Skip to main content

Red from Green

One of my all-time favorite stories is Maile Meloy's "Red from Green":

The summer before she turned fifteen, Sam Turner took her last float trip down the river with her father. It was July, and hot, and the water was low. Hardly anyone was on the river but them. They had two inflatable rafts with oaring frames--Sam and her father in one, her uncle Harry and a client from Harry's law firm in the other. In the fall, she would be a sophomore, which sounded very old to her. She had been offered a scholarship to a boarding school back East, but she hadn't accepted it yet. Applying had been her father's idea, but now he looked dismayed every time the subject came up.....

Meloy loves the idea of the child protagonist--the sensation you get when you, the reader, understand there's danger in the air, and the protagonist doesn't have the same apprehension (because the protagonist is just a wide-eyed, trusting child). This is a big feature of the novel "A High Wind in Jamaica"; it's part of Ann Patchett's "Commonwealth" and Meloy's "Don't Become Alarmed"; and it's at play here, in this story, as well.

So, for example: The writer knows why this is Sam's "last" trip. (Sam does not.)

And: The writer has some curiosity about Uncle Harry's client, but Sam, a self-involved teenager, is preoccupied with that scholarship form back home.

And: The writer understands how Sam's dad could be both in favor of the boarding school AND "looking dismayed," whereas Sam, a child, maybe expects her father to be consistent and invulnerable (as any child would want her adult to be).

The story--the journey down the river--is the story of Sam's journey from childhood to adulthood.

The title--"Red from Green"--refers to a certain lawsuit (workers, damaged by chemicals, can no longer tell red from green at a stoplight), but it also refers to a general sense of lawlessness and queasiness, a sense you will get very quickly, from this story.

The tale is the second in Meloy's "Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It"--an important position in any collection of stories--and I recommend it. Happy reading!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...