sal is three years old when the man who fixes the hot water heater snatches her from her parents. She doesn't object, and as she drifts from one place to another, one "home" to another, she never changes. She just accommodates. She seems never to get any older, but then she never seems like a three-year-old either. Sal comes across as some abstract concept Bradfield is trying to personify, but it's never clear what that concept is. Sal just survives, and comments on all the people around her as she goes along, often with a mordant humor that kept me reading. As the title suggests, people watch her pass by. No one seems interested in rescuing her, though she does get involved with social workers who make halfhearted attempts. In the end, there's a sadness about this book, because Bradfield doesn't seem to have any idea who Sal is, or what he can do with her. As a novel, it's a flop. But Scott Bradield is always an interesting writer, and that kept me going for about two-thirds of the way. At the end, I wanted to throw the book at the wall. But maybe I'm missing something. To me, it was a huge comedown from Good Girl Wants It Bad.

[Nicole Fileccia · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm a big fan of social commentary and existentialism. And to be fair, this book is really beautifully written in parts. There is a philosophy that shines throughout. However, I don't quite understand why the narrator was chosen as she was. I could find this story a lot more enjoyable and believable if she were, say, a teenager. Because really, age doesn't matter in this novel. And yet, it's such an important cornerstone.

There is a lot of mystery to this story as far as I'm concerned (or so I feel left.) I did like the bit where she's in the young-old man's (or old-young man, whichever) house in the desert and becomes this saintly figure that people flock to from all over the country. She stays in her bedroom on her own volition, partly to recoup and partly to keep the hell away from these people who keep trying to peek in on her. Then one day she comes out and talks to women on the porch who ask her where this chosen girl is, never knowing she's right in front of them.

As many have pointed out, this novel has many gems while being overall rough. So I'll leave you with my favorite.

"I'm not trying to go anywhere, or leave anything behind. I'm heading nowhere at my own pace. I don't even care if I get there."

[Edan]

I am in such a reading rut, and have been since September or so. I got through Freedom, but it took almost a month, and since then, I haven't found a book that really captures my heart and mind, and makes me put down all other tasks so that I can read it.

This book was recommended to me by a friend, and I purchased it without really even looking at it. There's some beautiful prose, but the premise was a little too unbelievable to me. A three-year-old girl gets taken from her home by the man who fixes the water heater, and then she moves through a series of strange characters, some of whom she stays with, some of whom simply cross her path. I just had trouble with this concept, and I wanted to feel more than disconcerted. Also, many of the characters speechify to little Sal, and I got bored of that pattern.

I only got about 60 pages in, which perhaps isn't fair. I blame myself for not connecting with this book. I could see how another reader might fall in love. It's just not for me.

And so I continue my reading rut. Ugh.

[Jen · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book is just relentlessly depressing, and without any redeeming merits. It's not clever, insightful or profound. Just tedious & harrowing.

It follows a young child with implausibly advanced language and cognitive skills, as she makes her way through a grim existence defined by abduction, homelessness & abuse. As a result, she slowly becomes a profoundly dysfunctional person with a bitter and hopeless view of the world & everyone in it.

There is no definable story arc, just a series of dull, unconnected events in which a bunch of uninteresting and ludicrously unlikely characters fleetingly pass by.

I found myself counting the pages as I desperately awaited the end of this ordeal.

[Tom · Rating 4 out of 5]

A painful, sad book (with its lighter moments) about a little girl, somewhere between 3 to 5 years old, who is alternately abducted and abandoned by a series of men and women. While it's never explicitly clear whether she has been sexually abused, the larger issue is the fact that she has been made other peoples' property--and disposed as such--according to their whims and their desires to satisfy themselves. . . A slant commentary on materialism and the ways in which people view and value themselves and others.

[Melani · Rating 3 out of 5]

Gawd, I love Scott Bradfield. Please ignore the Goodread reviewers who criticize this novel for being "unbelievable" or having a narrator who has thoughts that are "unbelievable for a little girl." To denounce Bradfield for lacking verisimilitude is so absurd and disturbing that I may have to take a nap now. (Would they also dismiss Aesop's fables because they never had a conversation with a fox??)

This novel is odd and lovely and ironically hopeful.

[Brian · Rating 3 out of 5]

This has to be hands down the most bizarre book I've read in years. A little girl is taken from her home by a boiler repairman. And she is forced to live in bizarre conditions, and then she goes from one home to the next. And just when you think the characters can't get any more stranger they do. The plot didnt' make a WHOLE lot of sense, and it was so strange, but overall, I enjoyed it!

[Keeley · Rating 3 out of 5]

I really like Scott Bradfield's writing; I absolutely adored History of Luminous Motion.

Something about this book just felt incomplete to me. Which, I know, life is full of incomplete stories, but I just kept waiting for something throughout this whole book that never showed up.

Or maybe I just wanted to know how Sal grew up or outward from the ending.

[Bridget Brewer · Rating 3 out of 5]

The first 50 pages were rough - wasn't sure what Bradfield was up to. You either get this one or you don't. I'm glad I waded through the first 50 pages though, because once you're on board with the dissonance and the unique depiction of trauma, it's a pretty heartbreaking novel, and weirdly funny in uncomfortable ways. Very black humor.

[in8 · Rating 4 out of 5]

talked about it here: http://5cense.com/12/singapore.htm

[Samantha Penrose · Rating 3 out of 5]

“From now on,” a voice said from the desert, “you will be sufficient unto yourself. You will endure everything but salvation. You will pitch your tent in the night, and find food in strange places. Under rocks, and in the shadows of trees. You will hide in the earth, clinging to texture; even wolves will protect you. Exhausted by the company of people, you will enjoy the simple expressions of animals, who can’t bother you with stupid words, or sentences, or their barely-considered dreams of coherence and meaning.”

“Life is little more than a series of opportunities for self-improvement,” Sal explained. —- “And you either take advantage of these opportunities or pass them by. New experiences, for example. Or new people. You learn from everything that happens to you in this life, and from everybody you meet, and then you take what you learn, and put it to good use by building a stronger notion of who you are, and where you want to go. Sometimes, you stay with other people for while , or they stay with you. You work together like a single individual, and this is called a family, or a business enterprise, or a corporation, especially if it offers stock options or medical insurance, things like that. But most of the time, and this is the saddest fact of life I know, we only make progress in our personal journey at the expense of other people. If they get in our way, we have to walk past them and pretend they didn’t notice. And if we get in their way, they have to do the same to us. It’s not cruelty that causes us to act this way. It’s evolution. It’s how people improve across space and time.”

[Emily · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow, I loved this strange and beautiful little book. For a book that's about a three year old getting kidnapped by the hot water heater repairman, it's surprisingly moving. Sal bounces from person to person, gaining agency and street smarts as she moves through the world. This is a book about being seen, about love and home and power and control. What does it mean to be a person moving through the world?

Sal is astonishingly wise. Obviously this isn't a realistic portrayal of a girl who is 3 at the beginning of the book and maybe 5 by the end, but that's besides the point. Her insights and reflections are so wise and thoughtful.

Bradfield also does an incredible job with voice. Every new character he introduced had such a sharp voice. They all stood out! The monologues to the "little girl" are odd and funny every time.

I had no idea how this book was going to end, but it was crushing and fascinating to watch her return home to her bio parents, feel out of place, watch the mom be devastated and Sal not feel anything at all, and then Sal leaving by night for long walks and coming back. Because everything is going to be okay and we all make it home in the end.

[Anita · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Life is little more than a series of opportunities for self-improvement,” Sal explained. —- “And you either take advantage of these opportunities or pass them by. New experiences, for example. Or new people. You learn from everything that happens to you in this life, and from everybody you meet, and then you take what you learn, and put it to good use by building a stronger notion of who you are, and where you want to go. Sometimes, you stay with other people for while , or they stay with you. You work together like a single individual, and this is called a family, or a business enterprise, or a corporation, especially if it offers stock options or medical insurance, things like that. But most of the time, and this is the saddest fact of life I know, we only make progress in our personal journey at the expense of other people. If they get in our way, we have to walk past them and pretend they didn’t notice. And if we get in their way, they have to do the same to us. It’s not cruelty that causes us to act this way. It’s evolution. It’s how people improve across space and time.”

[Claire · Rating 4 out of 5]

http://www.tkreviews.org/#/the-people...

Scott Bradfield’s new novel begins as Salome “Sal” Jensen, a three-year-old, is taken from her home by “the man who fixed the hot water heater.” He tells her to call him Daddy, Sal acquiesces with a naïve acceptance to do as she is told, and they go to live in a squalid apartment where she is often left alone. Eventually Daddy abandons Sal, but instead of being demonized as kidnapper, Daddy serves as a kind of philosopher, spouting wisdom and advice: “I care about you as a perfect, beautiful little child with a fresh perspective on this sorry world of ours. And it’s precisely this sort of fresh perspective which may yet save us from total eco-catastrophe and self–annihilation.”

And so, it quickly becomes clear that Sal’s character in The People Who Watched Her Pass By (Two Dollar Radio, $12.00) should not be read as a typical three-year-old or a vulnerable little girl—her voice and behavior seem more suited to a wise homeless man, a sage mother, and by the end of the novel, an oracle. The adults with the greatest influence on Sal’s life have the same philosophy as the parents in Jeanette Walls’s memoir The Glass Castle (another book in the “on the road” genre from a child’s point of view): kids who are left to their own devices can reap the educational and intangible benefits of suffering. But in this novel, that suffering seems never more than exceptional Sal can handle—even when she is molested or has to sleep in fields where animals graze. As an everyman figure, there is something about the lens of childhood optimism and purity that gives Sal a unique resilience. When Daddy’s apartment floods, Sal sees more than a depressing chaotic mess: “When hazy sunlight through the window caught the skin of water just right, it flashed off floating bedbugs and carpet mites, cigarette butts and gray leaves that swirled in a slow chiaroscuro, like galaxies of stars and raw matter.” When Sal is confronted with chaos she can perceive beauty and order.

In a sense, the book suggests, the man who fixed the hot water heater does Sal a favor—he frees her from the restrictions of school and rules and saves her from a sterile life in the suburbs, where all people act the same and are trapped in lives of monotonous repetition. “You can’t rely on anyone but yourself to be happy,” Daddy says, preaching self-reliance. Sal is forced to fend for herself at the tender age of four as she meets a cacophony of characters on the road, in laundromats, through the foster-care system, and in government agencies. Among them are Mrs. Anderson, the landlady who “peers out of one glaucoma-ridden eye like a fish in a bowl”; the old man who runs the Beaver-Friendly Laundro-Dry; a strange religious cult; and Herb and Molly, a couple who let Sal sleep in their basement but decide they can’t keep her because they think she might be autistic. Children’s services are always on her trail and trying to save her, but as Daddy warns Sal, “They want to take you back to the time before I found you and turn you into one of them.” Sal refuses to adhere to others’ ideas of who she should be, and her Zen-like calm confidence makes her a keen observer of the human spirit and slowly people begin to notice her supernatural holiness.

This gem of a novel is by turn instructive, incisive, beautifully vivid, and funny. Sal loves sleeping in laundromats and in one of them, she eats out of the vending machines with a kind old man who works there and provides her with a quirky sense of security: “[A]t his most pedantic, he sat beside her in one of the cracked orange plastic chairs and showed her the keys on his belt, one at a time, which Sal considered an experience almost mystical in its intensity. ‘Coin trays for the dryers,’ he would say, showing her one key. ‘Coin trays for the washer,’ showing her another.” When Sal finds a pink dress in the laudromat, she is thrilled: “Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll wear this dress and wash the one I’m wearing. It was the most delicious and unaccountable sensation she had ever known.” After spending time in child services departments and foster homes, Sal feels a connection to other homeless children, and observes that “They found comfort in dollies, plastic dinosaurs, favorite pillows, and softly textured blankets.” Everyday objects in this novel become endowed with a magical power that acts as a buffer to the corrupting forces in contemporary America.

But my favorite parts of this book are when various characters dispense unconventional love advice: Mrs. Anderson, the landlady, wants to find a man to give her everything women want: “sex in the afternoon, home-delivered pizzas and cigarettes, and a competent man to lay carpets and hang drapes.” From the moment that Tim, who works at convenience store, meets Sal, he decides that they could grow old together: “Love is not a physical experience, little girl,” he explains. “It’s more a matter of two souls adapting to one another over time and space. I don’t want you to kiss me, or hug me, or even stroke my hair. I just want you to spiritually develop along lines that are appropriate to my personal lifestyle agenda.”

More commentary than plot, The People Who Watched Her Pass By is a series of strange vignettes that take us with Sal into the desert, around the country, and even into a conversation with a coyote. Every time I came to a sparkling nugget of wisdom that resonated with me, I underlined and marked the page, and I returned to these passages multiple times to savor them. By the book’s end, I felt inspired to be as self-reliant as Sal. “You don’t change in your relationship to other people,” Sal thinks to herself in the closing pages, “you change in your relationship to yourself. It’s just that sometimes other people see it happening and try to get involved in the process.”

[Nikki · Rating 4 out of 5]

As of this writing, the reviews for this book average a low 3. And I’m tempted, before I write here, to read the other reviews first and to use this space to refute the poor reviews, the ones who surely said they just didn’t get it. Maybe they haven’t read Bradfield before. Maybe their copy of this book didn’t have the quote likening him to David Lynch. Maybe they missed all the clues that this book wouldn’t be about making sense but instead about making feelings. Or, maybe still, they’re simply afraid to consider that they, too, could very well be the one in the house behind a blue mailbox watching her pass by.

[Q · Rating 3 out of 5]

I was mostly confused the entire time I read this, and yet for some reason I kind of enjoyed it? I don't understand. I can't really tell you exactly what it's about or the moral of the story but I can tell you that it was written either with too much intention to be clever or not enough intention to be clever. I didn't hate it, and it was a short and easy read. But it's not the kind of book I'd pick up again or recommend.

[Claire Holecek · Rating 3 out of 5]

The repetition of existential bombshells used to conclude paragraphs in this novel snapped me out of a spiral of depression, probably because my brain power was entirely drained by the relentless torture of being inside someone else’s mind.

[Jess · Rating 1 out of 5]

interesting approach, but a little too weird to swallow. ideas were not new to me, so I think I've already had the punch that the story was supposed to deliver. i can see how others would like it, it just wasn't my deal.