A Slipping-down Life by Anne Tyler: a review

If I were to make a list of my favorite contemporary writers, Anne Tyler would be near the top. I haven't read all of her books, but I have read most of them and there's not a single one that I haven't enjoyed, some more than others, of course.

This one would probably rate near the middle of the pack. It is actually one of her earlier ones, having been published in 1970. It just recently came to my attention that I had not read it, so I immediately set out to rectify that oversight.

A Slipping-down Life gives us the story of young Evie Decker. Evie is a lonely, shy teenager living in a small North Carolina town with her widowed father, a teacher.

There is nothing special about Evie. She's slightly plump and not especially attractive. There's really nothing to make her stand out or make people notice her. She doesn't have any particular talents or interests. But then she hears a rock singer named Drumstrings Casey being interviewed on a local radio station and she becomes obsessed with him.

She expresses that obsession in a truly weird way; she carves his last name (his first name is too long) into her forehead during one of his shows. At last, people begin to notice her! And her antics bring her to the attention of Casey himself. Her actions generate some publicity for him and the two develop a strange kind of symbiotic relationship.

Drumstrings (his actual name is Bertram!) is utterly self-absorbed. He is only nineteen and so both of these two characters are adolescents who are still feeling their way in the world.

Tyler conveys quite well what a confusing time this is for these young people and the fact that they do things without really considering the consequences of their actions. I suppose in that sense this could be considered a coming-of-age novel. Evie, at least, has made a kind of transition by the end of the novel and is in a different, maybe better, place emotionally.

This really is a quiet little gem of a book, only 196 pages. The plot and the characters are so wonderfully developed by the author that one feels almost as though one is visiting with friends. Friends whom one sincerely wishes well. Oh, to be able to write like that!

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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