Scott Gould can be forgiven for plot structures that are a little too on the nose and convenient. The events that unfold in his book, Peace Like A River, are neatly stacked, making the story feel a bit contrived. He can also be forgiven for being a trifle too liberal with endowing each and every character with some quirk. The formula chaffs; indeed, it compromises Gould’s ultimate thesis, which, in the end, very much manages to transcend stylistic choices and blossom into a poignant and, in this day and age of father-knows-nothing, timely rallying cry for the uncompromising importance of being a dad and what that means in terms of navigating death, aging, guilt, and loss while at the same time summoning up the guts to be hopeful despite it all.
Elwin confesses that he hooked up with a woman who was too young for him. This admission sets the tone for a story in which time factors heavily into relationships. For the middle-aged protagonist, this creeps up in clever ways. Thom, the mildly autistic son who was the result of said one-night stand, is described as talking like a person much older than the mere thirteen years he has accumulated on this earth. Another thirteen-year-old, Lonnie Tisdale, was a boyhood friend of Elwin, and he made a decision that seemed to shape how Elwin views the world – indeed, how he came to understand his relationship with the Old Man, his father, who had once taken him to the Black River to bathe in its mysterious waters as a way to begin to heal. There is even something to be said about the motel room he rents – number 113 – that underscores how the hourglass is an unspoken character in Gould’s just over two-hundred page novel. Elwin is not the only character who experiences romance in the book. Thom, too, finds love or, likely, infatuation with the bookish daughter of the motel’s proprietor. The parallel Gould draws between his coming-of-age through the untimely death of his friend and Thom’s coming-of-age through his first tender experience with feminine charms is appropriate given the larger trajectory of his story: a man coming from despair and aimlessness to clarity and stability. It all ultimately comes down to a small piece of property and the river that glides by it. The Black River, a place where some deaths were cheated and others not, remains central to the literary tapestry Gould weaves for this very reason. Like life, the current can go any way. It can be capricious and dangerous, refreshing and, yes, fun, but, in the end, it is, in this story, the single backdrop for Elwin’s own life journey. A chapter concludes with the death of the Old Man. A chapter begins with a reordered relationship with his son. He never had any choice but to stay. Perhaps this is the real peace on offer from the river. Peace Like A River may be too scripted in parts. The arrival and fast-friendship of Willie Nelson, the cat, to Thom would give cat owners their doubts. Gould’s vision, however, manages to break free of this and other creative choices to become a story worth reading – a tale about fathers and sons and the life that occurs between and among them. That he accomplishes this feat at all is a testament to his ability to see what really matters. It is on this final point, though, that I would like to editorialize. The literary canon is not without its stories about father/son relationships. To be sure, it is arguably upon this sort of story that Western culture was built. It is in our society’s DNA, which, therefore, begs the question why father/son stories do not enjoy more visibility. The boys need help, and I contend that books like Gould’s are in a position to do just that: create mental space to ask questions about what it means to be authentically male. Not toxic. Not some silly caricature. But real. In line with God’s blueprint.
