Jerkwater by Jamie Zerndt
Here is a quintessential American novel
that shows us a side of America readers seldom wish to see. I wince and cringe whenever a novel or movie shows us small-town redneck racists who demean, intimidate, insult, even physically harm minorities and people who are "other" in any way. We see their children nodding at their sides, getting cuffed or scolded if they think for themselves and show kindness to others. What else could these children become but redneck racists like Daddy?
The story opens from an Ojibwe teenager's point of view. Shawna observes a father and son in their fishing boat, and her journal is filled with wry observations and painful insights. With complete mastery of "Deep Point of View,' Jamie Zerndt puts us in Shawna's head. Even if Shawn's wrong (and I sooo want her to be wrong!), we feel what she feels:
The poor kid didn’t stand a chance. Whether he wanted to be or not, he was a racist-in-training. Half the kid’s heart was probably already polluted, and by the time he reached high school, his insides would be entirely black. And what was worse was that things would continue on like that, the kid growing up, having his own kids, and then infecting them. And on and on and on. Like a cancer.
We, the reader, can only hope it won't be so.
The novel opens like a poem, and line after line is so beautiful, so poetic. The imagery of the loon forms a motif throughout the novel. The way Douglas sees the loon is haunting enough but then we see what the loon means to his mother:
Kay lay awake listening to the loons. What strange creatures they were. Long ago, they used to serve as a sort of bookmark to her days, reminding her to be thankful, to stop and take notice of the good things in her life. But the loons did something else to her now: they reminded her of her loneliness.
The loon represents something else to Shawna. She is insightful, close to nature, close to her horse Seven, and alienated from her fellow humans, given how awful they can be. Her attitude toward evil White People might grate on those who aren't like the locals, those who know not all white people are like that.
Douglas, for example. Not only is he not like the locals, he proves it, helping Shawna set fire to something, the way today's protestors resort to looting, burning, toppling icons, and destroying private property in a desperate move to call attention to old wounds, old injustices that fester below the surface of apparent civility.
Elmer, Shawna's more-or-less boyfriend, is a well drawn character who says little but contributes much to the local landscape of richly drawn, authentic characters, who may not be likable but they're so real, we cannot help but pay attention and feel for them. E.g., one reason Shawna is drawn to him: "There was pain inside of him, rivers and rivers of it, similar to the ones that had been coursing through her ever since her mom died. And that was something other boys couldn’t understand."
Kay is heartbreaking as the widow facing the advent of Alzheimer's. She still talks to Norm, her late husband, and it isn't just the dementia that has Norm so near and so real to her. Shawna still hears her murdered mother's voice. Kay's son Douglas has some killer lines about his dad, and I love the refrain that haunts him, "My dad is dead." E.g.
... Something he knew was stupid, but it was like he couldn’t help himself. “My dad died.” Good fishing today, eh, Douglas? : My dad died. How ‘bout them Packers? : My dad died. That’ll be $14.97. : My dad died.
I love/hate the way, by novel's end, it occurs to him how trivial this is, compared to what others have lost.
I'd love to cite excerpts but Spoiler, Spoiler. Trust me, this novel is full of insights and memorable lines. Like this one: "Kay thought about Norm and whether knowing beforehand about his death would have changed anything. She knew instantly it wouldn’t have. You say the things you need to say throughout a lifetime in the little things you do."
Point of View? Masterful.
Spear fishing. Fish hooks. Rite-of-Passage stories ("the ceremonies the Plains Indians used to have where the boys pierced their skin with hooks and suspended themselves from chains as a..."). A lost fishing lure that becomes an earring. So many apparently minor or trivial details earn their place in the narrative and dazzle us when we realize their significance.
Shawna is something. She has suffered. Her anger is righteous and warranted. She's sharp and insightful. E.g.,
And there were so many ways for people to be sick. Shawna saw it everywhere. In town. On the reservation. At the casino. So much of it that she’d come to think of the world as an open-aired hospital ward, everyone shuffling around in their hospital gowns, lugging around invisible IVs, carrying on as best they could.
And yet, and yet, the things she is capable of! I love her witty comebacks when the local guys taunt her. But look out, guys. Oh Lord. Look out.
Great dialogue, lots of wit and humor, so much heart, so much feeling, and so much pain and frustration - but there is hope, there is justice of a sort, and despite the horrors that take place in little old Mercer, Wisconsin, the good things that survive make this a town you'll want to visit. From a safe distance, via fiction.
I love this novel and I would buy copies for friends. That is high tribute, indeed!
Jamie Zerndt
is the author of THE CLOUD SEEDERS, THE KOREAN WORD FOR BUTTERFLY, and THE ROADRUNNER CAFE. His short story, "THIS JERKWATER LIFE", was recently chosen as an Editor's Pick in Amazon's Kindle Singles store. He received an MFA in Writing from Pacific University and now lives in Portland, Oregon, with his son.
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