The Gravel Road by Glenna L. Redcliffe: A review

Many of us who love language and reading have probably dreamed of writing a novel, maybe even the Great American Novel. Most of us never act on that dream and so those who do are in a special category and deserve our respect. It must take a certain amount of courage, not to mention purposefulness and perseverance to stick with the task of writing that book and then sending it out into the world, hoping that it will find an audience. I freely admit that those are all qualities which I lack.

These days, many first-time authors are taking the self-publishing route to getting their work out. It is a chancy course to take, because a book without one of the publishing houses behind it to publicize and bring it to the attention of the reading public already has two strikes against it and the possibility of it ever finding an audience are slim indeed.

And yet that is the path that Glenna Redcliffe has taken with her first book. It is a self-published spy novel/psychological thriller featuring a strong female protagonist in Samantha Albright, "Sam" as she is called throughout the book.

Sam has a backstory of a violent childhood in rural North Alabama which she has sought to escape first through an ill-advised early marriage and, after the marriage ended, through education. She is in the final semester of working on an accounting degree in an Alabama college when she becomes involved with a professor who may not be quite what he seems.

Subsequently, she is approached by a U.S. intelligence agent who seeks to recruit her to become an informant concerning the activities of the dodgy professor. She accepts the challenge and thus begins her dangerous adventure as a spy playing cat and mouse with man who may well prove to be the embodiment of evil.

Her adventure takes her to some exotic locations as she tries to get the information needed to stop what could be a bioterrorism catastrophe. She shows an unexpected aptitude for the task and one doubts that she is ever going to finish that degree in accounting.

One piece of advice that the so-called experts always give fledgling writers is that they should write about something they know. Redcliffe has taken at least some of that advice to heart in that most of her novel is set in Alabama where she grew up and where she earned an accounting degree from the University of South Alabama in Mobile. Moreover, according to her biography at the end of the book, some of the events in the book may be based on her own childhood experiences.

Her idea for her plot was an interesting one. The execution of the idea showed her inexperience. The novel is much too long at 460 pages of very small print, much too wordy. Conversations between characters seem to go on and on - and on - for pages without really advancing the story. "Brevity is the soul of wit" wrote Shakespeare in Hamlet. And Shakespeare knew whereof he wrote.

I suspect the wordiness is just one of the many pitfalls of the self-published novel. What was really needed here was a disinterested and ruthless editor who would guide the writer to streamline her story and help it to move along more quickly and cleanly.

Nevertheless, this was a creditable first effort and I hope the writer will try again, perhaps with the further adventures of Sam.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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