Marilou Is Everywhere by Sarah Elaine Smith: A review

Here is yet another remarkable first novel. Sarah Elaine Smith is a published poet and I think it shows in the vivid prose of this book, but this is her first work of fiction. It is a work of empathy and compassion for the flawed characters within it. Even when they behave badly or stupidly, their creator enfolds them in her generous understanding and, with that, she encourages her readers toward the same attitude. "See?" she seems to say, "they are only human and they are doing the best they can, just like all of us."

Her narrator is a 14-year-old outsider named Cindy Stoat. Cindy lives with her two older brothers, Virgil and Clinton, in a ramshackle house in rural Pennsylvania. The father is absent. They have a mother but she comes and goes and is seldom on the scene. The electricity has been turned off because of unpaid bills. They are basically on their own and frequently hungry. They live a feral existence. (Shades of Where the Crawdads Sing!)

They have neighbors named Jude and Bernadette Vanderjohn. Jude is the teenage daughter of Bernadette. When Jude was fourteen and Virgil was a senior in high school, they were a couple. They called themselves Marilou and Cletus. Now Bernadette has descended into alcoholism and has only a tenuous grasp on reality. Jude is a popular teenager with a wide circle of friends. When she disappears after a weekend with some of those friends, her mother doesn't even realize she is gone. Her friends miss her and call the police but the trail is already cold.

Virgil takes it upon himself to check on Bernadette daily and, after a while, Cindy goes along with him. She is overwhelmed by the riches contained in Bernadette's house, especially books. She had been an inveterate reader of catalogs because they were all that were available to her. Now she has access to actual books! Riches beyond her wildest imagination.

Then a strange transformation begins. The confused Bernadette starts mistaking Cindy for Jude. Finally, Cindy plays along with her and pretends to be Jude.

But what of the real Jude? What has happened to her? Is she even still alive? That is the mystery at the heart of this story. And what will happen to Cindy and her brothers if the mystery is solved?

Smith had me from the very first of this novel right through its ending. Her prose gives the reader entry into this strange but tender world. From the beginning, we feel a part of it and we understand Cindy's feeling of being an outsider and never quite being good enough. We understand her longing to be like Jude and finally to be Jude. It is, as I said in the beginning, a remarkable accomplishment in a first novel.

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

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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