Tag Archives: set in the great Northwest

Mink River, by Brian Doyle

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Did you ever want to live in Cicely, Alaska? The town, the setting for the TV series Northern Exposure, was full of quirky individuals of vastly different types who somehow all came together to give their town and one another an incredible sense of community. Neawanaka, Oregon is just this kind of town. The inhabitants are mostly scraping by, some with luck and joy, others in more dire circumstances.

The dozen characters we get to know intimately (among them a jaded bar owner, an opera-loving police officer, and a beloved sculptress), weave around one another in a way that is possible only in small towns. Ultimately there is something safe and lovely about being known by everyone you encounter, even if it means you are forever categorized by your parent’s bad behavior, loose grasp on reality, or saintliness.

Mink River is almost stream of consciousness, with the dialogue unindicated by anything as distracting as quotation marks. Although that can be hard to follow, in this case it mostly isn’t. I liked that the difference between a character’s thoughts and spoken words was sometimes hard to distinguish. There are a lot of people doing a lot of heavy thinking in this book, though they go about their lives as though they were unburdened by philosophy.

The touch of magical realism the author injects is in keeping with the slightly otherworldy sense of the place and people. In a town where the Department of Public Works considers its main objective to be the happiness of the inhabitants, a talking crow is no big thing. There’s a gentle balance of gritty realism and fanciful possibility that keeps this book both grounded and delightful.

Finally, Brian Doyle’s lovely use of language. There is a lot of old world in the flow of words across the page; Irish and Native American DNA are intertwined in what is essentially a long, unmetered ballad. I love an author who will create the word he needs if it doesn’t already exist.

In the end, the only real problem I had with Mink River was keeping some of the characters straight. The author has a penchant for nicknames and descriptors, which can take a little while to sort out. The main issue for me, however, was that I kept mixing up the two main couples in the story, one the daughter and husband of the other. These relationships were so similar that I’d forget if I was encountering the older or the younger generation. Call me a cynic, but it is, sadly, hard for me to believe in such marital bliss striking the same spot twice.

War Dances, by Sherman Alexie

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I think I would be a better person if I spent a little time in Sherman Alexie’s presence every day. He’s smart and funny and reasonable and passionate. And he’s good at taking a stand. I have really enjoyed everything I’ve read of his, including many interviews. Here is a very funny clip of him talking to Steven Colbert about why he won’t allow any of his work to be sold electronically.

Some of the things I love about this book:

It is a perfectly balanced collection of prose and poetry. Everyone likes poetry, right, but how many of us can manage a whole book of it? Much better to have it mixed in with good old-fashioned prose.

It is always hard to tell whether these stories are autobiographical, fictional, or a combination of the two. For some reason this makes them all seem very real and very true. And it’s not at all distracting, as I would have expected. Instead of wondering which parts are the author, and which parts are imagined, I find myself thinking that these are the thoughts and actions of a real person in a real situation.

The people in this book are all flawed, and are all exactly the kind of people I would like to hang out with. Alexie’s characters all share an authenticity that is rare and delicate. I’ve always wondered how one would invent a person and make her true to herself; half the time I don’t know how I’m going to feel about something, so how on earth would I know how my fictional character would feel? Apparently Sherman Alexie does not have this problem.

This is a quick read. Yet it is not at all fluffy. This, I think, is a rare gift, to be able to write stories that are true and rich and yet simple. It feels as though he’s sitting a the table with you, telling you the story, choosing his words carefully, but not deliberating overlong, not complicating things.

I read The Absolutely True Story of a Part-Time Indian about a year ago, then immediately watched Smoke Signals, a movie for which he wrote the screenplay. I am now tempted to gather all things Alexie and power through them, but that would be like eating all your jellybeans on Easter morning. An indulgence which ultimately makes you wish you had some restraint.

Northline, by Willy Vlautin

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Once again Willy Vlautin has ripped out my heart and left me bleeding, only to have me beg for more. Kind of like Eminem and Rihanna, without the egomaniacal violent misogynist part. One thing I love about Mr. Vlautin; no matter how devastated you feel at the end of his books, he leaves you with a sliver of grimy hope.
Allison Johnson is a great protagonist. She’s more messed up than you, but maybe you’ve felt exactly the way she does, on your worst days. And maybe you’ve persevered as she does on your best days, though I think she’s got me beat in that category. The story follows her through a harrowing year as she tries to escape her nightmare boyfriend, and manage her monumental anxiety. This girl has made a lot of bad choices, but it’s hard to fault her, she is so clearly aching to do better. Her saving grace, aside from being likable, is her imaginary relationship with Paul Newman, who talks her through some of her lowest moments. Once again Willy Vlautin shows us what it’s like to be a resident of the fringe of society, where expectations are low and behavior is generally bad.
The writing is the same plain gritty beautiful prose I fell in love with in Lean On Pete. Everyone in this book is damaged, and everyone is fully three-dimensional. Even the terrible boyfriend seems to have a few redeeming qualities, which I think is true of most people. If abusers were 100% awful, most would never get their hands on the fragile souls they feed on.
This book has a soundtrack! It’s written and performed by WillyVlautin himself, along with Paul Brainard. A cd accompanies every book! How cool is that? Embedding a song in this post is beyond my technological powers, though I have tried valiantly. Read the book, listen to the music; they’re both great.

The Girl Who Fell From the Sky, by Hiedi W. Durrow

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Another great local author! Well, localish – among the many places she’s lived, she counts Portland as the one she hails from. The book is great, and the author is nothing short of amazing. She’s already been extremely successful in both academics and several varied careers. She hosts the annual Mixed Roots Film and Literary Festival, and my favorite thing, co-hosts the weekly podcast, Mixed Chicks Chat, with her friend and colleague Fanshon Cox. Listen to it here, you’ll be glad you did. As long as you’re on her site, read her quick interesting bio and look at her family photo albums.

Okay, enough hero-worship, on to the book. This is one of those that should be extremely depressing, but somehow isn’t. It is certainly heartbreaking; the eleven-year-old protagonist loses most of her family in a tragedy, which remains shrouded in mystery until the end of the book, and even then is fairly incomprehensible.  It is just about the complete opposite of Your Presence is Requested at Suvanto, which I finished a couple of days earlier. That book was all finely wrought physical details, and little sense of the world outside. This novel is made up of a series of events, clearly stated, reacted to, and reflected upon.

Although it’s not very long, an awful lot happens in this novel. The protagonist, Rachel, is a child of mixed race and nationality. She has lived most of her eleven years on Army bases, unaware of the oddity of having a black American father and white Danish mother. When most of her family dies in a bizarre accident, she is sent to live with her grandmother in Portland. Here she is quickly made aware of racial differences; in Portland, she is black.

This is one unlucky family, and Rachel seems to be the only one who is holding up. The story unfolds in waves, following Rachel, a boy who witnessed the accident which killed her family, and a former friend of her deceased mother. Most of the members of her family buckle under the sorrow of loss, but this girl is tough. Come to think of it, I’d be tempted to classify this as YA, though it doesn’t seem to be advertised as such. It has all the hallmark of good YA lit; a young heroine who makes her mistakes but stays true to herself, an out-of-the-ordinary friend who makes the real difference in her life, messed-up adults to rebel against… I recommend it.

Raising Ourselves: A Gwich’in Coming of Age Story from the Yukon River, by Velma Wallis

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Velma Wallis’ mother was not planning to have children, because she knew what the life of an Alaskan mother looked like. She ended up having 14 of them, bowing out of motherhood well before they were old enough to do without her.

This is a heartbreaking story of a culture in transition. Fort Yukon in the 60′s is probably like a lot of native towns in that era. Modernity has brought white bread and alcohol, and nothing a whole lot more useful. Velma loses her parents and most of her siblings to the bottle. At 13, she and her brother take over the household, caring for their 4 younger siblings while their mother battles alcoholism. At 15, she moves out to the family land (by herself) to live by trapping, as her ancestors did. I am in awe of what she went through by the time she hit voting age.

My overall impression is of a family united by love, but ravaged by addiction and poverty. The book could use some further editing, and is not what you’d call finely wrought. I was riveted, though, by this view into the life of an American girl not so far from my own age, but a world apart in terms of culture and opportunity. A good book for when you’re feeling whiney – you will definitely get over yourself..

Lean on Pete, by Willy Vlautin

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I wish I were as talented a writer as Willy Vlautin. Then I’d be able to explain how the combination of his writing, and his music, and his attire, and his interview style all touch me. I have always been fascinated by a certain type of male writer. The kind who is really smart, mostly blue collar, who determinedly pursues his quirky interests, and does not seem to be concerned about the trappings of success. Manly, but emotional. In my mind, he drinks and smokes and is handy, and he reads a lot. Maybe he’s an amalgamation of Raymond Carver and David James Duncan and a guy I had a huge crush on in my twenties. As far as I can tell, Willy Vlautin is the embodiment of this literary archetype, the moody writer of my dreams.

I wouldn’t be so enamored of Willy Vlautin if his novel Lean on Pete wasn’t so incredibly good. My friend Craig gave it to me, and told me to pass it on when I finished it, and it is now my mission to get that book to as many people as possible. Let me know if you want to be the next one to read it… I just discovered that it is also the subject of the Multnomah County Library’s Pageturners monthly book discussion groups. Willy himself has been participating in these discussion groups at branch libraries for months. Unfortunately I can’t make it to either of the remaining ones. Damn.

Lean on Pete is set partly in Portland, and of course it’s always more fun to read books that are set in familiar locations. It’s the story of Charley, a fifteen-year-old whose life is spiraling into a pit of deprivation and loneliness. As his situation becomes more difficult, Charley shines with a grubby glow. The story is told on the fine edge between brutality and hope; despite the injustice and sorrow that pervade his life, Charley doggedly pursues his plan of tracking down his long-lost aunt. That he is doing it in spite of the adults he encounters seems unsurprising to him.

As a parent, I am often party to conversations about how resilient children are, and how much more self-sufficient than we give them credit for. This book reminds me that children hide a lot of anxiety and pain as they strive to live up to expectations. Charley proves to be very adept at making his way alone in the world, but the reader is left wishing that he didn’t have to.

Vlautin’s writing style is lovely. Spare, clean, unsentimental. This is one of the best books I’ve read this year, and I heartily wish that I still had the experience of reading it ahead of me.

Here is an interview from Seattlepi.com. It’s a few years old, but is my answer to “why do you want to be Willy Vlautin?”

And here is a Powell’s question and answer that makes me like him even more.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, by Sherman Alexie

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Odd, the way you’ll read a book and then immediately find another similarly-themed one. This is my second-in-a-row fictional autobiography that is based pretty closely on the life of the author. And I’m pleased to say that it was every bit as good as the last one. Whenever I read really great YA fiction, I wonder why I don’t spend more time reading really great YA fiction. It is often so much more satisfying than grown-up lit.

Where I heard about this book: Tessa, greatest officemate ever.

What I thought of this book: Fantastic! 5 stars and many moons!

What this book is about: This is the diary of a misfit 14 year-old Indian. He’s already an outcast on the rez, so it doesn’t seem that things could be much worse at the area’s only good high school. Except that it is populated exclusively by white kids who aren’t too fond of Indians. And his fellow Indians consider his bid for a better life a betrayal. Nevertheless, Junior grabs what may be his only chance to escape a future of alcoholism and despair. This is one of those amazing books that makes you laugh even as it’s breaking your heart. The hero is funny and honest and self-deprecating and extremely likable.