Contemporary America resembles a child whose divorced parents can’t agree on custody. Depending on your point of view, godless liberals, heartless conservatives, or dangerous radicals are to blame for our nation’s never-ending partisan squabbles. Rarely, if ever, do we examine the roots of our cultural disagreements with an objective eye.
Ecco / HarperCollins ($27.99).
Ready to call timeout? If so, Kathleen Alcott’s latest novel, “America Was Hard to Find,” delivers a literary remedy. Like the moon reflecting sunlight, Ms. Alcott’s tale of the late 20th-century and its discontents mirrors and contextualizes our current times.
The key players are heiress-turned-leftist Fay Fern and celebrated astronaut Vincent Kahn, who first meet long before either of them became a household name. Fay rejects her family’s wealth and privilege, choosing a simple desert life instead. Vincent’s dream is to travel to the stars, but first he must prove he’s got the right stuff.
Their paths cross at the watering hole where Fay tends bar, and the brief affair that follows kindles more than just a child. Though they never meet again, Vincent and Fay will haunt each other for the rest of their lives.
Their choices also influence their son, Wright, who grows up in the shadow of his parents’ reputations. A childhood on the road — and, often, on the run with Fay — leaves him confused and searching until he finds kindred spirits and community in 1980s San Francisco. However, Wright must also navigate the panic caused by the discovery of AIDS, and the government’s refusal to acknowledge its medical impact.
Alcott’s characters capture, in miniature, our nation’s struggle to reconcile generational values and historical events. The ugly truths of the Vietnam War clash with the hopeful optimism of the Apollo space program, leaving Fay, Vincent and Wright disillusioned and confused in their wake. The book’s title itself pays homage to Daniel Berrigan’s anti-war writings, and Alcott centers protest — silent and otherwise — as a form of resistance.
The narrative easily switches between character perspectives with detached compassion; though it’s clear where Alcott’s sympathies lie, she refuses to indulge in either/or thinking. Instead she explores actions, moods and motives with a nonpartisan eye, inviting readers into the depths of the characters’ psychological makeup.
Vincent’s struggles for example, are subtle, but very real. A man of deep feeling with a rich interior life, Vincent is hamstrung by the social manhood codes of his era and his public position as an American hero. Although he cares deeply for many things — women, nature, the moon — he can’t verbalize his softer side. As a result he makes his feelings known through subtle actions that others misunderstand.
Readers who value elegant style will savor Alcott’s musical sentences and dreamlike pacing, while those who demand historical accuracy will appreciate the endnotes: well worth a peek; they demonstrate a serious commitment to research and a cogent argument for Alcott’s writing choices.
The results, however, speak for themselves: readers will repeatedly lose themselves in the past only to be shocked back to the present by issues that still trouble America today. The connections are subtle, but the impact is striking, especially if you lived through any of the eras in question.
One thoughtful novel can’t unpack all of America’s generational damage, but Alcott’s story is a good step in the right direction. If America is hard to find, maybe it’s because we’re not really looking. Thanks to Alcott, readers who enjoy literary fiction have a golden opportunity to not just look, but also to really see. Highly recommended, with liberty and justice for all.
Leigh Anne Focareta is a freelance writer and friendly neighborhood librarian.
First Published: June 23, 2019, 2:00 p.m.