Book Review : Fathers and Sons: Rites of Inheritance

Blood Line: Stories of Fathers and Sons by David Quammen (Graywolf Press: $8, paper; 169 pages)

This is gender-specific fiction; two long stories and a novella that never could have been written by a woman. Though some feminists might bridle at the mere suggestion, “Blood Line” may persuade them that “equal” is not a synonym for “identical.” In theme, imagery and plot, these stories demonstrate qualitative differences between the experience of being a son and being a daughter.

In the first piece, “Walking Out,” a pudgy, awkward adolescent comes to Montana for what has become an annual ordeal; the ritual autumn hunting trip with his father. The parents are divorced and the boy lives in a Chicago suburb with his mother. The last trip was not a success, and the boy is not looking forward to this one, though he clearly loves and respects his father. The previous year they had lived in a mountain cabin and hunted birds--pheasant, blue grouse and ducks. Though the boy had finally hit one grouse, they had never found the bird, and the thought of a wounded bird dying in the underbrush had unsettled him.

Stalking the Moose

This year they were going after bigger game--moose and deer--and instead of bunking in relative comfort in the cabin, they were planning to camp out. The father had found an abandoned shepherd’s hut, and they would use that. The first night isn’t bad--they grill steaks and the father even tries to make chocolate pudding. He tells his son stories about his own hunting trips with his father, and the boy, David, actually begins to look forward to the adventure, to sharing a heritage and carrying on a family tradition. Stalking the moose is almost fun. Seeing a grizzly bear at a beaver pond is a thrill, until they also find a moose submerged in the water, peppered with .22 shot and left to drown.

Later that day the father shoots an elk and together they butcher it, the son acquitting himself well at this uncongenial job. “The boy’s father was satisfied and the boy was relieved . . . glad that the following day, though full of walking and butchery and oppressive burdens, would be their last in the woods.” That night, unseasonably early, there’s a heavy snowfall, and the task of packing two quarters of elk down the mountain becomes a challenge and a risk. On the way to the spot where they had left the carcass, they find bear tracks and evidence that a bear cub has been killed, perhaps by the same crude hunter who left the moose in the pond.

Powerful Connection

The father instructs the boy to climb the nearest tree if he sights the adult bear, but from that point on, nothing goes according to plan. The story that began as a classic rite of passage becomes a tale of escalating horror, courage, resourcefulness, honor and love, but most of all, of love, the complex, powerful, unique connection between father and son that is like no other relationship.

The second tale, “Nathan’s Rime,” deals with an altogether different milieu. Here the story is told by a half-mad hermit to a young man who has inherited a parcel of Oregon woodland from his father. The young man listens grudgingly at first, a captive audience resenting the fact that this crazy hermit is apparently part of his legacy. But Nathan’s story is spellbinding, horrendous, fantastic; so completely outside ordinary human experience that the young man becomes completely involved in what he’s hearing--asking leading questions, frantic to hear the next installment: a fascination bound to be shared by the reader.

Literary Debts

In style, form and subject matter, these two stories recall the Hemingway of “In Our Time” and “My Old Man.” Quammen’s prose is not as stark and his imagery is more sensuous, but the bells toll loud and clear in homage.

The novella, “Uriah’s Letter,” is a more elaborate construction, obviously and deliberately based on another literary model. In this case, the master’s voice is unmistakably Faulkner’s, though Quammen takes all the celebrated Faulkner mannerisms just one step further. The effect is eerie, as if Faulkner had bequeathed his locale, his characters and his structure to this contemporary Montana writer, with instructions to continue the work. Largely unpunctuated, told from constantly shifting points of view, “Uriah’s Letter” is a tale of passion, betrayal, revenge and retribution set in Mississippi, switching from the recent past to the time of the Civil War. Extraordinarily and perhaps unnecessarily complex, “Uriah’s Letter” is a tour de force, occasionally veering dangerously close to parody but drawing back at the very edge. Incantatory and convoluted, it ensnares and fatigues the reader by turns.