Archive for July 2021
An excellent novel makes one think, and think I did as I read this one. The story covers the early period of my life – the great depression. and how different My Father’s House was from what Elsa and her family experienced. While my mother fed the hoboes who came in from the street, and the town provided some part-time jobs for them, Elsa encountered cruel mistreatment from the “good” people who defined the sufferers as lazy, dirty, illness purveyors ruining the economy of their small town. One suspects that the “good” people of my town would have been no kinder had the number of migrants been larger. In my innocent, fortunate childhood I experienced no destruction of Hooverville’s, the temporary “homes” of the dispossessed. But I can’t fail to see the same things happening today in only slightly different circumstances
Enough of what the story activated in my private awareness. What about the writing. This is a long novel, as so many are recently. And I wondered whether, if I’d been an editor, I would have recommended eliminating some of the “unnecessary” detail. Why so many words to convey the basic impression of land and dreams literally blown away in the wind, of lives lived in day-to-day misery, of friendships and kindnesses, of familial love buried in the rules of propriety, of gender restrictions. By the end of the book, I realized how important all the details were as I experienced the frustration of day after day of hope followed by disaster – of disaster followed by hope. I felt the frustration, the suppressed anger, the cruelty, the love.
And, to return to my original point. To recognize that this is the story of today, wearing different details, but still the same.
I confess it took me a bit to get caught up in the story, but once I did I couldn’t put it down. That’s what I don’t like about a good novel. It interferes with my sleep. But I thank Kristin Hannah for the experience. Obviously this is a book many have read and recommended. Now I’m joining the parade.
My really sharp and clever web creator/improver, Hugh Gower of Nimbus studios, just added a link on my web site, https://forgivenessoptions.com, that will take you to excerpts from the two recent articles about my books. Just click on the photo of “My Father’s House” and you’ll find it.
And you’ll find Hugh at 877-870-0412 or https://www.hugh@nimbusstudios.com
Remember, reviews of my books are always treasured, both on amazon and right there on my web site.
I’m thrilled to provide a link to this great article The Bristol Press did about My Father’s House. That’s my home town paper where I grew up in Forestville/Bristol Connecticut. The only problem is they included my full name as author, but the only way to find it is via Mona Gustafson — period. Swedish, you know.
The Bristol Press – Forestville native pens book about what life was like in the city from 1910 through the 1970s
Georgia Hunter, We Were the Lucky Ones
I knew when our book club chose this book that it was highly rated, and in the end I agreed. But for much of the book I found it difficult to “feel” the individual characters. Maybe because the story being “reported” was true. By the end, however, I realized that the main character had been given great and empathetic depth, because the main character was the family. I confess I also had difficulty with the style of going back and forth from one character/family member to the other with time passage being the thread. But as an author I couldn’t imagine any other way to do it.
The experiences were cruel, the evil unbelievable and yet real, and the courage and creativity amazing. What held me tightest, however, was the feeling that the book was not just a record of terrible events in the past, but a call to be aware of present dangers. I’ll try to explain what I mean by referring to some of my own history. I was 11 years old – almost twelve — when the United States entered the war in 1941. And what was I doing as it progressed? Sitting on the front lawn with my best friend — eating chocolate, drinking coke, and watching the boys go by. Oh yes, there were other things like flattening empty aluminum cans, drawing the black shades at night, counting ration coupons, watching Time Newsreel at the movies, worrying about my brother and brother-in-law serving overseas. But mostly I was living in a nice, safe world of school, dances, and dates. What a contrast to the experiences of the author’s family!
Then in 1951, as a recent college graduate, I traveled with the National Student Association on a tour to Europe: Austria, Germany, Switzerland, France, England, Holland, and Belgium. How very fortunate I was, but that’s not the point. I really liked everyone I met. We walked past bombed out buildings, piles of rubble, stores built up out of nothing on busy corners, cigarettes 60 cents apiece compared to our American 20 cent packs. But I liked the people. And that’s what alerts me. It was good people who let the horrors happen. And how gradually the family in the story realized the danger they were in. How improbable it seems that good neighbors could become the enemy. But they did. And then there was the student guide in Germany who said, “This will come to your country someday.” The caution was there.
In 1955 I was back in Europe, this time visiting one of the extermination camps with its photos of local people “surprised” at what had been going on in their back yard. Good people who saw only what they wanted to see. You don’t need to be a psychologist to know that’s what people do – see what they expect and want to see and don’t let the rest in.
I’ve been back to Europe a few times since. As is true of anywhere I travel, even in my own back yard, I like the people. They are good people, just like the good people who let the horrors happen that threatened and terrified the family in “We Were the Lucky Ones.” I can’t read that book only as a piece of awful history. I can’t help but see it as a powerful caution.
I’m glad I read it. The book deserves all the accolades it has received. And I’ll continue to be aware that it was human beings – many of whom went home after their “work” to loving, welcoming families – who perpetrated the evils. To that extent it is contemporary. We are the good ones. Maybe it’s important to think about that. We Were the Lucky Ones is more than history, more than sympathy for what was, more than rejoicing with the surviving family. To me it is a call to vigilance.
GRATITUDE
This morning I woke up in a comfortable bed in a pleasant, clean room, all at just the right temperature for my comfort. My first stop was a nice clean bathroom with a toilet that flushed and water that ran in the sink — both hot and cold based on my choice. I plugged my cell phone into the outlet on the wall and electricity came through to power it.
Then I went to the kitchen to fill a pan with water from the sink faucet which ran both hot and cold. I placed the pan on the stove and turned a knob which caused the heat to start. From the refrigerator I took an egg, preserved at just the right temperature and put it in the pot. Three minutes after it had come to a boil I ran the pot under cold water until I could retrieve the egg and continue cooling it, after which I removed the shell and placed it in a clean dish to put on the table along with a small bowl of blueberries that had been preserved in the freezer until removal to the refrigerator yesterday. In my microwave I warmed a cup of coffee and sat down at a comfortable table to eat it.
And that’s this morning’s news. Grateful? Indeed! and sad that a huge percentage of people in the world can’t have the same experience. Am I wrong to wish we were working toward a world where everyone could enjoy such a morning?
monagustafsonaffinito 