Melanie Rae Thon’s Sweet Hearts is a shattering, glorious book of hope and grace and, dare I say it, truth. Our narrator, our compassionate guide, is a deaf woman who sees and hears with lucidity. She tells the story of her sister’s children, sixteen-year old Flint and his eleven year-old sister Cecile, of the crime Flint commits, of Cecile’s complicity and her moment of choice. These two children, who hold center stage in our narrator’s consciousness, drive the story she tells. But this is also her story, of how she lost her hearing, of her mother Rina who drowned in the lake, who swam with the ancient sturgeon, who remembered her American Indian heritage, the reservation of her ancestors. It is the story of the father our narrator lives with and loves. She says of him, “In summer, chicadees land in my father’s palms. I am telling you the truth.” And later, in the heartrending passage about her father’s attempts to remove the snow from the roof, she says, “The sadness of a lifetime can converge as you try to remove it.” In these words, in their metaphor, the strands of the story converge.
Kafka said, “I think we should only read the kind of books that wound and stab us.” Melanie Rae Thon has written such a book. Her characters struggle with the knowledge that “sorrow like the wind is relentless.” She writes lyrical prose, a large story, that, amazingly, like Kafka, reads with the force and simplicity of the parable. But unlike Kafka, she writes a book of redemption that moves forward relentlessly toward that place where, in our narrator’s words, “the heart seeks its own rapture.”