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The Road Home
by Jim Harrison
(Atlantic Monthly Press, $25.00)
There are many writers who feed the heart with their storytelling, and there are many writers who feed the intellect as well. The rare bird, though, and the one who every serious reader cherishes, is the writer who does both, in equal measure, and in so doing renders the world itself on the page. Such a writer can, in allowing his characters to lives their lives, provide a key to all of us who turn to literature in the hope of understanding, and transcending, our own lives. Jim Harrison is such a writer. His new novel, The Road Home, proves again that a master storyteller is alive and kicking and contributing to an American literary tradition in sore need of nourishment. And now that Richard Ford, one of the few of Harrison's contemporaries who matches his eloquence and emotional timbre, has deservedly won a Pulitzer Prize, maybe now, with this novel, Jim Harrison's hour has arrived. Alas, I think not and I'll tell you why: Harrison writes (with candor and without moralizing) about women, children, Native Americans, drunks, spirituality, sex, food, animals, farmers and the land itself. He does not write about the middle and upper class white men and their concerns except to quietly and relentlessly mock them. So you see, no Pulitzer, no National Book Award. Wish that I was wrong.
The polemic over, for the time being, I can tell you about The Road Home. I promise to give nothing away because, like most of Harrison's books, this one sustains its momentum through a series of small surprises. I can say, with assurance, that if you read and enjoyed his last novel Dalva, The Road Home is essential. It is not, strictly speaking, a sequel but rather a parallel story-as if the author couldn't let go of these characters and needed to take them out for another run. Hence we have the voices, each distinct and often relating the same stories from different vantages, the Dalva established: John Northridge, Dalva's grandfather; Nelse, the son taken from Dalva when she was a fifteen year old unmarried mother, who has come by a very circuitous route to find her; Naomi, Dalva's mother and perhaps the most reliable narrator; Paul, Dalva's uncle and Northridge's only living son; and finally Dalva herself, who doesn't appear to give her view until page 343. Readers familiar with Dalva may be surprised and perhaps disappointed that Dalva's voice is only heard at the end of the book and very briefly at all. I'll admit to some dismay on this count initially but in retrospect it seems fitting. Dalva is, in some sense, the "home" for which all these characters yearn. The stories, however, are theirs and not hers.
Roughly one third of The Road Home, in fact, is John Northridge's story-an extended death soliloquy from a passionate, mortally afraid, dignified man facing the end of his life. In recalling his and his family's history, he comes to some realizations which might justifiably be called enlightenment. And what a life he has led. The reader becomes privy to a whole cellar-full of skeletons (some figurative, some literal and still wearing the U.S. military uniforms in which they died) and still ends up wanting more. Northridge is indeed larger than life-a rancher, a brawler, a drinker, and artist and a thinker-and his story alone is worth the cover price.
Nelse, who gets nearly as much space as Northridge to tell his story, is a confused, intelligent young man slowly working through the neuroses (claustrophobia and an intense wanderlust being the most marked) that seems to stem from his desire to know his birth mother. It comes as no real surprise (though it is beautifully and patiently rendered) that Nelse only comes to terms with his life after finding, and forgiving, Dalva. He is a man, like his great grandfather Northridge, who seems trapped in a world too small (and continually shrinking). His understanding of the situation, his gradual awareness, and his eventual peace is nothing short of inspiring (and here I might add that his situation and is not unfortunately unique).
The Road Home does have its shortcomings and I would be remiss if I didn't mention what seems to be the biggest. After Northridge and Nelse tell their stories, there is what can be only called a sensation of anti-climax. Naomi, Paul and Dalva appear, but only to add, most parenthetically, to the established lore. The characters themselves are every bit as interesting as Northridge and Nelse, but, within the structure of The Road Home, they seem to have been given short shrift. To be fair, had Harrison continued at his established pace the novel would have probably run to three volumes. Perhaps like me, the author himself was vaguely disappointed to have to let these characters find their way to an ending. I will say that the end of the book is heart-wrenching and, at the same time, right (considering Dalva)-it is only fitting that Dalva herself has the last word. Perhaps what is slightly disturbing about the end of The Road Home (and aren't all great novels disturbing in one way or another?) is that the reader is forced to consider, uneasily, the implications of the title. For these characters are indeed finding their way home to a physical place ( the Nebraska ranch where most of them had their beginnings) but they are also slowly and with great attention, heading toward the unknown home where all of us eventually will gather. Having said that, let me hasten to add that the story is not a depressing one (despite any impression my muddy prose may have given). It is a story of life and joy and I make one guarantee: if you read this novel you will want to go back and pick up others. That is high praise and heart-felt.
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