Morgan Talty’s first novel is a subtle exploration of identity, belonging and loss, and the stories we tell ourselves and others to make sense of our lives. Set evocatively in the chilly climes of Maine in the small Native American community of Penobscot, it’s written in spare, tender prose that is often funny, haunting and simply beautiful.
Charles Lamosway is a loner. He lives on the edge of poverty, working odd-jobs in the locality and caring for his chronically depressed mother, Louise. Isolating for years in a cabin beside a river that defines the reservation boundary, on the far bank he can see the house owned by his life’s love, Mary.
Charles’s identity was forged by growing up in the tribe and with his beloved, deceased Penobscot stepfather, Frederick. Yet Charles and his mother Louise are white, and due to strict laws that protect the sovereignty of the tribal nation, Charles has lost the right to live on the reservation itself. We learn his saddest secret early in the book: that he had a daughter with Mary, who married a tribal citizen to ensure that baby Elizabeth could be assured full enrolment in Penobscot Nation. It’s a fiction that threatens to undo Charles, and which only begins to unravel with time.
Time is fluid in Fire Exit. One tiny incident, years gone, when Charles almost connected with toddler Elizabeth, repeats throughout the book. Louise, now teetering into the heartbreak of dementia, time-travels continually. Bobby, a bombastic alcoholic pal who saves Charles from utter loneliness, lives in the future. Like Ratzo Rizzo, he’s heading to Florida soon and taking Charles with him. The story keeps them both going.
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Story, or rather stories, are crucial here. As with other authors in the increasingly rich canon of Native American fiction, Talty’s narrative is far from linear. It’s comprised of half-told, interwoven yarns; like fragmented outlines whispering from a dark oil painting in half light. It gradually reveals how stories hold us together, while at the same time tear us apart. How they help us to belong, how they soothe the pain of past grief and future anxiety.
When Charles, who has never accepted the loss of his daughter, discovers that Elizabeth is unwell, he becomes obsessed with the notion that her real story will save her from the debilitating depression suffered by his mother. But what are the consequences of revealing the truth to someone who might well need to cling to the story?
Fire Exit depicts troubles with a delicate brush, and indelible ink. You may be a long time forgetting this book.
Helena Mulkerns is a freelance critic
