Stewart O'Nan is one of the gems of contemporary American literature. Don't believe me? Check out the slim but powerful Last Night at the Lobster. Or read his latest novel: Songs for the Missing.
Kim Larsen is your average American teenager, just out of high school, killing time in her small town over the summer, waiting for college. But one afternoon, after hanging out with her friends and new boyfriend, Kim disappears.
It would be a cliche to say that the lives of everyone around Kim--her parents, sister, and friends--are changed forever. But that's exactly what happens in a situation like this, yet O'Nan manages to steer clear of trite territory and mine deeply into what happens, especially with her family, as they struggle to come to grips with her disappearance as it drags on for days and weeks. The terror of the phone ringing, the omnipresent press, the less-than-competent police, the distancing from teenage friends who, perhaps, did not tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth about what happened that day.
Besides avoiding cliches, O'Nan carefully hones in on who these people are, the people left behind. They're not perfect, by any means, and they can be frustrating and clueless--just like real people in rea life. At the same time, the pressure exerted over them, keeping them watchful and fearful, can't help but take its toll, and O'Nan doesn't balk at showing that. Statistics show that couples that have lost a child are more likely to divorce, and O'Nan explores that theory carefully, making neither side at fault for the difficulties they face. Yet the parents' preoccupation with the lost daughter also takes a toll on the one who remains--again, an understandable but painful reality.
Perhaps the hardest torment is the constant gnawing of the situation. At dinner, the mother is simultaneously happy and devastated:
"This was the silly Ed she loved, and the quiet life she wanted for her family, down to the soft light of evening and the mellow buzz from her second glass, and because she could see how perfect the moment was, she did what she promised herself she wouldn't do. There was no quicker way to ruin the mood. She could feel the tears building like a sneeze, hot and ticklish, and pressed her napkin to her face, jumping up and groping blindly for the sliding door, already sobbing."
Tears building like a sneeze--one of the many little, nearly throwaway lines that demonstrate so clearly how the scene feels, but with little fanfare or grandstanding from the author. He understands that the story itself has plenty of pain and trauma; he just has to tell it.
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