When I was in grad school downstate, I took a fiction workshop in which Bonnie Jo was a student. From the first story she submitted for critique, I knew she was something special. So did every other person in the class, including the instructor. Her stories were surprising and raw. Each one was better than the previous one. I was reduced to making comments like this on her stuff: "I really like the font you chose for this story." (Actually, it wasn't that bad, but most of us couldn't find a whole lot to criticize.)
As I read Once Upon a River, I felt like I was back in class with her. The main character of the book, Margo Crane, reminded me of the main characters of all her stories--independent to the point of being wild. The narrative was laced with violence and sexuality, drugs and salvation. Think Huckleberry Finn on crystal meth. I loved rowing up the Stark River with Bonnie Jo Campbell.
And I love getting together with my book club groupies. We are one, big, happy, dysfunctional family. We know each other's likes and dislikes. We know who's Republican and who's Democrat. As I said, we don't always see eye-to-eye, but, when one of our own is struggling, we offer shoulders to cry on, laughter to relieve the tears, and a lot of good food to eat.
Everyone should have a book club like mine. One of our members affectionately describes the group like this: "I am a member of the strangest book club in the world."
Saint Marty would agree with that description, and he wouldn't change it for the world.
Confessions of Saint Marty
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