P is for Place in Patons, including Peaks Island

What I read: Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton

I read this book for my church book club. I confess that my initial reaction was to run out and find the cliff notes: to do anything but actually read the book. My reaction was largely due to the jacket summary which stated, "[T]he story reaches a height of tragedy which has seldom been equaled in contemporary fiction."

If anything could turn me away from reading a novel, that little blurb would be it.

To digress a bit, I've never been a big fan of tragedy for tragedy's sake. In high school, I detested Steinbeck's The Pearl; disliked A Separate Peace; refused to read The Red Pony; found Tess completely ridiculous; and still consider Ethan Frome one of the stupidest novellas ever written.

On the other hand, I quite liked Shakespeare's tragedies; enjoyed Lord Jim; applauded Lord of the Flies; and even watched (on purpose) the movie version of Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men (the one with Gary Sinise).

After some thought, I determined that I don't mind--and sometimes even like--tragedy based on individuals' deeds gone wrong as opposed to tragedy based on subservience to fate.

That said, it is hard to know which category Cry, the Beloved Country falls into. I did read it very slowly since it is so sad. However, it is also heart-warming and beautifully written. 

Cry, the Beloved Country has a lyricism that I've noticed in Alexander McCall Smith's Botswana novels; I've wondered if McCall Smith read Paton or if the land itself seeps into the writing of those who have lived in Africa. In many ways, it is interesting to compare Paton to McCall Smith, not because they are writing the same kind of stuff but because their perspective on Africa is separated by fifty years of change. McCall Smith is more optimistic, but his books have the same sense of awesome (in the biblical sense) sadness one finds in Paton: a feeling of overwhelming sorrow swallowed up in an expanse of space (I don't mean to sound flip because I really don't feel flip, but the song "I'm Going to Go Back There Someday" in The Muppet Movie conveys the sense I'm talking about).

Alan Paton

To return to Cry, the Beloved Country, the novel's most astounding characteristic is Paton's focus on individual human emotion. The story takes place against a context of severe oppression, yet the fundamental, true emotions of the father, Jarvis, and the various people the father meets are never ignored in favor of the larger picture. This focus makes the book human, real, universal. It makes the context more comprehensible as well as more appalling because it has not been swallowed up in political rhetoric or theory. One of Paton's finest qualities is that he is not willing to placate the context with clear-cut/easy explanations and solutions. So many people in the novel are good people just trying to do their best. Such understanding makes the book quite touching.

And the overall point is subtle, yet sure: good occurs when individuals decide to do good. I've run across few pieces of literature, outside of the Bible, that present such a comprehensive picture of forgiveness followed by acts of kindness. It is stunning and nothing like, well, the finale of Hamlet, for instance. 

Ignore the blurb. Cry, the Beloved Country is much better than "unequaled tragedy."

2023 Update: I didn't return to Alan Paton. Instead, I chose another Paton (the original purpose of the first A-Z List was to try new authors): Mrs. Bundle's Maine Vacation: Subterfuge at the Seashore by Allison Cesario Paton, which takes place, mostly, on Peaks Island.

My parents lived on Peaks Island for nearly 25 years. My idea was to delve into the use of setting, "place," within a narrative. Cry, the Beloved Country is clearly tied to the land. What about a book that also advertises its setting on the cover? 

I started Mrs. Bundle. I didn't last. In fairness, it is possible that if I tried one of the non-Maine Mrs. Bundle books, I would enjoy it. I'm not too fond of constantly shifting points of view accompanied by several pages of internal exposition. (Within the first chapter of Subterfuge, the point of view shifts from Mrs. Bundle to her two companions to the cat.) Still--I didn't get lost and the problems of each character seemed relatively interesting.

My problem, I discovered, was the use of Peaks Island. 

I should state upfront: I wasn't initially bothered that the author was making  changes and adding in history. I use Peaks Island as Elysium in my Greek fantasy world. Why not?! 

My problem was that the fictional island had no more resemblance to Peaks Island than the movie The Robe has to its book. 

The author gives the island a historical character, Gee Gwilliam, a sailboat regatta, and then (in order to make the regatta "viewable"), a geography that doesn't remotely match Peaks Island (that is, a tall enough hill to watch the regatta).

To be clear, Portland, Maine does have sailboat races. Peaks Island would not be the starting line. 

For one, there's no reason. The mainland is close enough (you can see it from the island--by ferry, it is 15 minutes) and has far larger marinas. In fact, the Monhegan Island Race is sponsored by the Portland Yacht Club which is about twenty minutes north of Portland and sits on Casco Bay.  

Two, Peaks Island doesn't have the resources for that many people (155 boats participate in the book, which is about average for the Monhegan Island Race). Yes, lots of people visit Peaks Island every year and even hold weddings there. But the number of people who attend a regatta as participants and observers far outstrips the island's capacity. Peaks Island is a small town with one marina that can handle up to 50 boats.

Three, Peaks Island is hemmed in by islands and a major shipping line for the Port of Portland. The Monhegan Island Race does use this passage (see timing map above)--to head into the open sea, not to circle a single island, which would cause problems what with ferries and tankers and fishing boats and what-not. These races are not "watch out for that rowboat!" exciting in the way that, say, roller-derby is exciting; these races are mostly about time. (And winning isn't determined by "first arrival" since handicaps are a factor.)

Monhegan Island

I got the impression that the author wanted to use the Monhegan Island Race plus something that actually involved potential hazards and then wanted the whole thing to start in Casco Bay and stick to shore. 

In which case, why not simply invent an island? Take all the smaller islands in Casco Bay and roll them into one and move them slightly north? 

Or start everything at Monhegan (see above) which at least has easy access to the open sea? And decent vantage points?  

Or, for that matter, why not use Martha's Vineyard, which hosts the Vineyard Cup Regatta?

Why chose a real island and then dismiss its character and history? If some kind of major event is needed to draw various characters together or provide a climatic final scene, why not use the band concerts at Battery Steele? Or a wedding? Or go back in time to when Peaks Island was Portland's answer to Coney Island? How about the 1930s fire? If the event must be contemporary, why not a garden tour? Or a religious retreat? Or deer shooting? Or a foot race (they do occur on the island)?

Even kayaking would make more sense--hey, the race could be from Peaks Island to House Island, around House Island and back. Don't get run over by a tanker!   

I'm not writing any of this as someone who thinks Peaks Island should secede from Portland or as someone who wishes the summer visitors would send their money but stay away. Good grief, most of the cottages on the island are strictly summer cottages! 

But the emphasis for a visitor is on the small town pleasures (strolls, restaurants, picnics, music, shopping), pleasures that come with residential living, not on anything that approaches a generalized coastal vacation spot. 

Shoot, on my fantasy Peaks Island, my Greek gods and dead citizens spend most of their time trying to figure out the island's real estate and complaining about the soil--which is exactly what Peaks Islanders do in real life.

If you are interested in a mystery book that captures New England small-town living, check out Virginia Rich's Eugenia Potter series.