Anyway, although I hate to admit it, that college class was about 14 years ago, so it had been a long time since I'd read the book. So what a treat it was to return to it! And it amazed me how many lines and phrases I remembered. Still's writing is practically prose poetry in places (how's that for alliteration?), but it's poetry wrapped up in real life--life that is hard and complex and offers no easy answers, especially to those who are barely hanging on, like the characters in this novel. Still finds the beauty and poetry in the speech and lives of these people, much of it richly realized through their dialect.
This passage, which comes a scene in which the (unnamed) main character's parents discuss moving to a coal camp, gives a good sense of what I am talking about. Mother doesn't want to go. She wants to stay where they are, where they've planted a garden, where they can put down roots. But she also realizes how little power she has. Father will make the decision for the family, and he's made up his mind. As a reader, your heart breaks for the mother--you want them to stay--but you also see where the father, who wants to provide for his family, is coming from. And you know that he's also wrong about the mine providing stability. You suspect that he knows he's wrong, too. But he's desperate. And their debate--should we settle down or are we meant to roam?--is central to our culture.
Mother was on the rag edge of
crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting down nowhere for good and
all, searching for God knows what,” she said. “Where air we expecting to
draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever I’ve wanted to set us down
in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring, with room to swing arm and elbow,
a garden-piece for fresh victuals, and a cow to furnish milk for the
baby. So many places we’ve lived – the far side one mine camp and next the
slag pile of another. Hardburly. Lizzyblue. Tribbey. I’m longing to set me down shorely and raise my chaps proper.”
Father’s ears reddened. He
spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content
on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the
camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on
it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.” (51-52).
The language of this passage is worth lingering over--and it's not even close to Still's most beautiful passages. In fact, that some of these phrases appear right in the middle of ordinary, plain speaking dialect shows just how effortless Still's craft appears to be: "a place certain and enduring, with room to swing arm and elbow," "...never meant for a body to be full content on the face of earth," the syntax of the father's last words.
All that said, you know I'm going to recommend the darn thing. Read it. It's short, beautiful, and, perhaps especially in a week where half of Congress votes to cut the SNAP program, it lingers in your mind.
Work Cited
Still, James. River of Earth. 1940. Lexington: U of Kentucky P, 1978. Print.
Mother
was on the rag edge of crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting
down nowhere for good and all, searching for God knows what,” she said.
“Where air we expecting to draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever
I’ve wanted to set us down in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring,
with room to swing arm and elbow, a garden-piece for fresh victuals,
and a cow to furnish milk for the baby. So many places we’ve lived –
the far side one mine camp and next the slag pile of another.
Hardburly. Lizzyblue. Tribbey. I’m longing to set me down shorely and
raise my chaps proper.”
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Mother
was on the rag edge of crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting
down nowhere for good and all, searching for God knows what,” she said.
“Where air we expecting to draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever
I’ve wanted to set us down in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring,
with room to swing arm and elbow, a garden-piece for fresh victuals,
and a cow to furnish milk for the baby. So many places we’ve lived –
the far side one mine camp and next the slag pile of another.
Hardburly. Lizzyblue. Tribbey. I’m longing to set me down shorely and
raise my chaps proper.”
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Mother
was on the rag edge of crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting
down nowhere for good and all, searching for God knows what,” she said.
“Where air we expecting to draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever
I’ve wanted to set us down in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring,
with room to swing arm and elbow, a garden-piece for fresh victuals,
and a cow to furnish milk for the baby. So many places we’ve lived –
the far side one mine camp and next the slag pile of another.
Hardburly. Lizzyblue. Tribbey. I’m longing to set me down shorely and
raise my chaps proper.”
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
No comments:
Post a Comment