T.C. Boyle is one of those writers whom I've stashed into the category of American Literature- books that I don't read for fun. Hahaha. Oddly, I wasn't as tortured reading his works as it felt for some other writers, since he writes mostly short stories in prose style. 'World's End' (1987) is definitely not too painful to plough through.
69-year-old T. Coraghessan Boyle's new book 'Outside Looking In' will be out in September. He writes about self-discovery, creativity, LSD and the 1960s. In the wake of the completed novel (that the world hasn't read), he has written a number of stand-alone essays in its wake, and 'I Walk Between The Raindrops' is one of those.
'I Walk Between The Raindrops' was published by The New Yorker's issue July 30, 2018 in its Fiction. Set in Southern California, the essay drew inspiration from the author's experiences of being caught in the December 2017 Thomas Fire that engulfed Ventura and Santa Barbara. Brandon and his wife of fifteen years, Nola, went to Kingman for a short getaway. Along the way, Brandon recalled the misfortunes of others, and if he had a part to play in those, and seemed to try to deflect some sort of inner guilt. That turned into four other subplots.
These four subplots came in four incidents mentioned. (1) There's randomly Serena, the woman in the bar (who claims to have ESP), and is fixated on Brandon. (2) That led to him remembering the recent wildfires and mudslides in their hometown, and how storms devastated their town, but he and Serena were okay, and they felt guilty for being alive when others died. (3) He recalled Serena's volunteer work at the local chapter of the National Suicide Prevention Society, and the many stories she had experienced, and one poignant one of a co-worker Blake who befriended a depressed caller, nineteen-year-old Brie, and in the end, took their lives together. (4) The last incident is almost hilarious. Brandon and Serena tried to matchmake two of their oldest friends, Fredda and Paul, who are both plus-sized. They hosted and cooked a dinner in their California home, and while that was a success, the matchmaking attempt was a disaster.
Did Brandon really have a part to play in other people's misfortunes or feelings? One definitely did, for sure. That failed attempt at matchmaking. People shouldn't intentionally matchmake anyone. That's dumb. That's what the friggin internet is for, with Facebook being the most archaic but still useful platform. Written in first person narrative, readers will have to decide if protagonist Brandon, is a reliable narrator.
I was standing there at the bar, my change in my hand and the next tune coming on to bury me in the moment. Someone popped a balloon. I looked over to where Nola was sitting at the table still, admiring one of the pewter serving dishes she’d got for a steal at the third antique store on the left. What did I say to the bartender, finally? I don’t know. Something like “Wow.” But it was Valentine’s Day and it was all on me: the poor disjointed E.S.P. woman rejected by a man she didn’t even know (and didn’t have the faintest inkling of how deep and true he ran, except, I suppose, on a paranormal level) and feeling that there was just no use in going on living without him. Hold on to that for a minute and tell me about the fathomless, inexpressible, heartbreaking loneliness of life on this planet.
Are you shitting me? Holy sweet Jesus, save us! Save us all right now!
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