Littlejohn – A short novel 5.27.24

It has been a quarter of a century since I first read Littlejohn. It had been recommended to me by a friend, either Brandon Harrell or Vince Newton.  I forget because the three of us read it at the same time.  And a great discussion followed. But that was nothing new.  We always had interesting discussions when we got together.  I miss those conversations.  We stopped getting together once our kids grew up.

So, I thought of them when I saw Littlejohn next to my bed. I usually have a stack of books that I want to read on my bedstand.  And somehow, after all of these years, that lovely little novel by Howard Owen, a UNC-Chapel Hill grad and former sports editor for the Richmond Times Dispatch, found its way back into that stack.  I would look at it, think about reading it again and pick up another book – one that I had not read.

One evening, feeling kind of melancholy and wanting something “warm and generous” to read, like a visit from an old friend, I decided to read a few chapters. I just wanted to take a quick dip, not really stay in the water.  I stayed in the water.

I love this book.  I love its setting, its prose, but most of all, its characters. The three main characters are Littlejohn, a dirt farmer in his early 80’s in eastern North Carolina, his daughter, an English Professor in Virginia, and her teenage son. The book moves from the inner voice of one character to another throughout the novel. And those three perspectives, like an intimate dance, create a rich and engaging story. Each character, so different, yet tied so inextricably together, creates anticipation because we want to know the perspective of the other characters when things happen.  And boy, things do happen.

I remember hearing a talk by the former editor of the Richmond Times Dispatch during which he said that any really good novel speaks to you differently depending on where you are in your own life.  His example was War and Peace, which he had read six times, each occasion separated by roughly seven years.  When I read Littlejohn twenty-five years ago, I was a young father.  Now I am a grandfather. As a result, I relate to the characters very differently, maybe even more powerfully now.  This book reminds that there are heroes walking among us every day.  We only have to pay attention to see them.

Although a small part of the novel is set in Europe, the book’s central setting is rural eastern North Carolina. And it reminds me of my own childhood, growing up in a small community in rural Virginia.  Like one of the characters in the novel, I could not wait to escape. But as we learn in the novel, small communities take care of each other. 

In the novel there is a terrible car accident. Unfortunately, one of the young men in the car, hoping for a college basketball scholarship, will never play basketball again.  And though marijuana was involved, the local authorities do not pursue charges.  These young people, known in the community, have suffered enough.

During my freshman year in college, while home during Christmas Break, I had a single car accident which totally destroyed my car.  It seems that cars going 45 miles an hour will not go through telephone poles. I was not wearing a safety belt. Luckily, I was not thrown through the windshield.  When they found me, the steering wheel was bent downward and the rearview mirror was missing because evidently, my face had removed it as I flew across the front seat into the passenger corner.  They found me bleeding from facial lacerations and intoxicated.  I could easily have been charged with a DUI.  However, it was reduced to reckless driving by the local prosecuting attorney.  They must have decided that I was a good kid from a very poor background who had worked hard to get into college and to stay there.  I had obviously made a mistake.  But they did not want that mistake to haunt me for the rest of my life.  So, small communities take care of their own.

I was careless.  And like two of the characters in the novel, their careless behavior has dire consequences.  Littlejohn tells his grandson “You have been careless Justin. This is a good place and a good time to tell somebody, finally, what carelessness can do. And you seem like the right person to tell.” And one of the novel’s two bombshells gets dropped.

One critic called Littlejohn a poetic novel. Its prose alone is deserving of this description. Because of dyslexia Littlejohn, the main character, drops out of school and is illiterate.  However, once married, his wife teaches him to read.  I love the following scene in which two visitors from California, who have not been to the community in years, pay Littlejohn a visit.

I never have been much of a talker, and when Miss Effie and her daughter got to arguing about how far it was from where they lived to the Pacific Ocean, I picked up the paper without thinking, pulled out the sports section and turned to page three to see how the Minnesota Twins had done last night. I had read the three or four paragraphs the Post saw fit to grace me with when I looked up to see Miss Effie staring at me, and her daughter staring at her.

“Why, Littlejohn McCain,” Miss Effie said.  “You can read!”

My wife says that the novel is sad.  Yes, sad things happen.  But guess what, sad things happen to all of us.  The characters in the novel are not perfect, and they are not meant to be.  They are us.  They can be quirky, selfish, and sometimes, very careless.  However, they are doing the best they can the way they know how.  And they do admit, mostly to themselves, that others in their lives, are sometimes right.  And they also come to the realization that those same people possess a level of dignity, wisdom, honor and grace that they truly admire.  

Like visiting with an old friend, I will read Littlejohn again one day.  And when I do, I will think of Brandon and Vince.  And I will think about how all of us are just doing the best we can.