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320 pages, Hardcover
First published July 11, 2017
When the truth is found========================================
to be lies
And all the joy
within you dies
Don't you want somebody to love
Don't you need somebody to love
Wouldn't you love somebody to love
You better find somebody to love, love - Jefferson Airplane
Lincoln, his eyes suddenly full, reached forward and touched Jacy’s face on the microfilm machine. Hey, Jace. Guess what? We’re all here. Teddy. Mick. Me. On the island. Remember the Chilmark house? Our last night together on the deck? How we all linked arms and sang? You’d laugh if you could see us now. Old men, the three of us. Old men haunted by you.December 1, 1969, a date that will live in infamy. Well, for some, anyway. It was the day of the first lottery drawing for the new, improved selective service draft, Nixon’s ploy to reduce anti Vietnam War protests, a successful one. Three young students at Connecticut’s Minerva College are glued to the TV screen. Luck be a lady tonight. The results of that lottery resonate on the three.

The elect stayed elect, the damned, damned. Having once made up his mind, god never wavered in his judgment, which was just fine with Wolfgang Amadeus Moser, convinced as he was that he’d somehow merited his election and that others had somehow failed a crucial test, possibly in utero.…leading him to wonder
Had his and Teddy’s characters already been formed? At the time, college had appeared to offer an endless smorgasbord of possibilities and it felt like they were engaged in the act of becoming. Had that been an illusion? Had they already, by that point, become?Each looks back at what was, giving thought to what might have been.
People who do unspeakable things are often haunted by them for the rest of their lives. The rest of us, it seems to me, are more likely to be haunted by what we’ve left undone—the opportunities for generosity we’ve ignored, the times we’ve used the fact that we were busy to look the other way, other times when we were just plain selfish. Even if we’ve lived reasonably well, we’re doomed to wonder if we’ve lived best. - from Russo’s Lit hub articleThe ubiquitous presence of bullies has already been noted, but another stream is the relationship of fathers and their children, particularly sons. Lincoln is clearly, for good or ill, chiseled from the same stone as his awful father in significant ways. The values Mickey’s father passed on to him stay in his consciousness for the rest of his life. Teddy’s father influenced his son via indifference. Even the retired cop, Joe Coffin, has significant father-son issues to address. And one must wonder how the odious neighbor emerged from what, by all accounts, seemed a loving home. Jacy has some serious parental issues as well.
My not wanting to go out too far on a limb, my worrying sometimes if I’m playing things too safe–all of that I off-loaded onto Lincoln. Teddy loves the life of the mind, but he knows that it can also stultify the heart. Mickey is just a kick-ass rocker. I had the same drive that Bruce Springsteen has, minus the talent. - from the Time interviewHis exposure to Martha’s Vineyard began when his mother took him to a resort in Mnemsha when he was 10, determined to show him some beauty in the world, growing up as he did in an upstate New York factory town. He is the age of his characters, so looks through a common lens on the current of their mutual time. It lends a resonance to the story, one I, the same age, give or take, well recognize. As I do his take, from the above-noted article, that it can be a good thing to have an inner voice questioning our motives and doubting our honor.
“That’s the thing about lies, right? Individually they don’t amount to much, but you never know how many others you’ll need to tell in order to protect that first one, and damned if they don’t add up. Over time they get all tangled up until one day you realize it isn’t even the lies themselves that matter. It’s that somehow lying has become your default mode. And the person you lie to most is yourself.”



When the truth is found to be lies,
And all the joy within you dies,
Don't you want somebody to love?
Someday, he wrote at the bottom of one of Teddy’s essays, you might actually write something worth reading. My advice would be to put that day off as long as possible. (page 41)
Jesus, sixty-six years old.
…
After all, diminishment seemed to be the order of the day. Wouldn’t you think the spirit, unshackled at last from so many of the body’s youthful imperatives and bolstered by the wisdom of experience, would finally become ascendant? Wasn’t memory, that bully and oppressor, supposed to become soft and spongy? (page 39)