Recently a friend handed me a copy of his recently-published first novel, and I promised to review it here. But as I started reading it, I
realized my promise might be harder to keep than I first expected. You see, I
have reviewed several books in this column in the past, but all of them were
non-fiction. I like to read about history, politics, science, and social
movements. When I read fiction, I usually head for the genres, what many might
consider escapism. Science fiction, fantasy, horror, action/suspense, political
satire, comedy, mystery, even alternate history share my bookshelf. But what my
friend wrote doesn’t fall into any of these genres; as far as I can tell, it’s
just fiction. So I didn’t know how to approach it.
Lindrith (Lindy) Davies usually writes about economic justice
and the fairer, more sustainable society we could have if we funded government
with land and resource rents, instead of taxing our wages and productivity. He
also teaches courses on the topic and edits the related Georgist Journal. But this is his first foray into writing fiction,
as much as it was mine into reading it.
At first, I couldn’t immediately relate to characters who
were just regular people, or understand where the narrative was heading. But as
pages turned and I dug into the story, I grew truly curious about how or if
they would connect or come into conflict. The novel, The Sassafras Crossing,
covers about a year in the lives of several young people who are somewhat
adrift, post-college but pre-career, trying to find their place in the world.
With their unexpressed ambitions and reluctance to dive into the corporate rat
race, their semi-dependence on parents while working minimum wage service jobs,
they evoke the so-called “millennials” many love to mock today. But this realistic
tale set in the early 1980s clearly demonstrates that this so-called new
phenomenon of an indeterminate or even shiftless period in the lives of young
adults is nothing new. What really matters is the opportunities for fulfillment
society ultimately offers.
Another compelling side to this story is the struggle of some
of the characters to find their place in a world where their sexuality is not
recognized or condoned. While this is still often a challenge today, it was
even more so 30 years ago, yet people then were just as likely as now to find
themselves not fitting into society’s heterosexual norms. How this plays out
for various characters, or even that it is an issue for them, is something that
is only gradually exposed and explored through the story.
The lift bridge whose action provides the title is itself a
character in the story. This antique yet still-functioning engineering feat facing
replacement by a more convenient, newer-style span is both a setting for much
of the story and a metaphor for the ways our world is a constant weaving of old
into new. In the intersection of road and river, the cars that drive across
whose movement is interrupted to allow pleasure craft to navigate the channel
below, the need for expert human operators to mediate these conflicting uses,
we find metaphors for many of the life changes and decisions negotiated by
human characters.
Meanwhile, the story also weaves in a mix of musical styles
and cultures, attitudes about work and family, the tug-of-war between
succeeding in the rat race or chasing your personal dreams, and the way these
decisions may be re-evaluated and reconfigured at later stages in life.
If you enjoy reading fiction, I expect you will enjoy this
novel, while if, like me, you aren’t usually a fiction reader, this is an
excellent place to start.
Published as my Root Issued column in the Barrie Examiner as "A Foray into Fiction".
Erich Jacoby-Hawkins is a
director of Living Green and the Robert Schalkenbach Foundation.
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