A moving and disturbing book on some levels. A beautiful ode to the Oregon coastal range. A book full of spiritual wisdom, exceptionally fine dialog, religious arguments, raw emotions and transformation.
Henry Fielder is a thirty-five year old man telling the story of his life through the eyes and experiences of a fifteen year old boy. Encouraged by a former lover to write his story, Henry reveals the great forces acting on him during that time in his life. Deeper and deeper he goes, peeling back layer after layer of emotional defense, rationalizations and fabrications until he arrives at the heart of understanding.
Daniel delivers a gut wrenching story. Slow to get started, it picks up speed and intensity as Henry struggles to find himself following the death of his mother. Feeling like an outcast, a misfit in the high school social scene, Henry prefers the solitude of nature and the deep feeling of connection with the living beings of the Oregon coastal range. He has an affinity with nature and a wisdom far beyond the average teenager. But it's not easy. Schooled by his native American mother to love and revere the natural order of life, Henry is conflicted by the reality that his father works for a mill operation that is systematically cutting down the very forests he loves.
Where Henry seems almost too wise for his years spiritually, he is a bundle of raging hormones and emotions. Old enough to feel intensely; old enough to know right from wrong; not quite old enough to fully understand what he thinks he knows. And certainly not at all sure what to do about it. It being his own emotions. It being his identity, his place in the world. Daniel nails the chaotic state of mid-adolescence.
This is a story of transformation, of coming of age, of that period in one's life where maturity takes hold. Fashioned by tragedy and heartache, fueled by anger and hate, softened by love and acceptance and patience, Henry opens to a level of honesty not often reached. Precocious as he may be in some ways, he is not above what nature dictates for all fifteen year olds. Yet all through this year of trial and hardship and emotional ferocity, Henry is not alone. He is surrounded by people willing to help.
Teachers, guides or simply friends who give him the space to figure out his life: the retired couple from California new to Henry's world, the girl at school who sees something special in him, the residents of a commune, a judge, or the familiar family friends who have known him his whole life, all will come to play an important role in his sixteenth year. Yet as important as they all may be in shaping the trajectory of his life, what Henry has, what makes the biggest difference in the outcome of his story is his own inner light.
The same inner light that lives in all of us. The same awareness, the same capacity to touch life and feel connected to everything and everyone. The same light that feeds a yearning to know, to touch, to feel something greater than ourselves. In some it burns brightly. In some it's scarcely an ember. Some of us know it's there. Some of us don't. Henry knew it was his Gift.