Mr. McMurtry loves to travel, apparently, doing so serves as an aide in helping him focus on his writing, his work and his life. As his mother was in the final stages of life, he decided to travel “on the old road, the first road, the original superhighway: the sea.” (p. 55) to reflect upon his parents’ relationship. Finding a measure of distance from an event or a problem is often helpful in getting clarity or finding a solution to the subject at hand. I hope he was able to find such on this trip, as the majority of what he discussed was the islands of the South Pacific, particularly the Marquesas.
The discussion of his parents’ life together was painful to read. Married for 42+ years but never seemed to enjoy the time they had together. Constant bickering and arguments grew from the frustration they found in the disappointment of the life they had rather than the life for which they had hoped, one where support and words of affirmation and love were a standard of practice. They remained wed, for appearance sake, until the elder Mr. McMurtry died. They chose suffering the misery of an unhappy marriage rather than be seen as “a failure” in the eyes of their neighbors.
Mr. McMurtry, being the fine author he is, has used the conflict he witnessed between his parents in creating many of the relationships often found in his novels (Terms of Endearment, Horseman, Pass By, the Duane Moore Series) and speaks dispassionately and with directness of the struggles he witnessed without discounting the love he and his siblings felt from both parents. One would hope he has dealt sufficiently with the pain of his parents discord that the detachment he shows in relating this memoir is the result of resolution and not an act of avoidance.
The majority of the book is filled with an abbreviated account of his two week cruse on the supply ship, Aranui, as she sailed around the islands near Tahiti. The ship is “a floating warehouse with a spic-and-span 1970’s-era Holiday Inn on top.” (p. 57). The itinerary was to visit each of the six islands in the nearby chain as the crew would bring “cases of Coca-Cola” and other “necessities” to the local population and pick up the goods produced, usually copra (dried coconut meat) on the islands. At each port, the tourists would go ashore to satisfy “their retail addiction,” buying what was offered, regardless of the quality of said item(s). Mr. McMurtry used the time to study the light as it changed on the sea and played on the mountains. His reflection upon, and the title of the book, paradise is a source of existential contemplation. Each island is a tropical “paradise” but even paradise becomes monotonous, the writer notes, when it is given too easily or witnessed without effort.
By the memoirs’ end, the two stories (his parents’ relationship and his tour of “paradise”) have blended into a single narrative. The “paradise” Hazel Ruth and William Jefferson McMurtry expected to find when they married turned out to be dust and worry, the monotony of their dissatisfaction only eased by the joy they found in being parents of their four children. The paradise of the South Pacific islands, once pristine in their innocence and self-sufficiency, was “lost” when the first European explorers made the natives aware of what they didn’t have (but did not need). The world weary passengers who sailed with the author on this voyage wanted to find simple bliss on the islands but were not willing to do without the luxuries they commonly found at home. The McMurtry’s wanted to find delight in marriage but were not willing to give up their selfish expectations in hope of finding more than they dreamt possible.
Perhaps I walk in paradise daily and its familiarity has blinded me to the astonishment it holds.