NORTHWEST
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REGIONAL WRITERS
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Savory Stories to Come

review by Kent Chadwick
Free Press staff writer


Love Like Gumbo
by Nancy Rawles
Fjord Press, 1997
Paperback, 266 pages, $14


"All stories begin with Death. This fact cannot be helped." These are the great opening lines in Nancy Rawles' first novel, Love Like Gumbo. Our lives, communities, and projects may begin with birth, but our stories, our news, our history begin only with crisis, with death. These are the kinds of fictional first lines that would be a joy to repeat and teach and have enter our storehouse of common wisdom. And they are indicative of a quality of insight and an authority of voice that Rawles, a Seattle fiction writer and playwright, displays many times in the coming-of-age story of Grace Broussard, a "mixed-race" woman of 20 who is confounded by our "Black-White country."

But for first lines to be remembered the entire story has to be read again and again. This story won't be because it's an average first novel. Yet saying that is praise, because Love Like Gumbo is real not formula, art not ersatz. Rawles writes things truly with humor and sincerity and has created something new worth reading.

The death that begins Grace's story is that of her father, T-Papa, who won't let go of her, even though he's in his grave.

T-Papa Broussard was a light-skinned Creole patriarch, who had brought his dark-skinned wife, Camille, from Louisiana to Los Angeles in 1936. Creoles like T-Papa and Camille were proud of their French Catholic background as well as their African ancestry. The Louisiana Purchase in 1804 had been a cultural tragedy as the American "one drop of blood" rule of race replaced the more fluid French definitions. "To Creoles, 'Black' and 'White' demonstrated the American penchant for reducing life to its most shallow, trivial form."

The Broussards were a "walk on your knees to the basilica" people. "They lived in Watts but they were not of Watts. They were of Pointe Coupee Parish, where there was lots of rain and plenty of crawfish." They loved the myriad qualities of their hair. "White hair was flimsy, Black hair was bulky. Creole hair was silky, wavy, curly, bouncy hair that could swing both ways.... Opportunity followed hair.... in America, where Whites wanted to be Black and Blacks wanted to be White. Creoles took this to mean that everybody's deepest aspiration was to be them." And they made gumbo, that "swamp stew" of okra, crawfish, shrimp, peppers, sausage, onions, hot sauce, and family secrets, into a passion as powerful as sex.

Grace is the youngest of the seven Broussard children, the darkest-like "her Haitian foremother, a fried oyster's black pearl,"-and the most confused. She is a Louisianan in Los Angeles, a Creole in Watts, a free thinker from a Catholic girls school, a Black in America, a lesbian in a family that worships the family. To survive she has perfected living "by drowning, by sinking deep into her heart and letting the waves overcome her." But on Christmas Day, 1978, she knew she had to rise up and find her freedom. She crafts a ten point plan for escaping from her family and finding a haven she can share with her lover Elena. The linchpin of which is to refuse to eat her mother's gumbo. Yet, Grace is a Hamlet, planning more than doing. And like Hamlet, she is haunted by her father's ghost.

Rawles handles Grace's tensions with a light humor and gently mocks the Broussard's compulsions. Refreshingly, Love Like Gumbo is a coming-of-age novel that is eminently fair to the protagonist's parents and to the realities of family life. "Embarrassment was the routine fear of every Broussard ... what they were each loath to experience but all eager to foist upon each other. A Broussard who made a slip of the tongue, the foot, or the mind could count on being the center of a story told into perpetuity. In this way, embarrassment was akin to immortality."

One of Rawles experiments in style is a risky use of clichˇs to achieve a comic irony. They often work well, but when they fail the reader is left with just clichˇs, as in this flat sentence: "After Kennedy's death, Civil Rights had really taken off as a concept and Marc had cashed in."

Unfortunately, Rawles' wry touch disappears completely as she tries to build the plot around T-Papa's ghostly attempts to keep Grace from abandoning him and the family. T-Papa's ghost is neither mysterious nor funny, and detracts from the living part of the story. Grace's reactions to T-Papa's haunting are either wooden or exaggerated.

Rawles does create a living sense of the dead, however, through her narration and through secondary characters. The Broussards were best at mourning, Rawles notes. They shooed loneliness away by tending their loved ones' graves and by leaving but never separating from the family. Grace's old neighbor, Miss Alma, knows how to work juju on those thickheaded ghosts: "Can't pussyfoot around with they, no! You got to kill them with unkindness. Repeat after Miss Alma: This a warning to all unwanted guests, uninvited visitors, and lowdown haints: Be gone, burnished flesh! Die and let live!"

When Rawles finds her writing voice more consistently her prose will snap and smoke with many more Miss Almas. She has just begun cooking up savory stories.





Wild Explorations

review by Bob Pavlik
Free Press contributor


Into Thin Air and Into the Wild
by Jon Krakauer



Undaunted Courage: Meriwether Lewis, Thomas
Jefferson, and the Opening of the American West

by Stephen E. Ambrose


My coffee table is piled high this month with these books related to exploration. Taken together, these fine volumes speak to the American experience of westward expansion, a restlessness on the part of our country's citizenry, and the importance of learning the lessons of the past. They also contain tales of great bravery as well as cowardice, of vision and shortsightedness, generosity and greed.

Both Krakauer and Ambrose write in a style that reflects their own personal interest in and involvement with their subjects. The long-standing admonition of writing from the completely "objective" standpoint has given way to a more realistic recognition of the author's role in recounting a story. Each author has interjected himself into the scene by writing about people and places with which they have a close personal connection. In Krakauer's case, he traces the movements of a young man on a personal vision quest in Into the Wild. The author recounts some of his own experiences as a youth in search of wild, open spaces. It is an effective device since the subject of the book, Chris McCandless, is dead, and therefore cannot explain to Krakauer his own motivations for his actions. In the case of Into Thin Air, Krakauer starts out as a reporter and ends up as a participant and witness to the tragedy that unfolded at the top of the world. In that instance, it's a little hard to separate yourself from the action.

Stephen Ambrose has ambled throughout the Mountain West for some thirty years, in search of his own understanding of the enormous task and accomplishments of the Corps of Discovery. His intimate knowledge of the landscape, of the journals of Lewis and Clark, and the secondary literature combine to make Undaunted Courage excellent reading. He footnotes the text to describe what the country looks like now, where to go to see the places that Lewis and Clark traversed and described, and elucidates for the reader the feel of these places.

There is a thread that runs through each of these volumes. These are people in search of knowledge and self-gratification, and often wealth and glory. Their pursuits take them into wild places. Their level of preparation, skill, physical and mental fitness and equipment vary from time to time and place to place, but despite the advances in communication, transportation, equipment, and clothing, the inherent danger of wilderness travel is always there. It is the human element that provides the fulcrum on which success or failure teeters.

It is interesting to note that the most successful expedition was the earliest. Crossing the continent in 1803-06, Lewis and Clark led a group of men and one woman, Sacajawea, to the Pacific Ocean and back, using simple tools and lots of hard work. They made mistakes along the way, but their perseverance, ingenuity, and training enabled them to correct their course and learn from their mistakes. The leadership qualities of the two men whose expedition bears their name was perhaps the best reason why their undertaking proved successful.

Then there is the case of a young man who sets out on his own to explore the American West, only to die of starvation in an abandoned bus in Alaska. Krakauer's recounting of Chris McCandless' ramblings through the U.S. is both empathetic and emblematic. The author does not pass judgment on the young man who embraced his freedom with a passion unheard of in these days of comfort and conformity. That McCandless made some mistakes is acknowledged; his critics seem almost to quick to flame the young explorer for his lack of knowledge and hasty, impetuous actions. That the young man covered as much ground as he did, from the Gulf of California to the wilds of Alaska, all under his own power, is a credit to his strength and resourcefulness. His death, while tragic, is not without purpose. While he lived he burned bright and hot; perhaps life in the lower 48 living a more sane, sedate existence would have killed him more slowly, but with more pain and discomfort.

The tragedy on Mount Everest in 1996 has been recounted in magazine articles, in Krakauer's book, in film and on television. The underlying theme is one of recklessness and lack of respect: for the mountain, for leadership, for the rights of others. The quest for beauty, solitude, camaraderie, and nature study traditionally associated with mountaineering has given way to a competitive drive that eclipses all other considerations. A respect for the land, its inhabitants,. and one's fellow travelers quickly erodes in the face of a relentless drive for the achievement of the objective.

The trajectory from the Rocky Mountains to Mount Everest is littered with tragedies caused by the cult of the individual, causing a single person's rights to be elevated over group survival. The lack of a common purpose and poor judgment distinguishes events at the and of the 20th century for those at the beginning of the 19th. Yet a superior, cavalier attitude directed toward Native peoples seems a constant from century to century, continent to continent. Krakauer feels these issues deeply, and accepts more than his share of responsibility for what took place on these distant heights. And yet, in the wake of that gruesome event, the pursuit of fame and glory continue unabated.

Is it nobler to die alone, in a bus in the Alaskan bush, or on the world's tallest mountain? One comes to the conclusion that each and every one of the deaths could have been avoided. Each instance involved a series of missteps, poor choices, miscalculations, arrogance, and a lack of preparation that combined in synergistic fashion to overwhelm the unfortunates. These three books offer insights into recent and distant events that share similar themes, yet with drastically different outcomes.


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Contents this page were published in the May/June, 1998 edition of the Washington Free Press.
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