“The space where the sky meets the sea appears endless, an infinite horizon stretching out into eternity. I am staring right into it. Right into the unknown. Right into all that could be.”
(Excerpted from “Free”)
There are a lot of compelling visuals in Lisa Litberg’s new novel that resonate with me but this one in particular reminds me of all the times throughout my life that I’ve believed I could do anything…if I just knew where, exactly, to start.
Rebellion against authority (and tradition) was not encouraged in the wealthy household where I grew up. As an only child, I was expected to be seen and not heard, get good grades, associate with the “right” kind of friends, and dutifully marry whomever my parents thought would be a smart steward of their estate. On the surface, I’m sure there were classmates that felt I had nothing to complain about because I had everything. The one thing missing, though, was the freedom to find out who I was – and who I could be – if I didn’t have someone else constantly defining it for me. I recall telling my parents about a neighbor girl a year older than I was that decided to travel cross-country with her musician boyfriend in his beat-up van and make a living selling macramé plant hangers and doing Tarot readings. My parents’ immediate prediction to this was that they’d end up as drug addicts in a Haight-Ashbury hippie commune and live off welfare. “I hope you’d never do anything that stupid,” they told me, always underscored with the threat of disinheriting me. Long story short was that I never did find out what became of the globe-trotting pair but a part of me was secretly envious they had made an exit strategy from an environment they recognized was stifling their spirits. My own exit came two years later when I entered what my parents deemed the most horrible and superficial world imaginable: I became an actress in a local theater company and moved into my own studio apartment. In their view, my fellow cast members were the “worst” kind of people that might ever cross my path and would no doubt introduce me to drugs, sex, alcohol, and scandalous orgies. I actually think they were disappointed none of these things transpired just so they could say “I told you do.” And as for all of those actors I hung out with, the majority of them shaped the strong, confident and successful woman I became – a scenario that would never have occurred if I had embraced the life my parents intended for me.
I offer all of this as a prelude to my glowing review of Litberg’s novel which revolves around a protagonist aptly named “Free.” Told in first person, present tense, Free invites us along on a gritty journey that has no GPS beyond a quest to seek out Grateful Dead concerts. Regardless of a reader’s age, the interactions between Free and her fellow travelers are not only completely plausible and well paced but Litberg has also delivered a plethora of flawed and “lost” characters that we can instantly relate to as real people we’ve actually known. It is a story that has moments of light-hearted mirth, moments of deep introspection and moments of gut-wrenching tragedy. Who among us hasn’t wondered about friendships that fell by the wayside or asked ourselves, “Could I have changed this outcome if only I had acted sooner or maybe just said the right words at the right time?”
Given the years I spent in theater as an actress and a director, I’ll be the first to say I’m a stickler for well written dialogue. Litberg has easily nailed the challenge of distinctive voices, credible repartee, and not falling into the common trap of characters talking to one another just to fill the reader in on copious back-story. Further, her choice of writing in first person present tense keeps the reader by Free’s side from start to finish. We don’t know what’s around the next corner or waiting off the next off-ramp any more than Free does and that’s what makes this book such a page-turner. Likewise, the ending is well thought through and begs for a sequel. If you’re looking for your next beach read this summer, you won’t be disappointed.