If You Lived Here, I'd Know Your Name

I've noticed that many books these days have a list on the back cover or flap of other authors that have similar styles. It's interesting to see who is compared to who, and to figure out whether I agree with the publisher's comparison. If You Lived Here, I'd Know Your Name, by Heather Lende is a book that I heard about on my Alaska trip- it was highly recommended by a bookseller in Ketchikan, and since I had already spent my book allowance for that day, I noted the title and found it at our public library here at home. Heather Lende is a journalist living in Haines, Alaska with her family. She writes a column about notable events that happen in Haines (a very small town) as well as all of the obituaries for the local paper. The publisher compares Lende's writing to that of Bailey White and Garrison Keillor. I've decided that I enjoyed this book, but I have a better comparison than either of those suggested.

Lende writes about some of the quirky characters that live in Haines- colorful, to be true. While her style is fun, the stories are very interesting, and the culture of the area is entwined in her essays (similar to the stories of southern living by Bailey White), Lende is much more reflective than White. Her experiences, not only meeting with families of the deceased to learn about them for the obituaries but of living in a harsh, unforgiving environment, leads to introspection about life and death that I found most insightful.

Lende has a rather rambling writing style- she starts with one story and then lets that lead her to tangents about her family, friends, and the town in general (similar to the stories of Garrison Keillor). At first I found this distracting, but once I got into the hang of it, I found that it was quite fun. The difference between the two is that (in my opinion) Keillor's writing is much better read aloud- somehow his Lake Wobegon stories are not all that funny when read silently. In contrast to that, I enjoyed reading Lende's essays to myself, and while they are not laugh-out-loud funny, I found myself smiling a lot as I read them, as well as tearing up every now and then.

So... my author comparison suggestion for Heather Lende (drum roll, please)... is Anne Lamott. Lende has a gentle humor and the reflection/spirituality factor that I thought was similar to that found in "Operating Instructions" and "Traveling Mercies", both by Lamott. Anyway, probably way more information than anyone wanted to know, but I found myself thinking about this all the way through the book. "It's not quite Bailey White or Garrison Keillor and it's similar to some other things I've read... I just can't quite put my finger on it..."

Two thumbs up for this- again, I enjoyed it very much. I've thought a lot about some of her comments about life and death. And I learned a lot about living in the wilds- with any number of animals roaming around your home and the elements seeming very close. To whet your appetite for it, here's an excerpt. (I like this passage because I feel the same way every time I successfully can anything.)

Linnus and I smoke this batch of salmon for a day and a half before preserving it. We don't get the sterilized jars in the canners until after ten. We're tired and smell like wood smoke and fish. Everyone else has gone to bed. Instead of talking, we sit on the couch in companionable silence, drinking cold beer and half-watching a video- Good Will Hunting- that makes us both laugh and cry, while checking on the three pressure cookers hissing gently on the stove.

It was after one by the time we had the jars cooling on dish towels on the counter. The midsummer sky was already starting to lighten again when Linnus left to get some sleep. I stood and stared at those perfect pints, all shiny glass, brass-colored tops, and deep-orange fish, amazed and thrilled that I could make anything this good. I tapped the lids to know they were sealed properly and felt like a pioneer, a good mother and provident wife. Every single time I smoke salmon I feel the same way- as if it's some kind of miracle.

When Linnus, who was born to all this, not a convert like me, notices my fish-filled jars lined up proudly on an open shelf rather than tucked inside a dark cupboard, she shakes her head. This is all as easy for her as walking. For me, it is like learning to speak a foreign language.