New England Authors - 1st in a series

Concord, Mass - Appropriately enough, the selection of my book club this month was Geraldine Brooks' Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, March. It is a Civil War story, but flashbacks and other parts of the novel take place in Concord, Mass.

Perfect timing, as I am about to start my research on the update of Lonely Planet's guide to New England.

March is so called because it revolves around the character of Mr March, the absentee father in Louisa May Alcott's classic novel Little Women. Brooks incorporates characters and plot elements from Alcott's book, as well as historical events from the life of Amos Bronson Alcott (Louisa May's real-life father, who was a philosopher, writer and historic figure in his own right).

Amos Bronson Alcott raised his family in Concord, and Little Women is set here. In fact, you can visit the Alcott family homestead, also known as Orchard House, which is where Louisa May wrote her masterpiece. Up the road in Harvard, Mass, you can also visit Fruitlands, the idyllic spot where the young Bronson attempted to establish a self-sufficient utopian community.

Bronson ran in the literary circle that included Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, both of whom lived in Concord, and both of whom are characters in Brooks' book. All of these individuals live large in New England lore (not to mention Unitarian-Universalist theology, which was profoundly influenced by their Transcendentalist teachings).

Of course I have read Little Women, as well as visiting Alcott's house and Emerson's house and Walden Pond. So it was a real treat to read Brooks' clever and creative attempt to weave all of these elements together. The end result is a cohesive and compelling story for the one character who would otherwise remain a mystery.

Don't get me wrong - March is a work of fiction, and it's not 100% historically accurate. But Brooks' made-up story is all the more intriguing because it incorporates places and characters and historical events that are so familiar to us. 

Mr March is missing from Little Women because he is off fighting in the Civil War. As readers, we don't know much more than that. In March, he is a middle-aged minister who is committed to the cause of abolitionism, so he joins the Union army - first as a chaplain for the soldiers, and later as a teacher for freed slaves.

Aside from the New England connection, March is a compelling read for its portrayal of a fervent idealist who is nonetheless deeply flawed. Mr March always seems to have the best of intentions - to do the right thing, the moral thing - yet time and time again he comes up short, as a result of his lack of understanding or his lack of courage. This is true of his dealings with the soldiers, with his students and - most dramatically - with his family. In this way, his character is strikingly, disturbingly real.

Nor does Brooks spare us the gory details of the Civil War. March is a first-hand witness to the brutality of slavery, combat, torture, treason and guerilla warfare... and so are we the readers. March had set out as a true-believer, certain that he is on the right side of history, supporting a moral cause. But as events unfold, he must grapple with the realization that he can do very little to promote it. And we are left to wonder if the concept of "just war" is anything more than an oxymoron.

March asks tough questions: what is the point of doing "the right thing" if it doesn't actually do any good? Is it in fact the right thing? And how can one persevere when doing the right thing does not achieve the intended result?

Brooks never answers these questions, but leaves us to mull them over. "You go on," March laments. "You set one foot in front of the other, and if a thin voice cries out, somewhere behind you, you pretend not to hear, and keep going." It's a pang we all have felt at one time or another.

Upon completion of March, I was doing a little research, and I came across this quote from Louisa May Alcott. It expresses the same frustration, but with a tinge more optimism (making it a nice note to end on):

Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.

Indian Summer, Part 1

Concord, Mass - Most of the leaves are brown by now. We finally raked and swept in front of our house, convinced that there will not be too many more coming down. Aside from my day canvassing in Maine, I didn't take any special leaf-peeping trips this year. There was no time for hikes in the White Mountains or drives along the Kangkamangus Highway. Foliage season is so fleeting.

But just when I thought fall was going to fade into winter, we experienced a sudden spike in temperatures. The sun came out, the thermostat reached into the 60s and everybody took off their wool jackets.

We spent the afternoon at one of my favorite urban escapes, Walden Pond. We had brought with us a little picnic - roasted vegetable and goat cheese quiche from Petsi's Pies. Don't you think that's what Thoreau used to eat when he "went to the woods to live deliberately"? Isn't a roasted vegetable and goat cheese quiche one of the "essential facts of life"?

After lunch, we enjoyed a delightful stroll around the pond - so peaceful now without the splashing and screaming of kids. Last time I was here was back in August, when we rode our bikes and swam in the pond to escape the brutal summer heat.

Now, the pond is silent. Even the birds have retreated to warmer climes, although we did spot a great blue heron, posing majestically as he spied on the fish in the water. Other than that, the only signs of life were a few walkers circling the pond and the brown and yellow leaves, still stunning against the blue sky.

Walden Pond

Concord, Mass - I'm sorry to go on and on about the heat and humidity. To be honest, I love it. I mean we went through June and July without much of summer, so thank God we experiencing it in August.
That said, the pink house is not the perfect place to be in this weather. The heat gets trapped in there and it feels like a sauna. The ceiling fans are going full tilt, but it offers only an iota of relief. You're not even moving and you're dripping sweat. You go to get yourself a cold drink from the fridge and you trip over a cat corpse.
Yesterday we no choice but to hop on our bikes and ride to Walden Pond. It's about 17 miles each way, with a few killer hills, and a delightful dip in the pond's cool crystalline waters as a reward.
Glory hallelujiah, that Thoreau had the right idea! Of course the tiny beach at Walden Pond was packed as per usual, but if you wander away from the crowds (as Thoreau did) there are all kinds of nooks and crannies where you can find your own private piece of pondside paradise. The water is delicious - cool enough to refresh, warm enough to float around for hours, which is exactly what I did.
As an extra treat, there is always the ice cream truck that sits in the parking lot. On a hot day, there is no better energy snack than a good old-fashioned ice cream sandwich.
I know what you are thinking. Certainly Thoreau didn't have ice cream sandwiches and such luxuries when he lived for two years in a little shack on the shores of the pond.
Maybe not... but he did frequently make the two-mile trek through the woods to have dinner at the Emersons' in Concord. So he was pretty well taken care of.
Thoreau wrote "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, to discover that I had not lived..." And I went to the woods because I wished to splash around in the cool water and eat ice cream sandwiches. I think we can understand each other.

Photos courtesy of Walden Pond State Reservation.