If you’re interested, here’s the route that led me to this book: driving back across I-90 from Toronto this April, I stopped at the Little Bighorn battlefield. I like to walk the ground and read the details of history, so I spent a couple of hours there, including bringing several questions to the park rangers. One of them heartily recommended Custer and Crazy Horse by Stephen Ambrose. I’d enjoyed his account of Lewis and Clark, so I purchased C&CH in the park bookstore and began reading it that day. (It is also excellent, and high recommended.) Then, this May, I was talking to a friend about the books we were reading, and he recommended The Indian Agent by Dan O’Brien, which is a well researched historical novel about a doctor who became the first agent of the reservation on which Crazy Horse was murdered, and who became a personal friend of Crazy Horse (the doctor and the friendship are factual). I enjoyed that, as well as The Contract Surgeon, also by O’Brien, and also about the same doctor, but during the years leading up to Crazy Horse’s death. The Publisher’s Weekly review on Amazon describes it well as “a thinking man’s western, in which action is secondary to O’Brien’s nuanced exploration of character and the tragic dimensions of a morally fraught conflict.” So, having read and enjoyed two of O’Brien’s books, I looked to see what else the library had, and couldn’t resist the title of Buffalo for the Broken Heart.

My solution:
A 3 random words: contemptible, heath, monopoly
2 random verbs: popple (to heave or bubble), bandage

Definition:
Conheapoly. This small, heath-dwelling coyote, although contemptible for its behavior of monopolizing all the water sources, is highly valued for its frothing spit that popples forth and makes a valuable bandage for injured hikers.

Story:
A conheapoly named Frederick,
Although a bit of a maverick,
Nonetheless frothed his spit
And saved the life of the git
Who’d been hit on the head by a brick.

The author of the book, Noah Scalin, and some of the people discussed in the book, chose a theme for their creations. In my own experience, it’s always easier to create within some boundaries than on the metaphorical blank sheet of paper. So, would it be a style (a haiku a day, perhaps?) a medium (a drawing a day, perhaps?) or a theme (dogs, perhaps?) I had a strong response to the idea of a dog a day, but then wolves, coyotes, and foxes said they wanted time, too.

I got to thinking what they each represent to me, realized they form a reflection of the Catholic heirarcy I learned as a child, a holy trinity of canids.

Wolf = The Father — strong, wise, unreachable
Dogs = The Son — accessible to mere humans, teaches us by example
Coyote = The Holy Spirit — wild, elusive, howling ecstasy on the edge

Then, of course, there is the Devil, not Satan, but the diablo, the thing thrown across our path to lead us astray — personified by Foxes, Jackals, Wild Dogs.

The same is true of literary fiction.  It’s risqué to admit one loves the novels of Thomas Hardy or Tolstoy.  If one is to discuss books in polite company,  it must be the sort of books where one can say “he doesn’t bog you down with back story,”  “her plots are wonderful, there’s a surprise on every page,” or “he really keeps things moving.”  It would be a faux pas of the worst type to recommend a book as “a deep exploration of one man’s psyche,”  “this book really made me think,” or, worst of all, “this book changed my life.”

A friend of mine recently suggested I read Love Walked In by Marisa de los Santos, someone on a forum to which I belong recently told me in private correspondence that she thought it was deep, another person described it as a literary novel.  I read it and it was hardly deep or literary— I would classify it as well-written but predictable chick-lit — not quite as good as Barbara Kingsolver (of whom I am not a fan), but aimed at the same market: women who feel incomplete without a child — anybody’s — and the perfect man. I think it could probably be said to fit into mainstream rather than genre, it’s not completely formulaic, but no, I don’t agree that it is a literary novel.  In fact, my gut reaction is “if they think this is a literary novel, what on earth do they usually read?”

There is a matter of taste in reading and writing, and why pretend otherwise? I enjoy books that explore depth of character and motivation, but am bored to tears by the sort of  ‘literary’ book that spends three pages describing a sunset, or where it seems the author is more interested in my thinking his words are clever than in actually telling a story. And most ‘genre’ fiction, of any type, doesn’t hold my attention. But anything with realistic, three-dimensional characters dealing with real issues, keeps my interest.  I know, that’s my taste and others are bored with books that explore a character’s psyche, wanting only an exciting plot presented chronologically with lots of vibrant scenes.

I can’t help but wonder: do people shy away from literature, science, and mathematics because of the way they are taught in school?  If students are forced to read books that they are supposed to like (and obviously are ‘wrong’ if they don’t), then graded on how well they understood the symbolism, plot points, etc., then no wonder they dislike anything classed as literary. 

When I was growing up, good literature was abundantly available — at home, at school, borrowed from friends, at the library.  I had a couple of excellent teachers who recognized the importance of personal taste in literature, and thus presented me with a wide range of books from which I could choose the ones I liked.  Maybe that’s why I enjoy literary fiction now — I see a book as full of potential to make me think, to fascinate me, to entertain me, to change my life, or at least how I perceive it.

If you think you don’t like literary fiction because you hated the experience of reading it in school, what not try one of these. You might be surprised by how much you enjoy it.

Life of Pi by Yann Marte
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Cabon
Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

And then there is the greeting and blessing, “I see you.”  Simple yet profound.  Isn’t that what we all ask for on the deepest level?  Not to be praised or honored or loved, but simply to be seen.