The Snowfly: A Preview
The Snowfly (Lyons Press), by Joseph Heywood, follows the fishing and UPI reporting life of Bowie Rhodes. As Bowie's life unfolds, so do the mysteries of the snowfly, a mythical fly of such rarity and size that when it hatches (about once every ten years) it brings monstrous trout to the surface. Bowie's reporting life takes him to Vietnam, England, Russia, Canada and then back to the U.S. (including Michigan and its Upper Peninsula), and at each destination he gets a little more ensnared in the allure of the snowfly. Chasing the snowfly becomes an addiction for some, and keeping from getting addicted himself becomes one of Rhode's great fights. Questions rise throughout the book. Why are both the U.S. and Soviet governments so interested in M.J. Key's unpublished manuscript, The Legend of The Snowfly? When will Bowie find a woman that meets his every need? Why does Raina Chickerman, childhood friend of Bowie, keep surfacing and seems somehow connected to the snowfly mystery?
At one point, while in Canada, Bowie finds himself in a Native American spirit hole:
"Night passed to day. I went from cold to sweltering. At midday the sun was overhead and I couldn't escape it. More sleep. Confusion. I tried to jump out, smacked my face on the wall, bled from the nose, got giddy. Then night finally came. Then day. Then something else. I imagined sin, drowning in every one committed. I fought for air, imagined sin could raise me up, but the sin was heavy and had no buoyancy. Snakes came, black shapes with heads shaped like trowels. They had bright red, yellow, and green stripes and dropped heavily, thudding on me. Not real, I told myself. Then they struck and I screamed. I went from fire to ice. The flames did not heat and the ice did not cool. My flesh became loose, like a robe, and sluffed off my bones. A raven came and took my eyes and told me they were only dressings for humans who were born and lived blind and since I was in darkness and had no need to see, he had hunger and he apologized for taking my eyes and when he had flown away I could see sockets where my eyes had been. There was no pain. If this was death, it was soothing. Life had never been so serene."
No existential whining here . . . Heywood wants to tell a big tale where big things happen, even if those things sometimes challenge us to believe them.
At one point, while in Canada, Bowie finds himself in a Native American spirit hole:
"Night passed to day. I went from cold to sweltering. At midday the sun was overhead and I couldn't escape it. More sleep. Confusion. I tried to jump out, smacked my face on the wall, bled from the nose, got giddy. Then night finally came. Then day. Then something else. I imagined sin, drowning in every one committed. I fought for air, imagined sin could raise me up, but the sin was heavy and had no buoyancy. Snakes came, black shapes with heads shaped like trowels. They had bright red, yellow, and green stripes and dropped heavily, thudding on me. Not real, I told myself. Then they struck and I screamed. I went from fire to ice. The flames did not heat and the ice did not cool. My flesh became loose, like a robe, and sluffed off my bones. A raven came and took my eyes and told me they were only dressings for humans who were born and lived blind and since I was in darkness and had no need to see, he had hunger and he apologized for taking my eyes and when he had flown away I could see sockets where my eyes had been. There was no pain. If this was death, it was soothing. Life had never been so serene."
No existential whining here . . . Heywood wants to tell a big tale where big things happen, even if those things sometimes challenge us to believe them.
posted by Jeff Vande Zande at 7:49 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home