I tell myself, You should not read Brockway's book before writing.
But I do. I give myself to horror before climbing.
By chapter sixteen he has disappointed me, drawn me, invested me, simplified me and made me wonder what is it exactly he said to you know.
That clincher, that line, the Cormac McCarthy of I've got to call someone and repeat that. Or type it.
Then I realize that Brockway has constructed a book. Those last few lines of that last chapter force you to read until you see those characters again. Then he engrosses you with the next until you get back and think, oh yeah, this was the reason I kept reading. That's elementary. Of course he would do that. But more nuanced is how he raises the question, Should I continue? What is happening?
Because you can feel what these characters feel and they will reason with you. It's horror and metaphor and paranoia and I remember Thoreau at Walden and being repulsed by his anger.
Then understanding it.
Then being repulsed by my understanding.
I will say that as of this moment I doubt you'll find anyone ridiculous enough to put Brockway, McCarthy and Thoreau all in some type of weird I have made it halfway through Brockway's new book note.
This could be a unique moment.
Anyway. It is brilliant to the point of genius and dare I make another reference.
The story makes me cheer for heroes and hope that there is a way to overcome and remember that a call came today. Of all the calls of disappointment, of investment in time and recording and do you have anymore to give
(you're supposed to never say that word)
But sometimes a ringing phone defaults to being conned into believing another story.
This time the phone rings and it's him and he is establishing business.
And I will work for him because he's absolutely brilliant.
The icing on the cake was a jar of blueberry jam prepared and delivered by a lady who is grinding her own grain into flour so she can make bread.
Tonight I am grateful for a writer who makes me do some sort of tally or toast to the goodness in this world so I can sleep after reading to chapter sixteen of his book.
Long live Walt Disney, people.