Leon Rooke - September 11, 1934
I had a bit of trouble with this story. I believe that the problem existed with me and not with the story. In the end, it was a fine – wonderful story. I just couldn’t get my head wrapped around it. The problem is, that this is just the type of story that I enjoy.
Rooke is quite the author. I think this small paragraph below illustrates the story best. It’s from Contemporary Authors Online-
In the New York Times Book Review, Alberto Manguel finds Rooke hard to classify: "[Rooke's] style varies greatly not only from book to book but sometimes from page to page. It is impossible to speak of a typical Leon Rooke paragraph; each one sets out to explore different voices and textures."
Perhaps it was the voices and textures I was having trouble with. You see, if I were an author – I think I would lean towards writing stories that bent reality.
It took some time in this story, but something “strange” entered the scene and when it did, it was powerful. Perhaps this is one of those stories that won’t fully impact me for some time. I’ll be lost someplace, and then – BAM- the meaning will hit me. Won’t that be great?
There are instances in life, and I have had them quite a bit, and it seems with increasing regularity, where something happens – either by a force known or unknown that causes us to shift our perception of life.
Perhaps I’m just more attuned to these “happenings” or maybe I am just labeling them. Either way, I have committed myself to turning them into something positive.
Something that will propel me upwards in my life.
This is an interesting contradiction in my life as well because of my recent questioning of religion and/or the supernatural. I don’t think I’m fully resolved in that area either. Just when I think I have made my mind up, something happens to push me either towards or away from where I thought I would land in a final decision.
You know...all of this uncertainty is cool sometimes. Being comfortable with being uncomfortable is comforting.
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