Our friend Angela has had a time with an immoral and devious former owner breaking into her cottage. (She removed those posts in which she wrote about the experience.) Anyway, the culprit sounds like someone Scott Peck would call a "Person of the Lie." These are people who are so wrapped up in maintaining their own illusion of themselves - and so good at lying to themselves - that they are capable of doing or saying anything to others.
What I really wanted to blog about is the reaction of two Southern novelists when faced with thieves on their property.
The first instance happened to Allan Gurganus, who wrote "Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All" and several other notable works. He told me this story when I was working for Reynolds Price. Apologies to Allan if I get a few of the details wrong.
One day Allan returned to his home in Hillsborough to find a gentleman trespassing. The man had backed his pick-up truck next to an old family cemetery on Allan's property and was - one stone at a time - dismantling the old wall around the cemetery, simple as someone might take down a wall of sand-bags after a flood.
Allan introduced himself as one the owner of the property and - indeed - the cemetery itself. It was pretty brave, considering he was speaking to a thief who held a large rock in his hands.
The man didn't say anything, but Allan wasn't through. He said to the man: "Your mother is ashamed of you."
(Dramatic pause, before the man returns the stones and drives away.)
The other great story comes from Reynolds. It was December, perhaps 40 years ago, when he noticed a pickup parked along his property and a family hiking into his woods. Reynolds watched awhile, and when he saw the family re-emerge from the woods, he stepped out onto his porch to contront the man, wife, and their children. The man saw Reynolds and asked, cheerfully: "Got yours?"
Reynolds answered in that deep, stentorian voice: "They're all mine."
The man shrugged and kept on going, his stolen Christmas tree cutting a shallow path in the leaves.
I guess the lesson is that when you are a novelist, you don't have to stoop low and say things like, "That's mine! How dare you! Give that back!" The power of words to convey irony, humor, and cosmic blame is plenty enough - whether or not you end up getting your stuff back or not.
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2 comments:
I think that's what makes them writers - that ability to be quick, clever, concise. Then again, I suppose all novelists aren't as sparing with their words.
Or maybe it's that they're men. I'm going to sell out my gender here by saying on those rare days when a problem situation arises and I have my words all in order, inevitably some hormone kicks in and scatters those words about my brain something fierce.
I wish that I could have the wit and reserve that those men have (someday, maybe I will.) I recognize that there is much greater satisfaction in handling the situation the way they did, as you pointed out, than screaming and hollering and making a fool of oneself. But, boy, am I a good fool!
Ah, shoot, I so handled myself the wrong way. :)
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