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| From the mailbox on Pemberton |
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| From adjacent field |
From Kerouac's Scroll ...
The
house was on a road called Peddleton Way, which for miles cut between
fields variously planted with string beans, corn, soy beans,
strawberries, and other crops. Every mile or so a home jutted up out
of the landscape to mark where a farm family once lived. Most of the
land was owned by a doctor in town, who rented these old homes and
whose own house was a great three-story brick Colonial-style
structure that looked like it belonged on a southern plantation and
probably had been designed to create just this impression, the
ostentatious home of our landlord, the master. Our rental house was a
mile down the road from his, a more modest wood structure of
two-stories, with four bedrooms, two full bathrooms, a large formal
dining room and an even larger screened rear porch. For just Sally
and I and our cats, the house was as much a mansion as the doctor’s
monstrosity.
The best and fullest version of "where the bubble burst" is in my short film Deconstructing Sally.
From a review by Bob Hicks:
This is very much a visual short story, told by a “hero” (I use quotes because the storyteller speaks ruefully of himself and his own missteps in life) with a distinct point of view and a desire to bring the clarity of understanding to the muddle of emotion. At the film’s beginning Charles quotes T.S. Eliot from Tradition and the Individual Talent:
“Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.”
Does Deemer escape? There’s a flareup or two of possibly still raw emotion here. We learn a lot about the narrator and a little about the mythic Sally and a little more about the difficulties in ever truly knowing another person, let alone ourselves.
Read full review.
Read full review.
