This is marvelous writing. The details, so sharp and astute, are perfect in their rendering of scene and character. How, through your use of the fire, you contrast control and safety with risk and danger from within and without is wonderful.
Mary, I'm re-reading the final chapters in preparation for the upcoming conclusion, but I had to stop to comment on this one. If anyone new wants to discover you as a writer, this is an exemplary place to start. Even so late in the novel, they'll get it, get you. The subtlety of observation and the richness of unexpected implication each one carries. Every sentence offering an observation, each paragraph extending an insight filled with switchbacks that alter and even turn the perception around on itself. I wonder at how you do it, how you see that way:
When my father and I watched the barn burn, this controlled fire, one of the fireman said, “We learn to burn here. I don’t think we learn to save here.” My father said, “Nothing worth saving.” The fireman was talking about the real trouble with fire—the tactics the man who fights to save needs to use: listen for the whistling sounds that tell him a flashover is coming, watch for the blue flames at high levels or dancing flames like ghosts around the smoke, all the signals of extreme danger. The firemen couldn’t learn these signals because they were not inside the fire. Only inside the fire can the signals be seen and heard. Firemen who learn have gambled to do so.
Well, that's about so much, but those who haven't read what comes before wouldn't likely see it's also about a man who never saw until too late his wife's dissatisfaction and her adultery: the fire.
And this restrained poignancy about the man's parents, farmers:
I know that the space between my father and mother in the bed is a conflagration not to be crossed. To cross it would be to risk and they’ve long ago given up taking such chances. This is not controlled fire. This is a conflagration and they are far from safe. I see that she never touches him. I see that he never brushes into her shoulder on the way to the car. He doesn’t take her hand. She doesn’t take his. Her arm doesn’t brush his when she sets his chicken casserole serving before him.
Your words here, Jay, brought me to tears. We so often feel as if we write into a void--not while inventing in the state of flow described by Mihaly Csikszentmihaly, whom I knew when he had just finished his book on this state of being, because that comes like mystery--almost as if I didn't do it; my genie did.
But when I post long after the writing and get a response like this my heart sings.
The indelible impressions of the past, how they shape this chapter, how they shape a life! You wrote quite brilliantly of such an inferno of blazing emotion Mary!
Beautiful. I loved the description of Robert's father and his parents' own emotional conflagration. The return of the fire motif here feels almost Wagnerian in its force.
I had to read this chapter twice to even begin to comprehend the fullness of it. It brought home to me, much, in the same way, Rachel Cusk's OUTLINE Trilogy did, this notion of how we come to know ourselves through the lives and stories of others and this being a greater comment on the form of 'the novel' itself. Why it must exist. And then, I sat stunned considering, once again, the title of your novel, WHO BY FIRE. and the burning barn, the caught couple, and the flashover. We come to know Lena (and the others) by fire--by standing and bearing full witness to the barn burn. And I thought, Holy Cats, Mary. You have done something remarkable. ✨💜
Oh, Alisa, such a generous comment that explains what I was trying to do. Rachel Cusk's _Outline_ trilogy is a remarkable comparison that honors me so -- as I have read the three books though long after I had written this. I am, holy cats, in your deft, dear Alisa.
Those early imprints of relationship really do leave a mark on us. Icy and distant might be the most uncontrolled fire of all. Definitely, “This is not controlled fire.”
This is marvelous writing. The details, so sharp and astute, are perfect in their rendering of scene and character. How, through your use of the fire, you contrast control and safety with risk and danger from within and without is wonderful.
Ah, Maureen, what a kindness, what a moment of honor for me to read your words about mine!
Mary, I'm re-reading the final chapters in preparation for the upcoming conclusion, but I had to stop to comment on this one. If anyone new wants to discover you as a writer, this is an exemplary place to start. Even so late in the novel, they'll get it, get you. The subtlety of observation and the richness of unexpected implication each one carries. Every sentence offering an observation, each paragraph extending an insight filled with switchbacks that alter and even turn the perception around on itself. I wonder at how you do it, how you see that way:
When my father and I watched the barn burn, this controlled fire, one of the fireman said, “We learn to burn here. I don’t think we learn to save here.” My father said, “Nothing worth saving.” The fireman was talking about the real trouble with fire—the tactics the man who fights to save needs to use: listen for the whistling sounds that tell him a flashover is coming, watch for the blue flames at high levels or dancing flames like ghosts around the smoke, all the signals of extreme danger. The firemen couldn’t learn these signals because they were not inside the fire. Only inside the fire can the signals be seen and heard. Firemen who learn have gambled to do so.
Well, that's about so much, but those who haven't read what comes before wouldn't likely see it's also about a man who never saw until too late his wife's dissatisfaction and her adultery: the fire.
And this restrained poignancy about the man's parents, farmers:
I know that the space between my father and mother in the bed is a conflagration not to be crossed. To cross it would be to risk and they’ve long ago given up taking such chances. This is not controlled fire. This is a conflagration and they are far from safe. I see that she never touches him. I see that he never brushes into her shoulder on the way to the car. He doesn’t take her hand. She doesn’t take his. Her arm doesn’t brush his when she sets his chicken casserole serving before him.
I hope you can hear my hands coming together.
Your words here, Jay, brought me to tears. We so often feel as if we write into a void--not while inventing in the state of flow described by Mihaly Csikszentmihaly, whom I knew when he had just finished his book on this state of being, because that comes like mystery--almost as if I didn't do it; my genie did.
But when I post long after the writing and get a response like this my heart sings.
The indelible impressions of the past, how they shape this chapter, how they shape a life! You wrote quite brilliantly of such an inferno of blazing emotion Mary!
Oh, Susie, what a moving and generous comment. You are, simply, a love.
Beautiful. I loved the description of Robert's father and his parents' own emotional conflagration. The return of the fire motif here feels almost Wagnerian in its force.
Such a generous and gracious comment, Jeffrey. That you say this is "almost Wagnerian" in force honors me so. I thank you, good sir!
You're welcome, Mary. I wrote this comment as a great fan of the Ring cycle, which I go back to more than almost any music.
I, too, love the ring cycle, Jeffrey!
I had to read this chapter twice to even begin to comprehend the fullness of it. It brought home to me, much, in the same way, Rachel Cusk's OUTLINE Trilogy did, this notion of how we come to know ourselves through the lives and stories of others and this being a greater comment on the form of 'the novel' itself. Why it must exist. And then, I sat stunned considering, once again, the title of your novel, WHO BY FIRE. and the burning barn, the caught couple, and the flashover. We come to know Lena (and the others) by fire--by standing and bearing full witness to the barn burn. And I thought, Holy Cats, Mary. You have done something remarkable. ✨💜
Oh, Alisa, such a generous comment that explains what I was trying to do. Rachel Cusk's _Outline_ trilogy is a remarkable comparison that honors me so -- as I have read the three books though long after I had written this. I am, holy cats, in your deft, dear Alisa.
If only I had learned in time. 👏🏻
Thank you, Adrian.
Those early imprints of relationship really do leave a mark on us. Icy and distant might be the most uncontrolled fire of all. Definitely, “This is not controlled fire.”
Ah, Kimberly, insightful reader: My thanks.
What an evocative presentation of power of the past we must all live with. Told through fire. Inside the fire. Marvelous.
So lovely, kind and generous.