Book Reflection: A Fortunate Life by A.B. Facey

Note: After I read a novel or watch a film, I write a brief reflection on it. I generally do it for myself, but I plan to be posting more of them up on this blog as time goes on. I prefer the word "reflection" vs the word "review" because reflection to me means going over the content of a work and letting the work engender ideas in the mind of the reader. Reflection is an interactive creative process whereas to "review" seems to be more of an academic or commercial activity.

Double Note: There are spoilers.

Title: A Fortunate Life

Author: A.B. Facey

“A Fortunate Life” was a book I picked up from a bookshelf in the hotel I was working at in Australia. I did it purely on recommendation from my coworker/friend. As we were casually walking out of the office, he pointed at this title and said to me, "This is a great book." I borrowed it from the hotel for a month and got really close to finishing it before I left my job and went to travel. I was literally reading this book instead of packing my bags my last night in town, but I still had a few chapters to go. Luckily I was able to find a copy of "A Fortunate Life" (with pictures!) at a public library here in the states and finished the rest of the book today.

And I'm glad I read it.

"A Fortunate Life" is an autobiography written by A.B. Facey in 1979 at the age of 85. Most of the book takes place before the age of 20 in the Western Australian outback. Facey's father died when he was two and his mother left him and his siblings to their Grandma. Therefore Facey had to go out and work on various farms as early as he could, at the age of 8, to lessen the financial burden on his family.

Mr. Facey did not have a proper education, but taught himself how to read and write as an adult. He writes in prose and writes things as he sees them. Some of his observations are profound. Working on the farms in the outback, Facey had no younger companions, and would spend hours watching the birds and the animals to keep him company. At that time he was just a young boy, but by then he had already faced hardships and cruel people (some of his employers would beat and whip him).

He saw that the animals also lived in the face of fear and danger, always listening, looking, smelling for danger. From the smallest bird to the human, they each have to face the business of survival and find their own way.

Another observation Mr. Facey makes, much later in life at the age of 52, is that having been in WWI and now seeing the men coming back from WWII with a profound sadness in their eyes, he finds it hard to believe in God. He writes, “I feel that the Bible is a book that was written by man, not for the good of man but for the purpose of preying on a person's conscience, and to confuse him. Anyone who has taken part in a fierce bayonet charge (and I have), and who has managed to retain his proper senses, must doubt the truth of the Bible and the powers of God, if one exists. [...] No sir, there is no God, it is only a myth.”

[spoiler alert]

However, a couple chapters back, he writes about how in WWI he was given a comfort package (packages of day-to-day items given at random to soldiers) of socks from an unknown Ms. Evelyn Gibson from Bunbury. After nearly being killed a number of times, he was finally able to make it home to Western Australia. In Perth, while walking with a fellow soldier north on Barrack St., he bumps into two girls that strike up a conversation with him and his mate. One of the girls ask him about the war and if he and his friend knew anyone from their town, Bunbury. Facey asks the girl, the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, for her name. She says, Evelyn Gibson.

Here, he writes the word "Providence".

Life is insane. Against all odds, Facey survives the war and of all the streets in Perth, he walks down this one (in a northerly direction), and of all the girls he bumps into, he bumps into the one that sent him a pair of socks while he was in the trenches. He bumps into the future love of his life and his lifelong partner for nearly 60 years.

So, is he contradicting himself?

I don't think he cares. These questions of the existence of God and Fate, are not important to CERTAIN people. A.B. Facey is one of those people. When faced with ill fortune, he does not curse the gods, but tries to think of ways to overcome the obstacles. When faced with good fortune, he is grateful but does not waste time thanking the gods. He instead takes action to make the good fortune even better (e.g. asking Evelyn out for a date).

He’s a man of action and it is only towards the end of his life has he found the time to be a man of words. He writes with no need for exaggeration, his life experience is so abundant already. This can at times make the reading a little dry (especially when he describes the intricacies of farming), but when he does make a deep insight (about man, about God) it resonates with real life experience instead of philosophical musing.

Desert Night

Driving through the dark, I suddenly remember that night we drove through the desert.

You told me your dreams and I told you mine and in that empty space grew a field of ten thousand colors.

Now I’m driving alone through this small city and I wish you were in the passenger seat.

Maybe that way we could paint this city.

Autumn Flame (short story)

by James Y. Shih

For 永神

It was after school.

The boy was sitting under the slide, making designs in the tanbark.

He didn’t want to go home. Here, he was the master of the realm, a realm of magic and beauty. Everywhere else seemed out of control.

When he got out from under the slide, the sun was on its way down. He thought for sure he had only been there a few minutes, but the creeping darkness and chill told him otherwise.

He opened his backpack and put on his jacket, luckily his mom reminded him to bring one every day.

By now all his teachers and classmates had gone home. Standing alone on the blacktop, the school looked eerie in the dusk and he felt this uncontrollable urge to leave. Something was off.

He had white shoes on, so instead of going through the running field, he decided to take a nearby street route home. It was a beautiful street, with thirteen great big trees lining each side of it all the way down. By now, Autumn was in full force and gold leaves decorated the sidewalk. The lamps had turned on and it felt as if the whole world had a tinge of orange.

The boy looked ahead and down the street at the very end he could just make out the house of his good friend. He wondered: What would it be like when he got to the end of the street? From where he was standing, was there any way to know what the world would be like over there? Would it be any different?

He continued walking, enjoying the sound of crunching leaves under his feet. He kept his eyes on the concrete, making sure to crunch any brown leaves for that extra crunch sound. After a short while he looked up.

The houses had disappeared. He was standing on the sidewalk on an empty street with just the street lamps and trees still there. He tried to look past the trees to his left, but all he could see was darkness. To his right, he could still see in the distance the shadow of his empty school, with just night in between.

A slight breeze chilled him and he rubbed his hands and put them on his cheeks. The trees rustled and the shadows seemed to whisper in the orange light.

He wanted to go home.

He looked down the street. His friend’s house had disappeared but even further in the distance he saw a faint light. He knew in his heart that was home.

He began to walk with determination, the thought of warmth and comfort channeled strength to his legs. Then he heard something

Crack.

Something was behind him. He knew that if he turned to look that he would be lost in this dark world forever.

He began to run. His backpack fell off, but he didn’t care. The light ahead was growing brighter.

When he got to the end of the street, the trees, the lights, the sidewalk, and the pavement just faded into darkness. Near the center of this darkness was a man sitting at a wooden desk.

The light was coming from a giant oil lamp sitting on the desk. The desk and the man were turned profile to the boy. The man was writing something in a big velvet book. Leaning against the side of the desk facing the boy was a dark mahogany guitar. Stuck in the desktop next to the lamp was a silver butcher knife.

The boy did not feel any fear. He knew this man.

The man looked up from his book and looked at the boy. The man smiled.

“I was just writing about you.”

The boy smiled back. The man took the lamp from the desk and placed it in the center of the darkness.

The lamp turned into the size of a house and its gold flame seemed to light the entire world.

The boy looked at the flame, its warmth burning away all the sadness and loneliness he ever felt.

The boy was not afraid to die.

The boy stepped into the flame.

“Welcome home” the man said.

The flame flooded out of the lamp and engulfed the man. It flooded through the Autumn-colored street and then enveloped the empty school before returning back to the center leaving nothing but darkness behind.

The Pack: Wolf & Charlie Artwork

click image to enlarge

The Pack

"Wolf & Charlie" artwork by a p o

story by James Y. Shih

Introduction: I wrote this story in June of 2009. It originally belongs to my "Royal Mutt and Panda Bear" series. Over a year has passed, but as promised, I was finally able to commission a drawing for the story (i.e. repeatedly nagged an artist to draw something for me for free). a p o was able to get what I was going for almost immediately on top of that she added her own style that you can see clearly in the "Wolf & Charlie" drawing above. If you guys don't quite remember "The Pack", I've reposted the story below, minus the Royal Mutt and Panda Bear Intro/Outro bits. Let me know your guys thoughts on the drawing and/or story.

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The Pack

There was a pack of dogs that grew up together in a small town. The pack was a nontraditional pack in the sense that no one was in charge. The pack would just roam the streets, picking up what scraps that they could and pass the time hanging out, chasing cats, and playing ball. They lived in an abandoned concrete lot with a rusted metal roof that protected them from the rain. They called it home.

They knew their place in this world. They knew that they loved this town and that although there might be greater things out there in the world, they were at least safe here. However, out of this unspectacular group of dogs, there were two that stood out: Wolf and Charlie.

Wolf was a strong, smart wolf-dog with a large white mane with a silver diamond tuff of hair in the center. Charlie was a tall and fierce black lab with an easy temper.

Frequently frustrated with the lack of direction with the pack, Wolf took the role of leader planning excursions out for food and trips around town.

Charlie resented Wolf, he loved the freedom of having no alpha dog, and would constantly butt heads with Wolf and try to undermine Wolf. The rest of the pack would always just watch amused, content to sit by the sidelines and not take any sides.

At one point, Wolf and Charlie had a confrontation that almost led to a dog fight. Wolf had decided that on that particular afternoon, the pack, excluding Charlie, was going to make a trip to the other side of town to get food since the trash collector had already collected all the trash in their neighborhood this morning.

Due to a recent possum attack, Charlie, the fiercest of the group, was dictated the role of guard dog until they came back. Charlie, not wanting to take orders from this self appointed leader, barked back, 'Wolf, I don't have to listen to you. I know that when you find a stuffed bin you will keep all the best scraps for yourself, leaving me with measly leftovers.'

Though this comment was probably more true for Lazy and Carl, Charlie singled out Wolf. Wolf tried to explain why Charlie was the best fit for being the guard dog, that the only other pack member as strong as Charlie was probably himself.

'Then why don't you be guard dog?,' Charlie barked back at Wolf. Wolf looked into Charlie's eyes. There was a long silence and the tension began to grow unbearable. Finally Wolf said very stoically to Charlie, 'Fine.'

Charlie turned to the pack that sat watching and as they made their way out to the street, Wolf, sitting in the center of the lot all by himself, said to Charlie and the pack, 'Goodbye.'

The pack made their way across town slowly. Charlie assumed that someone else in the pack knew the way, but everyone else thought that Charlie knew. Charlie not wanting to look bad in this new found position and definitely not wanting to turn to Wolf for help, used his sense of direction and got the pack lost many times much to the growing frustration and hunger of the pack.

When Charlie and the pack eventually got back from the other side of town, they found their home overrun with possums. Charlie's killer instinct switched on and began lunging at the possums and attacking with his jaws. He took some scratches to the face, but bit back twice as hard as the rest of the pack stood back and barked.

When everything settled down, and the possums had run away, Charlie realized that Wolf was gone and had been gone for a while. Charlie took it upon himself to search the lot for more possums as the rest of the pack chose to sleep rather than to help.

The next morning, Lazy was found dead behind the concrete lot, clawed to death by some possums that had made a nest in a corner that Charlie had overlooked. The possums were already long gone. The whole pack was in outrage and blamed Charlie for the death and for Wolf's departure. They all gathered around Charlie (yet still keeping a good distance) and unanimously agreed that Charlie was out of the pack and the only way he could return was if he returned with Wolf.

Disillusioned and with no place to go, Charlie set out to find Wolf. He made his rounds around town to the regular food stops, asking strays and other packs if they had seen or gotten a whiff of Wolf. Silver Stray, an old silver lab, had picked up a scent while passing the exit from town to the City.

Charlie following the scent traveled to the City, a metropolis that was a good day's jog away from town. Arriving there, he found himself in culture shock. The tall skyscrapers' loomed overhead as if to crash at any moment. The stunning skyline was a stark contrast to the darkness below, where he saw a dog kill another dog over a canister of pills.

He was by far one of the fiercest dogs in his town, but he found himself quivering as mangy dogs that smelled of shit and urine barked and snapped at him as he made his way out of the alleys of the City.

He eventually got to a park that was in a much nicer district, but by then it was dark and Charlie, feeling safer, made his home under a bench. Early next morning he began to ask the locals if they had seen Wolf. The dogs there however did not even give him the time of day, and passed him by or pretended to not hear him.

As he made his way to the edge of the park, he got a second whiff of Wolf and followed it to a beautiful oak tree that stood out like a sore paw.

Wolf sat under the tree looking out into the city streets. 'Wolf!' Charlie yelled out.

Wolf turned and looked surprised. 'Charlie?'

They met each other under the shade of the oak and nearly touched noses until they remembered the animosity they were supposed to feel towards each other.

'Lazy's dead. We need you back.'

Surprised, Wolf said, 'What?'

"'Lazy, he got killed by possums, it's all your fault. You were supposed to watch the home. You weren't there, you let down the pack, you got one of our own killed you son of a bitch,' Charlie barked.

Wolf sat, looking at Charlie.

'Did you come all the way here to blame me?', Wolf said.

'Yes and also to bring you back. You're going to have to face the entire pack for what you did.'

'What I did? All I did was give you what you wanted, freedom from my orders,' Wolf replied.

'But you were supposed to watch the home, that was your job! You had a responsibility and you threw it away!' There were tears in Charlie's eyes.

'I gave you that job first remember? My job was to get our pack food because I knew the way, but you were too stubborn to even recognize that fact and undoubtedly got our pack lost and hungry. It wasn't easy for me to leave, that was my home too. But I could see that living there and being the alpha, I was only going to get resentment from those dogs, you showed me that.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' replied Charlie.

'I tried my best, I really did,' it was Wolf's turn to have tears in his eyes. 'The pack, I mean I love them, I was willing to give them everything. They have so much potential, all those dogs, but I realized that they are not me. They're content chasing cars, stealing meat from the butcher, chasing tail. I'm not saying that's wrong, that's their choice. But life is an incredible mystery. I felt that in that small town and in that small pack I only got the tip of the garbage heap. I was planning on leaving anyways, and when you left with the pack, I saw my opportunity.'

'What the hell does this have to do with anything?' Charlie snapped back, 'You were supposed to do something and failed. You see these scratches on my face? Do you know how mutilated Lazy's body was when I found him?'

Wolf's face quickly changed from a face of sensitivity to that of anger, an anger born from exhaustion.

'I'm tired.'

'Huh?'

'I'm tired of taking all the blame. I'm tired of being responsible for things other grown dogs should have easily handled by themselves. Did you really come all this way to put the blame on me? Fine. You win. I'll take the blame, I'll wear the weight of Lazy's death on my back. But remember this, this is the last time. From now on you're responsible for your own life. You didn't come all the way here just to make yourself feel better. Even though you hated me the most out of the pack, know this, I always had the most respect for you.'

Stunned, always thinking that Wolf detested him, Charlie sat listening.

'You know why? Because at least you had an opinion, at least you were willing to confront me. And although your intentions might not have been a 100% right, at least you took action. You came here because you knew you were different. You have a different path from the pack, as do I. I won't be able to carry you on the path because I'm trying to discover what that is for myself. I'm going to leave now and I don't want you to follow me. If you do, I will kill you. But if we do meet again, let it be further down the road when we are better dogs and can be better friends.'

Charlie watched like a statue frozen by Wolf's words as Wolf sat up from under the tree and disappeared into the city streets. After some time, Charlie took Wolf's place under the tree and sat quietly.

He could hear the wind, the hum of humans and machines, and other dogs barking in the distance. The slight breeze brought with it a small hurricane of leaves and smells. The smells and sounds of the city enveloped Charlie as he watched the skyscrapers crash around him into shards of glass.

The End.