Readers and writers: Minnesota authors shine in adult and middle-grade novels, and heartbreaking nonfiction
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The variety offered by Minnesota authors is on display today, with church ladies thinking about erotica, a middle-school boy who worries all the time, and the heartbreaking story of Camilla Hall.
“Last Circle of Love”: by Lorna Landvik (Lake Union Publishing, $14.95)
“It’s just that I’m so frazzled! To me and the Naomis, All Souls is not just a sanctuary — it’s our sanctuary. We’re trying to raise money for it — but will a guidebook on how to fire up your sex life get us out of our financial hole, or be the final nail in our coffin?”
All Souls is a struggling parish in rural Minnesota. To make things worse, some congregants have moved to wealthy, nearby Prince of Peace, where stained-glass windows soar to the ceiling. All Souls has a stained-glass window but it was never repaired after BB shots “gave multiple eyes to one lamb and two sheep.”
Still, the women’s circle called the Naomis struggle to do their share of fundraising.
Their last food-related fundraiser did not go well. With a “Let’s Get Creative!” theme, the women hoped there would be new, delicious takes on the standard Minnesota hotdish. But ticket sales were down 23% and “after the event, the women concluded that when it came to casseroles, tradition was preferable to creativity, as anyone unlucky enough to sample the tofu-okra entry would attest to.”
Led by their kind, patient new pastor, Mallory (Pastor Pete), the Naomis know they can’t do a cookbook because the Prince of Peace women do one in full color. As they sit in the church basement, drinking strong coffee and eating cinnamon-coated doughnuts, someone jokingly suggests a sort-of cookbook that is A to Z about spicing up their sex lives. Marlys, Charlene (whose sister-in-law defected to Prince of Peace), old Velda and Bunny, whose husband is in a nursing home, scandalize themselves with the idea. Could they really do it?
Each woman takes a letter of the alphabet to write a piece for the book and almost everyone is surprised. They aren’t writing erotica at all, but stories of affection, a little sex, and roads not taken.
Velda recalls the joy she had with another woman in college and sets out to find her long-ago love. Bunny, whose husband has Alzheimer’s, ruminates on how sweet her husband was and how the town loved his tailoring skills. Charlene notices how hunky her husband is. Pastor Pete balances home life with serving her congregation, urging the Naomis to keep going on their project, even if they aren’t sure exactly what it is.
Then, word leaks out about the publication and a few of the men are furious. By this time, the women are committed and even some men have joined their project, including Godfrey, the janitor who was given a job by Pastor Pete when he was down and out. He can’t help but overhear the Naomis’ meetings and finds himself evaluating his life.
Far from being erotic, Landvik’s novel is a hymn to love in so many forms. If there is a quibble it’s that this is a big cast of characters, including the Naomis, spouses, children, grandchildren. It’s a lot to keep track of and a cast of characters in the front of the book would have been helpful.
Landvik, one of the most popular writers around, has written 13 books, including “Patty Jane’s House of Curl,” “Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons” and “Chronicles of a Radical Hag (with Recipes).” Besides writing, she is a comedian who performs in local venues. She will launch “Last Circle of Love” during a program at 6:30 p.m. Dec. 12, at ModernWell, 2909 S. Wayzata Blvd., Mpls. Tickets at modernwell.com.
“The Worry Knot” by Mary Bleckwehl (Immortal Works, $14.99)
The first days of middle school are hard enough, but 12-year-old Rourke has an added worry — the behavior of his brother, Carson, who has autism. Most of the time, Rourke’s stomach hurts because his parents have told him he’s responsible for his brother when they are at school. Rourke loves his brother and protects him from bullying, but could it be more embarrassing than when Carson flaps his hands and brags about his sticker collection? When Carson loses his balance in the cafeteria and dumps spaghetti on the head of the most popular girl, Rourke hopes the earth would swallow him.
The author, who lives in Northfield, has a child with an ASD diagnosis. She infuses this story with the traumas of a boy learning about girl-boy dances and other new middle-school stuff, as well as Rourke’s ambivalence about his brother, who is sometimes a burden to him. Then he worries about feeling guilty. And he’s confused about why Sam, his childhood invisible friend, is back after being gone for years.
The author captures Rourke’s quiet stomach pain and angst when he realizes he will probably have to be responsible for his brother when their parents aren’t around anymore. In the meantime, family focus is always on what’s best for Carson, with nobody paying attention to Rourke’s athletic abilities. Rourke also worries about a girl he’s fond of who has marks on her wrists, bruises and messy hair. Why does he see her entering the house of the creepy guys next door? She won’t tell him where she lives or anything about her family life.
Rourke’s is a loving family, and although readers might judge the parents harshly, both of them have jobs and are doing the best they can with a family that also includes young twin girls
Finally, and not surprisingly, Rourke’s worry knot grows too big for him to handle and there is a believable crisis. Although this is a middle-grade novel, it’s relevant to adults. Don’t many of us have a secret worry knot?
“Not the Camilla We Knew” by Rachael Hanel (University of Minnesota Press, $17.95)
It all seems so far away now, the headlines about the Symbionese Liberation Army and their kidnapping of heiress Patty Hearst. We learned about women in the SLA including Sara Jane Olson, who was arrested in 1999 in St. Paul. But less attention was paid to Camilla Hall, a pastor’s kid from Minnesota who died in a shootout with Los Angeles police in May 1974.
Hanel, associate professor of creative nonfiction and journalism at Minnesota State University, Mankato, does a masterful job of tracing Camilla’s short life from her childhood in St. Peter, where her parents were on the staff of Gustavus Adolphus College, through young adulthood (one person described her as “gentle, zaftig, arty, otherworldly”), to eschewing working within the system for social change by picking up a gun.
How did this happen? How did the loving daughter of George and Lorena Hall gravitate to a motley group of violent revolutionaries led by Donald DeFreeze, an ex-convict?
For a time during Camilla’s childhood, the family lived in Tanganyika, where Camilla, her sister Nan and their mother formed a bond. When Nan died, preceded in death by two brothers, Lorena pulled away. Did she fear her fourth child would die?
When Camilla moved to California to pursue her art and joined the SLA, Hanel writes, nobody knew exactly how she ended up with them. She’s described as being “like a wraith.” When she drove one of the get-away cars during the Hearst kidnapping, Hanel tries to reconstruct Camilla’s thinking:
“She must believe the kidnapping will succeed. The SLA is blazing a path toward real change. Patty’s kidnapping will wake the masses from their hypnotized routines…”
Camilla saw herself as part of something big, believing the SLA would use Hearst’s ransom money to show how the poor could be fed and clothed. When she was with her colleagues she acted as “den mother,” making sandwiches for everyone.
There’s little to be known about the SLA’s movements in 1974, except that they kept moving from one crummy safe house to another. Most went underground quickly, but Camilla hid in plain sight, visiting friends and going to the bank to get money for food.
This is a heartbreaking book. Camilla could have walked away at any point, put down her gun and turned herself in. Yet, she sat in the house in Los Angeles, calmly waiting for what she knew was the end of her life. Why? Hanel goes deeply into the effect of sibling deaths, among other pressures Camilla faced. She was the last of her parents’ four children to die.
