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...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...