Stories

Ordinary, everyday relationships offer more intrigue than a murder case in Tell Me Everything by Elizabeth Strout. In small Crosby, Maine, a curmudgeonly 90-year-old woman, Olive, forms a companionship with Lucy, a writer, and they exchange stories. Both agree that all people, even the most ordinary, have stories to live and learn from. The stories may draw curiosity, intrigue, hope and other reactions, patterns others can observe and learn from even if the person living the tale does not. 

Olive observes a budding relationship between Lucy and Bob, a lawyer in town who is not so happily married, and during the course of their exchanges, Olive relays stories about love, including unrequited love and the damage accompanying destroyed marriages. At one point, Olive tells Lucy a story about people who live with ghosts in marriage. Couples who don’t communicate, who don’t really care about the other and constantly pine for someone they cannot have. A person simply may not be available at that moment in time. Those who once enjoyed close relationships might remind others to appreciate the bird in hand.   

The meetings between Bob and Lucy and happy and innocent, including regular walks along the river with deep, uplifting conversations.  Each believes the other is truly listening and listens in turn. Their respective partners do not object and even support the deep friendship. Bob is conflicted as his wife calls Lucy childlike and Lucy raises no quick objections when Bob recalls how his wife was once labeled a narcissist. Trust is on the line.

Any number of factors blunt the potential love affair. A bad haircut results in Bob going into a period of hiding. Bob abruptly cancels a NYC trip with Lucy in the airport after a potential suspect passes by and he takes off to follow. Lucy is rude to a woman in the grocery store, not realizing Bob is observing. Irritation at an immature comment and cutting retort. A naïve client idly mentioning how much he admires and appreciates Bob’s wife. Perhaps all combine into the inescapable knowledge that such a relationship is wrong because it hurts others.

Toward the novel's end, Lucy and Olive talk about people who are their partner’s linchpin, and how they fail to thrive without that partner. Lucy finds herself wondering, “How many people out there are able to be strong – or strong enough – because of the person they’re married to.” 

Some people have reserves of strength on their own and others do not. Lucy may often seem shallow and immature, almost selfish in her quest for details, but still can prompt others toward self-reflection.

By the end, Lucy and Bob separately decide that they cannot be together and each take steps to recalibrate, easing the relationship’s intensity. “We like to think that our lives are within our control, but they may not be completely so. We are necessarily influenced by  those who have come before us.” 

Influenced yes, but we can and should shape the plots we live. 

Love comes in many forms, and love can be shared, but taking what belongs to another will trouble more than satisfy. All have stories to live and learn from. The smallest of stories, the unrecorded ones, often matter the most deeply.  

Predators and prey

 

Hauntingly beautiful and demonstrating the power of memory, The Fox Wife by Yangsze Choo makes it easy to suspend disbelief about creatures who transition between fox and human form in Manchuria, 1908. The author doles out just enough detail in this magical tale, foxes are charming, clever and ageless, for readers to understand the differences with humans while preserving a sense of mystery. Foxes are sly in getting what they want. The more impulsive ones are ruthless, impatient predators while others are more self-disciplined, resisting their nature and striving to live a full millennium. 

Foxes take control with flattery, companionship and feigned subservience. Some foxes are reckless and others like Snow, the protagonist, are cooperative and wary in society: “Nobody likes to feel a fool, and the downside of playing with people’s feelings is the whiplash fury of betrayal.”

Only a few humans, often near death, recognize they are under the watchful eyes of foxes: "Dark as a bottomless pool, like a lake under moonlight. Bao is falling, sinking. Images flicker past: Ears lifted and a sharp muzzle across endless waves of grass. A lonely shape trotting down a mountain. Blink and he’s back, staring into the eyes of this stranger. Unreadable eyes, grave yet inhuman. They pierce Bao to the depths of his soul, or perhaps that’s the knife wound in his side.”

Interactions between foxes and humans require a delicate balance. Fox emotions are intense. Snow, the protagonist and fox wife, seeks revenge for the death of her cub, wrested by its den by a hunter on assignment for a photographer. “Grief continually amazed me with its ability to resurface at inconvenient moments. Whether I was sleeping in the grass or walking beside railway tracks by myself, the wind blowing and the lonely sun shining down, it always found me.” To track the photographer, Snow takes a job as companion for an elderly woman whose family owns a popular medicine shop. An investigator also tracks the photographer after the death of a courtesan in an alley, a beautiful woman last seen with a foxlike man.

The two searches collide, and during their travels, the two women each encounter a past love. Snow meets her estranged husband whom she partially blames for the cub’s death: “it was a lot easier to consider Kuro dead to me than to deal with the pain that his presence reminded me of. I should have known better. What you bury eventually comes to light in some form or other.” Her employer Tagtaa, in her sixties, encounters the young boy whom she was once served as a companion when both were children. Bao’s choices often displeased his parents, a pattern that continued into his adulthood as he pursues a career as investigator rather than scholar. 

Bao’s parents had forbidden marriage with Tagtaa, a child of a Mongolian concubine, but he still felt attraction. “She’s aged but hasn’t changed. Over the years he’s observed this phenomenon in his old friends – though their bodies have weathered, stretched, or shrunk, the same soul peeks out from within.” Notably, both Bao and Tagtaa admire foxes after memorable encounters with the creatures in their youth. Bao's experience left him with the ability to discern truth from lies, aiding his investigative work. And another fox, possibly Kuro, rescued Tagtaa as a child. 

Tagtaa longs to meet a fox again though Kuro, the fox husband, urges caution. Tagtaa confides her belief that foxes are gods or spirts, but he cautions that not all foxes mean well. “It depends on what you want to believe. What’s important is the ability to tell truth from lies,” Kuro explains. “Or perhaps truth from what’s merely hope.” Snow, his wife, overhears the conversation: “Hope, of course, is the most painful thing in the universe. Clinging to a thin strand is the most agonizing way to live.”

Humans feel angry panic after being tricked by a fox. “That’s what leads to all those tales of disillusionment and discovering yourself naked, covered with fleas and eating rotting meat in an abandoned grave," Snow notes. "Of course that exact scenario seldom happens, but it’s a good metaphor for how people feel when they discover they’ve been duped. That’s why a careful fox refrains from unduly influencing others.”

Parental expectations, lost loves, class inequality interfere with the present day for each character. Intelligent and self-disciplined foxes and humans who admire them are keenly aware of the period’s class and gender inequality, thus connecting with readers by offering relevant and modern insights. The novel is a cautionary fable for divided societies where the corrupt show disdain for those who work hard, the spendthrifts who scoff at the savers, the impulsive mock the patient, and the ignorant willfully resent the success and guidance from those with expertise.  

Jihad

The old argument continues about whether religion and politics belong with polite conversation. "The old adage that polite conversation should not include talk of politics or religion is understandable because both subjects are so heavily laden with emotion that discussion can quickly turn to shouting," wrote John C. Danforth, former US ambassador to the United Nations. "Blood is shed over politics, religion and the two in combination."

Dodging such topics does not achieve understanding.

Abukar Arman, Somalia special envoy to the United States, urges such discussions as "essential to coexistence, development and progress!" And he takes advantage of a public forum in YaleGlobal Online to defend jihad as "the constant motivation for gaining knowledge, to seek and create opportunities for ourselves, to cultivate good families and good communities, to spiritually develop and purify ourselves, find the sublime Creator, understand the purpose of our respective lives and find a common ground in which coexistence is possible."

He maintains that the spiritual process is about truthseeking, not violence. To understand the process, literacy and individual interpretations and expressions are required. He offers a theory as to why and how extremist groups engage in reckless violence - to secure power with an attitude that he labels "assertive ignorance." But the power and recognition built on violence, oppression or inequality do not endure.

"The world has but one religion - love, which is its life," wrote Indian poet Ulloor S.Parameswara Iyer. And I suppose we need the politics for those who don't agree.

Statue of Uloor S. Parameswara Iyer outside the State Central Library, Trivandrum, Kerala, India, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and Ajeeshcphilip.