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Outdated Thinking This letter is in response to Colleen Smith.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 Buzz About ‘The Secret...
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The Buzz About ‘The Secret Life of Bees‘

Nancy Sundstrom - September 25th, 2003
Sue Monk Kidd‘s “The Secret Life of Bees“ is one of many that has been on my reading stand for awhile, and now that I’ve finished it, I’m kicking myself for not having gotten to it sooner.
The book is a stunner and impressive for several reasons, among them the fact that this is the debut novel from non-fiction writer Kidd, who wrote two highly regarded memoirs, “ The Dance of the Dissident Daughter“ and “When the Heart Waits.“ She has been hailed by some of the most prestigious of her peers as the heir apparent to Carson McCullers, and the quotes on the back cover are filled with eye-popping, wondrous words of appreciation from the likes of Ursula Hegi, Anne Rivers Siddons, Anita Shreve, Joanna Trollope, Susan Isaacs and Shelby Hearon, to name a few.
Their praise is deserved. Already optioned for film, “The Secret Life of Bees“ is a very moving story about mothers, daughters, life, death, love, courage, truth and redemption. And bees, of course. Any of these subjects on their own would be a considerable undertaking, but Kidd weaves them all together in a beautiful tapestry that occasionally takes the reader aback with its grace and power. Quite simply, this is not a book to wait around to get to later, something made clear from its first moments:

“At night I would lie in bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin. I watched their wings shining like bits of chrome in the dark and felt the longing build in my chest. The way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam.
During the day I heard them tunneling through the walls of my bedroom, sounding like a radio tuned to static in the next room, and I imagined them in there turning the walls into honeycombs, with honey seeping out for me to taste.
The bees came the summer of 1964, the summer I turned fourteen and my life went spinning off into a whole new orbit, and I mean whole new orbit. Looking back on it now, I want to say the bees were sent to me. I want to say they showed up like the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary, setting events in motion I could never have guessed. I know it is presumptuous to compare my small life to hers, but I have reason to believe she wouldn‘t mind; I will get to that. Right now it‘s enough to say that despite everything that happened that summer, I remain tender toward the bees.
***
July 1, 1964, I lay in bed, waiting for the bees to show up, thinking of what Rosaleen had said when I told her about their nightly visitations.
“Bees swarm before death,“ she‘d said.
Rosaleen had worked for us since my mother died. My daddy - who I called T. Ray because “Daddy“ never fit him - had pulled her out of the peach orchard, where she‘d worked as one of his pickers. She had a big round face and a body that sloped out from her neck like a pup tent, and she was so black that night seemed to seep from her skin. She lived alone in a little house tucked back in the woods, not far from us, and came every day to cook, clean, and be my stand-in mother. Rosaleen had never had a child herself, so for the last ten years I‘d been her pet guinea pig.
Bees swarm before death. She was full of crazy ideas that I ignored, but I lay there thinking about this one, wondering if the bees had come with my death in mind. Honestly, I wasn‘t that disturbed by the idea. Every one of those bees could have descended on me like a flock of angels and stung me till I died, and it wouldn‘t have been the worst thing to happen. People who think dying is the worst thing don‘t know a thing about life.
My mother died when I was four years old. It was a fact of life, but if I brought it up, people would suddenly get interested in their hangnails and cuticles, or else distant places in the sky, and seem not to hear me. Once in a while, though, some caring soul would say, “Just put it out of your head, Lily. It was an accident. You didn‘t mean to do it.“

A southern gothic tale set in South Carolina in 1964, the story is narrated by 14-year-old Lily Owen, who was nurtured and loved by her deceased mother, Deborah, an event that has radically reshaped her life and left her emotionally invisible to her father and brother who have a peach farm. Lily’s memories about her mother’s death are haunting and blurry, but suggest that a then four-year-old Lily caused the tragedy in an encounter with her abusive father, T. Ray. . The only she Lily has to the mystery are a strange picture of a Black Madonna, with the words “Tiburon, South Carolina“ scrawled on the back and the love of Rosaleen, the African-American “stand-in mother“ hired to care for her.
This being the South in 1964, an incident where Rosaleen insults three of the town‘s fiercest racists as she tries to register to vote sends the two on the lam. Their point of destination and destiny is Tiburon, where they believe they can find the answers that have evaded them. In Tiburon, they encounter a trio of black beekeeping sisters, August, June and May Boatwright, who take in the fugitives who introduce Lily to the remarkable world of bees, honey, and the Black Madonna who rules their household. Tiburon, you see, is the headquarters of Black Madonna Honey, and as she works for the Boatwrights, Lily discovers answers and, for the first time in her life, acceptance and peace as she learns to “find the mother in herself“ and that “the “the hardest thing on earth is choosing what matters.“
There is much, much more to this fine story that will keep the reader turning the pages, and occasionally stopping to reread some of the passages. It’s also one of those rare books that deserves a second read, simply because there is so much here, and it is so beautifully executed in every regard. If this is an indication of where Kidd’s fictional work may be headed, it’s a potent one, and readers might question whether she’ll be able to top an effort like this that is so exceptionally fine and potentially stands to become a classic. Something says that she will, though, and this reviewer, among many others, will be eagerly looking forward to whatever comes next.

 
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