Waiting for the blow

I've taken a break from Edgar Sawtelle, because my own life has become slightly more tense and the sense of impending doom was getting to me. Something will happen to these mute, sweet, defenseless characters and I don't know what it is except it will be sad, and bad.

In being mute Edgar taps into a heartbreaking boy who has followed me all my life, in different forms and found in different books. These are the boys I grew up with, and boys who grow up anywhere where having a feeling is simply not discussed. Not that it is un-masculine, it simply isn't there. When I asked my brother how his friend was doing after a breakup with a woman and mother of his kid, whom he'd been with for at least a decade, my brother shrugged and said "he's awright I guess, saw him at the bar the other day." In their inability to say, process, live whole, these boys get into big trouble. Another friend was one of these, a brilliant boy who appeared that he really was going to beat destiny. He was the youngest-ever full time photographer at a photography-heavy newspaper, he was fearless but also sensitive enough that he could always get the amazing picture of the victim, or the family, or the utterly raw look of someone who has found pain unbearable -- all the stuff of daily news photography. There was something young and vulnerable about him and even victims of terrible crimes felt some kindred spirit.

He was a bright light and going far until destiny grabbed him in a near-Shakespearean way. Drugs given by his Iago quickly became an addiction, or perhaps drugs were the Iago, making him paranoid, bitter, angry. He was no longer the hard-working wunderkind, he started to mess up, not show up, started to be aggressive where his sweet self would have opened doors and hearts.

Finally he seemed like he was going to pull out of it. He went to rehab, he came back to work, he seemed if not his old self at least someone we recognized.

One day he missed work, then the next day, then the photo editor suggested a friend and fellow photographer go round to the house to see what was up. I think they expected the bacchanalia of the past -- women, bikers, smoke, coke. What he found was our sweet friend in the back seat of his car, in the garage, the car having run dry of gas. Dead but looking merely asleep.

This is what happens to boys who cannot speak, express, deal. I don't know what will happen to Edgar Sawtelle or his dogs, but there is an Iago at work or perhaps a Claudius...someone up to no good. Too scary to go on, I've taken a break to read murder mysteries. At least with these we care less about the characters and know what to expect.

Reading the writing on the wall

And here we are, on the eve of an election and the eve of history. But what history? America is not the first racist country to elect a black person or a woman; it is, however, more proud of this achievement than others.

Every newspaper and blog is covered in thick election coverage and what a journalist friend calls the "hagiography" of Obama. No one thinks he will lose, and so as the heir apparent will soon, perhaps as soon as tomorrow, start to have his day in the light.

Of all the dark horses in this race and all the hiding in plain sight, it is Obama who has gotten off lightest.

During the primaries it was Hillary Clinton who took a lot of the fire, today it is the bumbling of the Palin-McCain camp. Palin's outfits alone have taken many an eye off any appropriate ball. Obama had the good sense to tell his own story in a couple of books, being sure to add the odd, small mea culpa -- I wonder if any of it is terribly sincere. The comment that his memory of his first kiss with his now wife "tasted of chocolate" sounds very Judy Blume. Or Ross and Rachel. A bit twee, in other words. It's a small thing, but it has the tone of an oft-repeated story valued for its "cute"; it reminds me of someone trying to show his affectionate side rather than really having one.

Now he will take on the full weight of history. He can't but fail. Far too many hopes, dreams, ill-defined expectations are resting on his head.

Great campaign though.