On a heavy Chicago afternoon in June, with the world locked away by COVID quarantines, Gunnar Branson stood alone outside a garage. He watched his wife, college-aged daughter, and two cats drive away. A thirty-year marriage ended as he stood in the alley. Dark thunderheads loomed overhead, alternating with bursts of hot sun. A light breeze fluttered the linden tree. Story over.
But maybe not.
There are answers to be found in the past. This is the story of a boy growing up in Alaska and an older man waking up to the best part of his life. The story is not over. The world does not have to end. Not yet, anyway.
I read this in three days. Only exhaustion made me put it down and I was so sorry when it came to an end. Gunnar is a poet who writes prose. His openness, vulnerability, incredible memory for details and humor made every page sing a song. At the end of each of our lives, the best thing we can hope to say is we truly lived. Gunnar’s book proves he already has. The best thing I know is he still has more stories to tell. Can’t wait.