Letters

Letters 08-31-2015

Inalienable Rights This is a response to the “No More State Theatre” in your August 24th edition. I think I will not be the only response to this pathetic and narrow-minded letter that seems rather out of place in the northern Michigan that I know. To think we will not be getting your 25 cents for the movie you refused to see, but more importantly we will be without your “two cents” on your thoughts of a marriage at the State Theatre...

Enthusiastically Democratic Since I was one of the approximately 160 people present at when Senator Debbie Stabenow spoke on August 14 in Charlevoix, I was surprised to read in a letter to Northern Express that there was a “rather muted” response to Debbie’s announcement that she has endorsed Hillary Clinton for president...

Not Hurting I surely think the State Theatre will survive not having the homophobic presence of Colleen Smith and her family attend any matinees. I think “Ms.” Smith might also want to make sure that any medical personnel, bank staff, grocery store staff, waiters and/or waitress, etc. are not homosexual before accepting any service or product from them...

Stay Home I did not know whether to laugh or cry when I read the letter of the extremely homophobic, “disgusted” writer. She now refuses to patronize the State Theatre because she evidently feels that its confines have been poisoned by the gay wedding ceremony held there...

Keep Away In response to Colleen Smith of Cadillac who refused to bring her family to the State Theatre because there was a gay wedding there: Keep your 25 cents and your family out of Traverse City...

Celebrating Moore And A Theatre I was 10 years old when I had the privilege to see my first film at the State Theatre. I will never forget that experience. The screen was almost the size of my bedroom I shared with my older sister. The bursting sounds made me believe I was part of the film...

Outdated Thinking This letter is in response to Colleen Smith. She made public her choice to no longer go to the State Theater due to the fact that “some homosexuals” got married there. I’m not outraged by her choice; we don’t need any more hateful, self-righteous bigots in our town. She can keep her 25 cents...

Mackinac Pipeline Must Be Shut Down Crude oil flowing through Enbridge’s 60-yearold pipeline beneath the Mackinac Straits and the largest collection of fresh water on the planet should be a serious concern for every resident of the USA and Canada. Enbridge has a very “accident” prone track record...

Your Rights To Colleen, who wrote about the State Theatre: Let me thank you for sharing your views; I think most of us are well in support of the first amendment, because as you know- it gives everyone the opportunity to express their opinions. I also wanted to thank Northern Express for not shutting down these types of letters right at the source but rather giving the community a platform for education...

No Role Model [Fascinating Person from last week’s issue] Jada quoted: “I want to be a role model for girls who are interested in being in the outdoors.” I enjoy being in the outdoors, but I don’t want to kill animals for trophy...

Home · Articles · News · Books · The Lovely Bones Offers a Fatal...
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The Lovely Bones Offers a Fatal Remembrance

Nancy Sundstrom - September 19th, 2002
It’s one of those stories whose topicality is a hot button because it feels coaxed out of, or a jarring reflection of the disturbingly more frequent headlines in today’s papers about the abduction of young women.
Alice Sebold, who authored the memoir “Lucky,“ has crafted a remarkable and haunting debut novel in “The Lovely Bones,“ an artistic high-wire act that succeeds triumphantly, in spite of the considerable risks it takes.
This is a coming-of-age tale, but with none of the trademarks one might anticipate. For starters, it is about the murder of a 14-year-old girl named Susie, and as we meet her, her death and transition into heaven have already taken place. From above, in a place where “life is a perpetual yesterday,“ Susie narrates the story of her life and demise, and keeps watch over her grieving family friends, as well as the ruthless serial killer and the world weary detective trying to solve the case.
As this unforgettable story opens, Sebold introduces us to her young heroine, whose voice rings as clear as the details in her story have the power to chill:

“My name was Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered on December 6, 1973. In newspaper photos of missing girls from the seventies, most looked like me: white girls with mousy brown hair. This was before kids of all races and genders started appearing on milk cartons or in the daily mail. It was still back when people believed things like that didn‘t happen... I wasn‘t killed by Mr. Botte, by the way. Don‘t think every person you‘re going to meet in here is suspect. That‘s the problem. You never know. Mr. Botte came to my memorial (as, may I add, did almost the entire junior high school —— I was never so popular) and cried quite a bit. He had a sick kid. We all knew this, so when he laughed at his own jokes, which were rusty way before I had him, we laughed too, forcing it sometimes just to make him happy. His daughter died a year and a half after I did. She had leukemia, but I never saw her in my heaven.
My murderer was a man from our neighborhood. My mother liked his border flowers, and my father talked to him once about fertilizer. My murderer believed in old-fashioned things like eggshells and coffee grounds, which he said his own mother had used. My father came home smiling, making jokes about how the man‘s garden might be beautiful but it would stink to high heaven once a heat wave hit.
But on December 6, 1973, it was snowing, and I took a shortcut through the cornfield back from the junior high. It was dark out because the days were shorter in winter, and I remember how the broken cornstalks made my walk more difficult. The snow was falling lightly, like a flurry of small hands, and I was breathing through my nose until it was running so much that I had to open my mouth. Six feet from where Mr. Harvey stood, I stuck my tongue out to taste a snowflake.
“Don‘t let me startle you,“ Mr. Harvey said.
Of course, in a cornfield, in the dark, I was startled. After I was dead I thought about how there had been the light scent of cologne in the air but that I had not been paying attention, or thought it was coming from one of the houses up ahead.
“Mr. Harvey,“ I said.
“You‘re the older Salmon girl, right?“
“Yes.“
“How are your folks?“
Although the eldest in my family and good at acing a science quiz, I had never felt comfortable with adults.
“Fine,“ I said. I was cold, but the natural authority of his age, and the added fact that he was a neighbor and had talked to my father about fertilizer, rooted me to the spot.
“I‘ve built something back here,“ he said. “Would you like to see?“
“I‘m sort of cold, Mr. Harvey,“ I said, “and my mom likes me home before dark.“
“It‘s after dark, Susie,“ he said.“

From that point on, “The Lovely Bones“ is a gripping page-turner, especially when it comes to observing Susie’s family cope with her loss. Whether Susie is watching her younger brother build a tree fort in her memory, seeing her father launch his own search for the killer and a mother emotionally withdraw, or a sister take an amazing risk that she never would have dared to prior to all of this, the action has the momentum of a river current that can’t be slowed.
Perhaps most compelling of all is Susie’s own perceptions on her new surroundings (her idealized heaven, she says, is a place where “there were no teachers.... We never had to go inside except for art class.... The boys did not pinch our backsides or tell us we smelled; our textbooks were Seventeen and Glamour and Vogue.“), and on the reflections of her growing up through every wonderful, exasperating, challenging phase. Susie struggles to accept her death and leave the world of the living and those she loved behind, and the poignancy played out in the little missed opportunities we have to make a difference every day (but are often too busy to do so) are magnified from the pages of this book.
Faith, forgiveness, and family all converge for a satisfying resolution, one that is far more strong than sentimental. “The Lovely Bones“ is a minor miracle, its darkness balanced by the light of hope and redemption. Our is a world of strange and terrible beauties, much of it shaped by the lives and the choice we play out each day. As this graceful, enigmatic story confirms, the gift of life is play in many ways, with no dress rehearsals, and perhaps one final chance to assess the quality of our performance.

 
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