“I’m not handy,” says Jimmy Bailor.
You can say that again.
Sure, at sixteen he doesn’t even know how to milk a goat.
Can you imagine?
(A present tense aside: I suppose there are sixteen-year-olds among us who don’t know milking goats is a thing, eh b’ys?)
Before you banish me with rocks for belittling today’s youths, hear this: I rank myself among those inept oafs who are downright unhandy.
At twenty-five, when I returned from a foreign province to visit my bay-boy home, my grandmother had to teach me how to milk her bossy-cow.
After ages squeezing and tugging, I managed to make milk … well, trickle. But b’ys, I confess it was disconcerting to have my cheek pressed against Bossy’s warm belly while manipulating her udder’s dangling bits.
Frig sake, I’m babbling.
Jimmy Bailor, the protagonist of Ida Linehan Young’s latest novel A Secret Close to Home [Flanker Press] is unhandy, and it’s his mother’s fault. Her indulgent love has made him a sooky baby.
Jimmy has an excuse for being incompetent. I don’t. I’m inherently as stunned as a stump. So stunned, in fact, that when I was a bungling bay-boy my father often chided me thusly — “Harry, you stunned young … (insert vulgar nomenclature of an anatomical part).”
Still, my father wouldn’t’ve done to me what Jimmy’s father does to him. To force his son to toughen up, to be man, so to speak, William Bailor maroons Jimmy on a perilous stretch of Newfoundland’s coastline.
(Without question, that’s an experience worse than being hove off the wharf for a swimming lesson.)
Before he starves to death, however, Jimmy rambles bush and beach until he reaches Juniper Tickle. In this small outport Jimmy comes in tack with Flory White. She saves his life.
Jimmy spends the winter with Flory and her sister-in-law Lizzy who are alone in the tickle because …
… well, because The Constable has arrested Flory’s father and two brothers and hauled them off to St. John’s to be charged with …
Ah, things get complicated. Either the Courts charge the Whites with murder for slaughtering the crew of the Annie May, a schooner that has driven ashore out on the point, or larceny for stealing an axe. Something. My numbskull noggin is easily confuffled.
B’ys, this novel is about people accepting others for who they are, despite their secrets. It’s about people coming to grips with their own personalities, their shortcomings notwithstanding.
Flory puts the philosophy nicely to Jimmy: “I am the way I am, just like you are the way you are.”
Ida, if you can find it in your heart, forgive me for this next bit.
I couldn’t help it. An old seadog’s voice chanted in my cranium. “I yam what I yam and dat’s what I yam,” — Popeye, the Sailor Man.
I’m sorry.
As always, Linahan Young has spun a yarn that explores intricate relationships fueled by universal human idiosyncrasies and foibles. And her story entertains readers. That’s the main thing, eh b’ys?
I’m hoping the preceding paragraph sounds scholarly, makes me seem half brainy and insightful.
I conclude with a teaser. Aside from a marauding polar bear, there are important "inanimate" objects in the book to keep an eye on.
A couple of axes, for example.
And a bejeweled necklace named the Topsail Star.
Oh, and two or three tins of peaches.
That’s it. Thank you for reading.