As a kid, I could see the Sherwood Arms (aka Sherwood Village) from our kitchen window. No, not in the Sarah Palin sense of seeing it from the kitchen window. I mean, literally. The retirement community sat on the other side of abandoned cow pastures and the ruin of an old dairy barn. Right there on 5th avenue, in the village of Sequim (pronounced Skwim, in case you're wondering), tucked in the rain shadow of the Olympic Peninsula. It's still there, you know. So is my childhood home. But that empty pasture is now a ruin of hastily-built subdivisions and Sequim is a disaster of big box stores and highway overpasses.
Sequim is still a retirement Mecca, however; the physical beauty of its surroundings is irresistible, as are the low cost of living, the peaceful country roads, and yes, the convenience of a Costco. This stretch of the Peninsula (which includes my current home, about 30 miles to the east) boasts a mere 17-20" of annual rainfall, a meteorological anomaly in its situation on the edge of the rainiest spot in the continental United States—the Olympic National Forest. No wonder Harriet and Bernard Chance left their crowded, gray, over-priced North Seattle neighborhood to spend their golden years in a cedar-shingled, slate-tiled open floor plan dream.
Yep, Sequim is a real place. And Harriet Chance is every elderly woman you stand behind at the checkout counter, trying to keep your patience and good humor as she sorts out her coupons or painstakingly writes a check. She shops alone, because her spouse of fifty-five years is imprisoned by a decaying brain, held captive for his own safety in the Sherwood Arms, just a couple miles away, over there on 5th Avenue.
You don't really see all the Harriet Chances who cross your path on a daily basis, do you? Little old women are virtually invisible. Pretty much past their sell-by date, they're too slow, too dull, to merit much more than a pitying glance. Easy targets for a bit of behind-the-hand snickering or a roll of the eyes.
And yet, in the care of Jonathan Evison's ever-gracious, humane and tender wit, one little old woman assumes a gravitas of Tolstian proportions. And is as tragic a figure. Harriet Chance, This Is Your Life, indeed.
I wasn't sure how I'd settle into the structure of alternating chapters told in 2nd-person POV by a game show host persona who spools out the knotted mess of Harriet's past in a spirited play-by-play, with a traditional 3rd person POV recounting Harriet's present existence as a widow embarking alone on a cruise to Alaska. Would it be too schticky? Too meta? Is this that 21st century White Male Author Too Clever By Half thing that turns me away from other writers whose first names also happen to be Jonathan?
Well, I settled in just fine. Because this particular Jonathan combines a huge heart with deft writing with humor with empathy with unforgettable characters with superb storytelling. Yep, he's all that, and a bag of chips.
The breezy style of This Is Your Life, Harriet Chance belies the profundity of its themes and the dark, dark secrets of Harriet's past. It's not so much the revelation of these secrets—you figure out pretty quickly what's gone down across the decades of one misbegotten life—it's that you end up nodding your head knowingly; these are people in your life, and you get so darn attached to the outcomes.
Funny, I hadn't intended to read another book that featured Alzheimer's; I'm a bit played out on that theme, personally. And yet I found more soul, more of a connection to the raging fury and heartbreak of dementia in the few pages it is revealed here than I did in a recently-read epic where the disease played out over hundreds of pages. It has something to do with the power of humor: in the right hands, humor becomes a release, a relief, a mirror we can bear to look into.
Evison fully inhabits his elderly heroine. It takes considerable skill not to let a carefully-designed novel take over the narrative, so that all the reader sees is the clever framework. No, what we see is Harriet. Finally, the invisible old woman takes her well-deserved place in our imaginations. Maybe now we'll look more closely at the souls who cross our paths in the real world.