Books Worth Crying Over
When I was 8 years old, I cried for the first time after reading a book. That wonderful novel is called "Where the Red Fern Grows" and should be a required reading for any human on Earth. To give a paltry summary, a poor boy in the Ozarks saves for three years fifty dollars to buy a pair of redbone coon hounds in order to hunt for raccoons in the woods near his house. Big Dan and Little Ann, male and female respectively, turn out to be a pair of fiercely loyal and incredibly effective hunters who catch many coons and other small game animals for the boy to skin and sell, and the boy develops a connection with his dogs that is so well described near the end. Big Dan and Little Ann also develop a brother-to-sister like affection towards each other--defending each other in fights, eating at the same time, and caring for each other after a tussle with a mean animal.
At the climax of the book, Billy, the protagonist, is attacked by a mountain lion while hunting. After a vicious fight, he kills the lion with his axe, but not before he is almost killed by the lion. He is saved only by the incredible loyalty of his dogs and their willingness to put themselves between their owner of 4 years and a mountain lion.
Old Dan is severely wounded from the encounter and a heartbreaking scene in which the boy untangles the dog's entrails from a bush occurs. This is where my eyes got wet.
Old Dan, the larger and hardier dog, dies later that night in his doghouse, despite the efforts of the family to save him. Over the next several days, the will to live leaves Little Ann and she refuses food, eventually crawling at night to Old Dan's grave, lying alongside it, and dies. The passage that got me was:
"The next morning I made another box. It was smaller than the first one--built for a smaller dog. Each nail I drove into the rough pine boards caused the knot in my throat to grow bigger and bigger.
My sisters came to help. They stood watching for awhile, then, with tears screaming, they rain for the house.
I buried Little Ann by the side of Old Dan. I knew that where she wanted to be. I buried a part of my life along with my dogs."
I was heartbroken. This was a story of triumph--the dogs being raised and trained with their young master and then the ultimate sacrifice of the dogs who fell protecting their master, for which they paid with their lives.
8-year-old Max was moved to tears. Just finishing the book (in its original paperback) tonight, I conjured up similar emotions as Billy cared for the mortally wounded Old Dan and then slowly watched Little Ann waste away and die alongside her brother. When he buries his dogs side-by-side in the Ozark foothills, I am not ashamed to say I felt my eyes water.
We the Living
I, of course, cannot get through any post without mentioning Ayn Rand. Her novel We the Living, set in 1920's post-revolution Soviet Russia, tells a story of family betrayal, hard economic depression and hardship, and love split by cruel Soviet law. Argue as you wish about the merits of capitalism vs. communism or the ideals of socialism being misinterpreted, but We the Living remains an amazing story.
The passage that always gets me is the following: A young counter-revolutionary, Sasha, is being sent to Siberia for 10 years. Due to the conditions, it is certainly a death sentence. His young fiancee Irina is given an identical sentence for harboring the "political criminal" in her house as he hides from the police. They will both die in a Siberian prison.
Irina's father calls in all his favors in order to have them married before they are left, so they may live as husband and wife as they go through the harsh conditions of Soviet prison camps, never to return to their families. He is successful and a small ceremony is held in the prison. The father is informed, however, that they are bound for separate prisons that are 250 miles away and will never see each other again. Though he attempts to have it changed, the government rejects his claims and Irina and Sasha board the same train towards different destinations.
As they ride towards the place where Irina disembarks for their separate train, they know they will never see each other again.
"Sasha held Irina's hands. She was smiling, her chin buried in an old woolen scarf. Her hands were cold and a white vapor fluttered at her lips as she whispered: "We must not think of it as ten years. It sounds so long, doesn't it? But it really isn't. You know, some philosopher said that time is only an illusion or something like that. We'll still be young when we'll...when well be free. So let's promise each other to not think of anything else.
"Yes," he whispered, looking at her hands. "Irina, if only I hadn't..."
"And that's something you've already promised me not to mention again, not even to yourself. Darling, don't you see that it's really easier for me-this way-than to have remained at home, with you sent here alone? This way, I'll feel that we have something in common, that we're sharing something. Aren't we?"
He buried his face in her hands and say nothing.
"When you feel the worst, just smile, and think that you're doing something for me. And I'll do the same. That will keep us together, it's very important to remain cheerful...we'll last longer."
"What for?" he asked. "We won't last long enough anyway."
"Sasha, what nonsense!" She pulled his head up, looking straight into his eyes. "Nothing is ever as bad as it's painted."
The wheels grated under the floor, slowing the train.
"Oh God!" Sasha moaned. "Is that the station?"
The car jerked forward and resumed its speed.
"No, Irina whispered breathlessly, "not yet."
There was a long silence as they held hands across the aisle.
A lantern swam past the window. Then there was nothing but the silent snowflakes splattering against the glass.
Irina whispered: "I think we're approaching."
Sasha sat up, erect, his face the color of brass, and his voice changed, firm. "If they let us write to each other, Irina, will you....every day?"
"Of course," she answered slowly. "And I'll draw things in my letters too."
"Here. I'll draw something for you now."
She picked a small splinter of coal from the window ledge and, sure as a surgeon's scalpel, sketched a face on the back of her seat, an imp's face that grinned at them with a wide crescent mouth, with eyebrows flung up, with one eye winging mischievously, a silly, infectious, irresistible grin.
"Here," Irina said," he'll keep you company...after the station."
At the station, another train was waiting on a parallel track. Guards with bayonets escorted some of the prisoners out. Sasha held Irina, and her bones creaked in his huge arms, and he kissed her lips, her chin, her hair, her neck, and he made a sound that was not quite a moan and not quite a growl. He whispered hoarsely, furiously, into her scarf, blushing, choking, words he had always been reluctant to utter. "I...I...I love you..."
A guard touched her elbow, and she tore herself away from Sasha and followed the guard down the aisle. At the door, Sasha pushed the guard aside, savagely, insanely, and seized Irina again and held her, not kissing her, looking at her stupidly, his long hands crushing the body of the wife he had never truly possessed.
The train roared away, the silver window glowing back at him. He did not look at the snow any longer, his glance clung instead to a tiny yellow square with a black dot that was a human figure, far away.
Across an endless waste of snow, two long caterpillars spread apart, two thin, silvery streads preceded each, the threads led, disappearing into a black void, and Sasha was left alone.
That was a long reference. Thank you all for reading it. I'm a sap for romance stories and coming-of-age tales. There's no story as satisfying as a young boy rising up to meet an incredible challenge and suceeding, or two people finding the values they treasure in another and bonding over mutual respect and connection, showing what they truly value and recognizing it in another.
/being a big old wuss.
Thank you everybody for reading. It's passed 4:00 A.M here, but, luckily, I am no longer employed, so I guess I'll sleep late. Hopefully some people stop by and read my sappiness-I planned to include Harry Potter and a few other choice selections but will have to save those for another time.
Yours,
-Max
P.S. Without the aid of sleeping pills, none of this could have been possible.
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