What is the meaning of home? Is it a roof, shelter from the rain, four walls and a bed? Is it a feeling of belonging, knowing that there are people who support you? Is it as simple as a physical place, or does it need to evoke some sense of emotional or spiritual well-being as well?
Ragged Company follows the story of four chronically homeless people. Home-less. Stop right there. We're not quite sure what a home is yet, we just know that these four people don't have it. Even if they huddle in the same doorway every night, or stake their claim over the same blessed hot air vent for years, their spirits are wanderers, searching for a sense of home that eludes them both within walls and without them.
Richard Wagamese is no stranger to his subject matter. He begins his acknowledgements with the following: "I am sincerely grateful for the help of all the workers in all of the drop-in centres, missions, shelters, and hostels I ever stayed in through the years." He knows his characters inside out because he was one of them, and the authenticity comes through in his writing.
I know these guys too, but from the other side of the glass wall called privilege that we like to pretend doesn't exist. I spend my days at a drop-in centre listening to heartbreaking stories, trying to find a shred of hope in what sometimes seems like a desolate personal landscape. Fuck, I'm so lucky. I know the tales Wagamese tells are not far-fetched, even when you want to cry out, "God damn it, hasn't she suffered enough?"
It is easy to dismiss homeless people, to not even see them, to let them blend into the shadows. We've trained our eyes not to look at them, until they show up where they're not wanted. Not wanted. They're not wanted. People are scared of what they don't understand, and quite frankly, most of us don't understand how a person could survive on the streets - for years or even decades - without managing to lift themselves off the concrete and into an apartment. Or we blame them for the mess they've gotten themselves into, treat them like lit fuses, drunks, crazies. So when these four (homeless) people wander into a movie theatre on an icy cold day and ask to purchase four tickets, security is alerted in a flash. Imagine wearing an Unwanted sticker on your forehead every single day of your life.
Wagamese plays with different voices, telling the story in five alternating viewpoints. Digger's got the sort of talk that'll punch you in the gut: "The street's got an edge to it that'll slice you like a fucking razor if you're not tough enough." Meanwhile, Timber's erudition is enough to unsettle your preconceived notions of the intelligence of homeless people. (Hell, some of them even manage to climb out of that stigmatizing hole to publish books!) I applaud Wagamese's attempt to diversify the picture of homelessness, rounding it out with Dick, who is slower than most, and One for the Dead, a spiritual native woman who serves as a maternal figure for "the boys". The fifth voice belongs to a man about as acquainted with homelessness as your average person.
Ragged Company begins on the street and never really leaves it, because the main characters have concrete in their bones. The pivotal point in the plot is when they (gasp!) win the lottery. As the life stories of the characters are gradually drawn out of them, Wagamese gets to his point - that it was never really about money in the first place. Don't get me wrong, money is a huge factor is determining someone's living conditions, but there are generally deeper, more complex issues underlying homelessness that can't be waved away with a few generous cheques. Four walls don't make a home.
My frequent digressions betray my interest in the subject, and let's face it, I was made to like this book. So I can't pretend that I had the critical distance necessary to judge the novel for its literary merit. But who cares. Whether or not you ever lay hands on this book, I challenge you to make a greater effort to acknowledge the presence of homeless people whenever and wherever you see them. Because they fucking hate being invisible.