Rafting the rapids of "Peace Like a River"
by Jennifer Goodland
Guest Columnist
"People fear miracles because they fear being changed-though
ignoring them will change you also... No miracle happens without a witness.
Here's what I saw. Here's how it went. Make of it what you will."
Leif Enger's "Peace Like a River" opens and closes on the nature
of miracles, though some may say the true miracle of this book is its
very presence on "best novel of the year" lists. This is not
to say it's a bad book. In fact, it's very good, and it was an ideal choice
for Denver's "One City, One Book" program, which started in
March. But its high praise by media from San Francisco to New York is
not without controversy.
Reuben "Rube" Land, the asthmatic narrator of the book, lives
with his sister Swede, who is obsessed with Zane Grey and poetry about
outlaws and the Old West. Rounding off the Land clan are Rube's brother
Davy and his father Jeremiah. The mother has, some years prior, left the
family, but where she went and why are unimportant. Jeremiah Land has
the ability to perform miracles small and large, though most people ignore
this ability and Land refuses to exploit it even if he could figure out
how. Two school bullies run afoul of Davy and Jeremiah and eventually
break into the boys' house bent on revenge. This ends badly, with Davy
on trial for killing the two boys.
Things Ending Badly is essential to the plot of most books, even the
Winnie-the-Pooh series, though A.A. Milne left gunplay out of his tales
in favor of simpler problems like Eeyore losing his tail. Davy responds
to his inevitable imprisonment by escaping to who-knows-where, dodging
a manhunt, and triggering in Swede's mind a connection between the outlaw
poetry she writes and her life. The family goes on a quest to find Davy,
though what they intend to do if they find him isn't clear to any of the
Lands.
The novel's not quite about the plot, however. Most great books aren't.
Yann Martel's "Life of Pi" is more about spirituality and connection
than a tiger and a boy on a raft. Eric Carle's "The Very Hungry Caterpillar"
is a bold statement on post-modern desire. The idea of "Peace"
isn't the family on the road tracking down an outlaw relative. Nor is
it about the occasional miracle performed by the father.
Yes, likely he could use his power to get Davy acquitted. He could cure
Rube of his severe asthma, maybe. Readers who grow frustrated at the unexpected
and sometimes irrelevant and abrupt witnessing of the miracles perhaps
miss the point: that Jeremiah's miracles are a means, not an end, and
he may not have control over their occurrence. If the family were able
to use miracles as a way to get out of jams, dramatic tension would be
nonexistent. If they were always used as pivotal plot points, the spirituality
in the book would be overbearing or take on the characteristics of one
religion or another, limiting its universal appeal.
In an interview with Writers And Books, Enger says, "(I)t's been
a happy surprise that many self-described skeptics have enjoyed the novel-I
suspect because it tells the story simply, rather than pounding the table."
Of course, skeptics think of spirituality and faith as much as anyone
else, and the presentation allows skeptics and agnostics to contemplate
the larger questions as much as any other reader. Some thoughts presented
by "Peace:" What is right and what is wrong? Was Davy morally
correct in shooting the bullies? Is the family right to pull up stakes
and chase after him? When do you stand up in your defense, and when do
you put off vengeance for another day? How does faith determine how you
live your life and how people react to you? That's the ambiguity Enger
has introduced in these pages.
In addition, "Peace" is a page-turner, and once the reader
is hooked it's almost painful to put it down. On completion, there's a
sense that you've just read a very fine novel, the reason learning to
read was worth all that bother.
Enger's book is not without its flaws. Swede, though nine, speaks as
though she went to a prepubescent Harvard, and the outlaw poetry eats
much cheese. The parallels between her poetic outlaw heroes and the real-life
outlaw hero are heavy-handed and blunt. Abrupt transitions work in some
cases, seeming true-to-life, and in other cases seem awkward and badly
paced. If you are gripped from the first chapter, as I was, these flaws
won't be too apparent the first time you read it, though they may grate
a tad on the second reading. These flaws and others don't ruin the book.
Enger has still turned out a masterpiece, though I wouldn't catapult
it to the level of one of the best books of the year. Of 2001's books,
I'd highlight "Borrowed Finery" by Paula Fox as a superior work,
and given a copy of "Books In Print" for that year I'm sure
I could come up with at least nine others.
Still, I can hardly imagine having a better choice for Denver's program.
Too good, and there would be no discussion; too bad, and nobody would
have read it. Judging by the response I get when carrying "Peace
Like A River" on light rail and on campus, it does what it's supposed
to do-leads us to discussions about right and wrong and the essence of
miracles in everyday life.
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