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The Snowman's Children
There is a nameless space that lies somewhere on humankind's emotional
landscape between the delicious thrill of scary games and deep
unmitigated horror. Within it dwells our fascination with the unknown
and the unknowable, our curiosity about the monster and the monstrous,
our belief in the shadows some call "evil," and our last certainties
we can overcome it. It is a place of suspended breath, heightened
vision and utter blindness, where the only sound is the relentless
pounding of our racing hearts. It's a difficult feeling for a writer to convey, but Glen Hirshberg
not only delivers it, he makes it the impelling force of his
remarkable debut novel The Snowman's Children. The result is a work of
disquieting beauty and indelible dread.
It's 1994 and Mattie Rhodes has returned to suburban Detroit on his
28th birthday to unravel the traumatic mystery of his childhood.
Nothing about his current life is quite right. He dwells in the sort
of profound discontent that allows one to live but never to completely
have a life. His trip is an effort to sort out and set straight
everything that was shattered when he was eleven.
Detroit remains "[d]ark and snowy and industrial and ruined." It is a
place of failure and neglect, deserted by the vital forces that give a
city life. With trepidation, Mattie begins his quest to find childhood
friends Spencer Franklin and Theresa Daughrety. All three were
"gifted" and all three were geeky freaks: Theresa, haunted by her
mother's death and devoured by her father's devotion to assuring her
genius; Franklin, singularly black in the suburbs and from "real
Detroit"; and weird, creative Mattie.
The story, narrated by Mattie, moves back and forth between Mattie's
1994 quest for himself and his childhood. The magical summer of 1976
was followed by the fall when Mattie and Theresa met Spencer. Then
came the snowy, terrifying winter when an unusual serial killer, the
Snowman, preyed on the children of the "safe" suburb.
During the present-day winter Mattie begins to make contact with his
childhood friends. First he meets with the relatively "normal"
cheerful, athletic, accident-prone Jon Goblin. Then he discovers
Spencer, an ex-junkie who has found God and now does his best to
protect the innocent and save the troubled. But enigmatic Theresa, who
Mattie and Spencer tried desperately to save from oblivion that long
ago winter, has seemingly disappeared. We begin to realize Theresa is
more than just a missing puzzle piece. She's the puzzle itself.
Without her, Mattie may not be able to sort out the winter when they
became the Snowman's children. Without taxonomy of his past, Mattie
may never have a future.
Part of growing up is discovering that the adults who are supposed to
protect you from the monsters or at least rescue you from their
clutches, are not superheroes. Their meager defenses -- reminders to
run away if approached by a stranger, signs in "safe house" windows,
the police -- are never enough to protect you from even the
identifiable monsters. Another part of growing up is discovering there
are monsters who aren't so easily named; that there may be monsters --
like madness and loneliness -- that really can not be fought. For
children who are especially blessed or damned, there's also the
realization that monstrosity -- personal and societal -- lives within
us all -- right along with what heroics we do possess.
"Childhood," Hirshberg writes, "becomes myth for every single person
who survives it." The Snowman's Children explores one of those myths
and -- like all lasting myths -- conveys deeper truths.
A haunting, accomplished novel The Snowman's Children is one of the
best of 2002 and Glen Hirshberg is a dazzlingly talented writer.
-- Cemetery Dance #44
Copyright © 2003 Paula Guran. All Rights Reserved. |
