Once I heard that La Conner’s loveable, best-selling novelist, Tom Robbins, had died on Sunday at age 92, I felt a pang of melancholy and in addition a little bit of shock. How may the literary world’s best imp – somebody so perpetually younger at coronary heart – have been 92 years outdated?
I had the nice fortune to share a public stage with Robbins a few occasions, in addition to a drink and a dialog on at the very least one memorable event. Like many child boomers, I got here of age studying Robbins’ novels; first, “One other Roadside Attraction,” adopted up with “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues,” after which his different entertaining works. His books are playful, humorous and stocked with fabulously wild metaphors and surprising allusions, however in addition they include enlightened riffs on faith, philosophy, metaphysics, various existence and the quirks of humanity all of us share.
Critics who favor literature that’s obtuse and rigidly severe weren’t followers of Robbins’ books, however hundreds of thousands of readers have been. Robbins resisted those that mentioned he wanted to decide on between getting extra solemn or changing into purely comedic, rightly mentioning that life itself is full of each laughter and tears, foolish absurdities and merciless realities.
Robbins grew up within the South, however, as a younger man, he ran so far as he may from the racism and narrow-mindedness of his residence area, ending up in Seattle, the place he labored for The Seattle Instances till the Sixties counterculture lured him to various newspapers, political activism, rock festivals and psychedelic epiphanies. He spent one thing like a half century dwelling in Skagit County, and no author has captured the misty mysticism and rain-soaked eccentricity of this area any higher.
In “One other Roadside Attraction,” Robbins wrote about “lipstick-orange starfish” in Puget Sound; flooded Skagit Valley fields that “may very well be efficiently navigated by midget submarines”; Northwest landscapes which might be akin to “a Sung dynasty portray, maybe earlier than the extreme wisps of mineral pigment have dried upon the silk”; and grey, cloudy skies that flip the shrouded solar into “a bit boiled potato in a stew of soiled dumplings.”
And Robbins celebrated girls and their many powers, creating memorable characters like Sissy Hankshaw, the protagonist in “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues,” who hitches her manner by means of fashionable Western adventures, unembarrassed by her two abnormally giant thumbs. For no matter motive, one Robbins metaphor from that e-book has caught in my reminiscence for many years – his description of the story’s cowgirls, bedded down of their bunkhouse, making small sounds of their sleep that have been “just like the love cries of marshmallows.”
Those that knew Tom Robbins properly appear to have nothing however good issues to say about this sort, romantic, proficient man. I want I had recognized him higher. These of us dwelling alongside the shores of Puget Sound ought to be proud and grateful that he got here to stay and create amongst us.
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