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Winds of Change
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Afterword to the softbound edition.


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The Future In Plain Sight
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Silent Partners
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A REPUBLIC OF BIRDS: THOUGHTS FROM MIDWAY ATOLL


Thursday January 24, 2008

EUGENE LINDEN
Iíve been to a number of places where wild animals are trusting of humans, but perhaps none so unlikely as Midway Atoll, smack in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. After more than a century of abuse at the hands of man -- first being slaughtered for their feathers by hunters, then being paved over by Seabees, then shelled by the Japanese during World War II, and finally Osterized by the engines of the planes of the U.S. Strategic Air Command during the Cold War -- the albatross and other birds donít seem to bear a grudge. Maybe thatís because theyíve won. Albatross have succeeded where the Japanese military failed and have successfully taken over the island. And, they did it in a way that Mahatma Ghandi would applaud Ė through passive resistance. Itís only fair since theyíve have ancestral rights to Midway (or whatever itís called in Albatross-speak), but itís still both eerie and wonderful to see how the birds been able to enforce an avian eminent domain and build their nests on every available open space, including the middle of the islandís paths. Even more moving is the gracious way in which we humans have surrendered control and allowed the establishment of a republic of birds. For the most part itís a peaceable nation, and the citizens are irresistible, albeit short. Iíve discovered that itís impossible not to talk to them as I make my way around the island on foot or on bike. For their part, the albatross make we humans feel like superstars as we pick our way among them. The combined effect of tens of thousands of birds clacking in the background makes it seem as though our every move is accompanied by polite applause from a very large crowd. Their curiosity and clumsiness on land make them endearing. Every day, our group trades stories of heart-stopping take-offs as birds flap their wings and run wildly down impromptu runways that open in the middle of the nesting area. More often than not they inadvertently step on a nesting bird at some point during take off, eliciting an indignant squawk. The concept of zoning doesnít seem to have taken hold in bird land, although there are a couple of paths to the beaches that the albatross use for a more official runway, and the albatross using these runways even line up and (mostly) take turns. Landings are even more dramatic. If youíre an albatross, every landing seems to be an emergency landing. Unless thereís a stiff wind to land into, they have to put on the brakes immediately on touch-down, and quite often this ends up in a face plant, if not a collision with another hapless bird. In the air, though, they are magnificent, even heroic, and their life style would appeal to both feminists and the most fire-breathing moralists. Feminists would have a hard time finding fault with males who pitch in and take over care of the baby immediately after hatching while the mom gets a chance to rest up. Albatross may be one of the few species where spouses are actually an asset, rather than a clumsy menace, around newborns. On the other hand the ďvaluesĒ crowd might find inspiration in their commitment to monogamy since the birds mate for life. All in all Midway today is a happy place. The few humans working here or visiting here all care deeply about restoring the atoll as the haven for wildlife. God knows the albatross need it. Between the plastics that get into their digestive systems when they feed, to the impacts of global warming, the albatross run a gauntlet of threats during their life on the high seas. Once back on the atoll, however, at least for the moment, they find a haven where humans have turned the infrastructure of war and conflict towards their betterment. Theyíve managed to get a superpower as a protector and they donít control a drop of oil -- no mean trick for a birdbrain. Thatís an auspicious augury at the dawn of the 21st century.

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Short Take

[Mild spoiler alert: the book is a fictionalized exploration of a girl who falls under the spell of a Manson-like cult. We all know how that story unfolded. In this Short Take I’ll be offering my reactions to the protagonist, Evie Boyd.]

 

The Girls offers as bleak a view of the amorality of American youth as I have ever encountered. In a review of my first book, I was called “Intolerably apocalyptic,” but I can’t hold a candle to Ms. Cline. The book is a novelistic attempt to try and understand how some of the privileged young women of the late 1960s could commit unspeakable acts while under the sway of a Manson-like psychopath. 

 Thus we meet Evie Boyd, a fourteen year-old growing up amid relative affluence in Petaluma California. She’s directionless, with no apparent passions, self-conscious about her looks, emotionally needy, alienated from her parents (who get divorced), but possessed of a tough inner core and a rebellious streak. She’s enthralled when she encounters Suzanne, a wild, charismatic 19 year-old who seems to be a composite of Patricia Krenwinkel and Leslie Van Houton, and Evie is honored when Suzanne pays her some attention. Events bring her to the cult’s squalid ranch, and for some weeks, Evie maintains a dual life, throwing herself into the life of the cult, while returning home enough not to galvanize her mother, who is pre-occupied with a rebound relationship with Frank, an entrepreneur who comes across as a hustler with a heart of gold.

Evie is so smitten by Suzanne that she doesn’t notice as the cult spirals down from talk of love and freedom to episodes of paranoia, back-biting and revenge. Along the way, Evie has her first sexual adventures, and enters sufficiently into the spirit of the cult that she brings them to the house of the family next door (which they descrate), even though she has known the family all her life and has no score to settle. Later, Evie talks her way into joining Suzanne as she and others set off to inflict mayhem on a Dennis Wilson-like figure, but Suzanne kicks her out of the car before they begin a horrific rampage.

Did Suzanne do this to protect Evie from what she knew was about to happen, or because she felt that Evie wasn’t a murderer and would become a liability? That’s left unanswered, but the bloodbath that Evie missed is so depraved – including the slashing apart of a toddler – that no human with a soul could find that earlier gesture redemptive … except for our Evie, who still feels the tug of Suzanne’s power, even after she learns every gory detail of Suzanne’s actions.

It’s several months between the time of the murders and when the cult is finally caught. During this time, Evie keeps her mouth shut about what happens and meekly allows herself to be shipped off to boarding school to resume her comfortable existence, though as a wreck, not a spirited teenager.

That’s when I decided Evie was a worthless human being. Sure, she was terrified that the cult would come after her, and there’s some honor on not squealing, but Evie had to know that the cult would likely kill again, and that made her an enabler of whatever they did subsequently.

The book interweaves the present and the past and so we learn how these events haunted Evie’s life. But there’s no redemptive moment, no act where she summons the courage to do the right thing, or rises above her own self-absorption. Even in the present, when the psychopath-in-the-making son of a friend and his underage, impressionable girlfriend crash at her digs, she can only summon a half-hearted (and failed) attempt to save the girl from following the path that so grievously sidetracked her own life.

All the men in the book are either pathetic or pigs of various shapes and forms – except for a premed student named Tom, who sees the cult for what it is, but who Evie rejects as a dork. Towards the end of the book, Evie ticks off a long list of subsequent experiences with awful men that could summon in her the hatred to commit horrendous crimes, seeming to imply that with the right mix of events, she too might have become a Suzanne, and, by implication, so could enormous numbers of other young women.

My first reaction was to call “Bullshit!” Were all young women potential Suzannes, we would have seen endless repeats of the Manson horrors in the nearly 50 years since the events. Instead, those murders still stand as a touchstone of horror because nothing since has eclipsed their mindless violence.

The Manson cult was at the far far end of the normal curve during truly abnormal times. In just the two years leading up to the murders, we had the huge escalation of a senseless war, the explosion of the anti-war movement and counter-culture, a breakdown of generational trust, my generation’s first experiences with powerful, mind-altering drugs, and a sexual revolution. In a country of more than 200 million people, that roiling stew of disruptive forces bubbled to the surface about 20 broken souls, deranged by drugs and in the thrall of a false prophet.

On reflection, however, maybe Ms. Clein was making a different point. All we have to think of are the teenage executioners of Pol Pot’s Cambodia or the child soldiers of Africa to recognize that the capacity for evil lies latent in the young. And, while in fiction we want our protagonists to find redemption or transcend their flaws perhaps Evie’s failure to rise to the occasion was making the point that a civilization that keeps our murderous impulses in check is not innate, but something external that has to be actively inculcated and supported. That’s something to keep in mind amid the current insanity of gun violence, and as more dark clouds gather on the horizon.



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