James by Percivel Everett

 "And who are you?"

"I am James."

"James who?"

"Just James."

What an ending. What a deservedly lauded book. 

    I read Huck Finn a few years back and remember not liking it. I thought Jim was a caricature and an undeveloped tool. I didn't like the whole 2nd half of the book: the details are hazy but I remember the tone changing to mad cap adventure story.

    I recently listened to a New Yorker Radio Hour in which Percival Everett discusses reading Huck Fin 15 times in a row, over and over again, until he felt he could write in the voice he wanted. He said Mark Twain wrote Huck Finn in two different time periods, separated by years. The latter, madcap part came during this 2nd writing period. It did feel like two books.

    I loved this rendering of Jim. I loved Jim's two voices, the learned Jim and the enslaved Jim for white people. It feels like perception. This outer self hiding the rich, inner self. That's why I didn't like Huck Finn and loved James. It was not madcap; it was dark and desperate. And Jim was the hero.

The Harder I Fight the More I Love You and Ghost World

 This winter, back in January or February, I saw Neko Case on her book tour. Heart emoji.Guitar emoji. Sing-a-long emoji, Dark lyrics with a  country twang emoji. 

This also happened to be the same evening of As dad's wake. I didn't know Mr. C well. Mrs. C was always the larger, looming presence. Avery and I lived with her boyfriend on Wolcott Street after we graduated. Whenever Avery's parents came to town, we quickly had to hide all her boyfriend's DJ equipment and clothes. I remember her mom would often talk about Avery's weight, which surprised me. Mrs. C had braces. Mr. C stood in the background in these encounters. 

He had Alzheimer's and had been ill for a long time. It had been a weight on Mrs. C. She didn't want a wake, but G insisted. I think Mrs. C was thankful for it, in the end. Avery cried. I learned her dad worked for the Atomic Energy Agency in the early days. They lived in D.C., but moved to IL where he was ... 

And then I drove in to see Neko Case. She has a raspy voice and wore comfy pants. She told a story about her friend who suddenly died and donated her organs. They had to stabilize her in order to retrieve them. Neko described being in the room with her dying friend. Once they stabilized her, the nurses and doctors formed an honor line along either side of the hallway and clapped and cheered as they wheeled Neko's friend to the O.R. to retrieve the organs. Neko described being overwhelmed by sadness and beauty.

In The Harder I Fight the More I love You, Neko writes beautifully about the neglect she experienced as a child, turning pain to art. It's made me listen to her music differently. Now when I hear Midnight in Honolulu, it always made me cry, but now I think of Neko, ignored, scrabbling to make herself dinner. I relisten to her music, listening for glimpses of her childhood. She writes about the unglamorous touring life of a musician a la 90 and 2000s. She writes about yeast infections from sitting in a van too long. It's funny and honest.

I also think of my students. Who is hiding a hard scrabble existence? When Neko went on a field trip, they were to bring a lunch. Neko's dad packed her some cheese slices, limp by lunchtime. The teacher just shook their head.

I missed a book club about this book at a local graphic novel store. It was the same night as Augie's band performance. Augie has "played" the clarinet this year. I was hoping to catch that last hour, but before the concert began, the sky hung dark, the wind blew in torrents. I saw Richard walking from the opposite direction, jankily with an umbrella. I don't think we even own an umbrella. I had a foreboding feeling. The concert was amazing, in that during the band, someone kept blowing into their instrument a terrible honking sound. Squawk. As the orchestra readied, the the wind picked up and sheets of rain slammed against the auditorium window. Suddenly the orchestra sounded like it had percussion. And then, just as suddenly as the storm came, by the performance's end, the rain and wind stopped.

Since I missed the Neko book club, I saw that the same store is holding a book club on Ghost World. I remember the cover of the movie that came out. I read it over the course of the last two President's Cup weekends, in which I sit at a soccer field for what seems like days. Both Augie and Lev made it to the semifinals, but lost in their 4th games.

At first I was turned off by Ghost World, especially the panel of the AI generated child porn. But the meandering, wandering grew on me. Very slowly, I see Enid and Rebecca trying to figure out their relationship and themselves after graduating high school. They're early 90s nonconformists, looking for trashy diners, speaking cuttingly and sarcastically. Periphery people become characters in their world, the Satanists and a Don Knox looking astrologer. But ultimately, it's a story about friendship. Or maybe a time capsule of a b.f.f. friendship, and the beginning of growing apart, not for anything big & blowout but tiny threads being pulled out of your loafers. (This is happening to my favorite loafers now). I wasn't very clear on the ending. Enid and Rebecca's friendship loses its close intimacy. Enid still seems to be around. She comes across a spray painting of Ghost Town. 

This book was published in 1993, the year I graduated high school. It felt like the early 90s. It made me nostalgic.