Ron Cooper's All My Sins Remembered, reviewed by Su Zi

 

   In traditional folklore, humor and regionalism are intrinsic aspects that carry the narrative, sometimes superseding it, and sometimes allowing for parable to emerge. And although regionalism as a genre can be considered a spatial concern, or a standard shelf in bookshops, it does draw a binary line between those familiar with a particular place and those who are not. The tourist reader might be carried along by the narrative’s current; the native reader will recognize landmarks. While regionalist writing may find currency among tourist readers, as if it were a literary cuisine, some true measure of the work will be gauged by native readers keenly aware of authenticity. Thus, the tale is told of time and place and those who live there.

    In Ron Cooper’s novel All My Sins Remembered (Goliad), the reader experiences life as a law enforcement officer in Ocala, Florida, a community currently described as undergoing rapid population growth.  Indeed, the novel opens with specific, native sites,” Through the gap between the lines of trees along the far side of the Silver River[…]a slender bird, probably an egret, passed”(1), and the action throughout stays mostly within that local proximity. Cooper’s land of legend is the Ocala Forest, an annual visit spot for Rainbow People, whom Cooper , in no disguise, calls  “Starlight”, and who play an influential part of the narrative.  While Cooper’s depictions of these annual visitors is both accurate-- the groups preference for “funny hats”-- as well as exaggerated for humor “His lower lip was pierced with what appeared to be a dog whistle”(4), his depiction of the fictionalized but actual residents of the forest follows the same structure of accuracy and hyperbole, with the exception of a far more harsh humor. A scene of a local gathering includes “an old hog trough […] now used as a footrest[…]and as a spittoon by Edna Yancey”(100). While the tourist reader might notice a woman who chews tobacco, the native reader recognizes the name of a local family. That the implication of lowest social caste is attached to this family name might not be humorous to some native readers; Cooper is consistent here, all the residents of the Ocala Forest are painted as being of the lowest social caste—a local myth from town people that is resented by forest residents.

   Cooper might revere Florida’s Beat writer, Harry Crews, but his strength is the didacticism that threads through both this and his other works. In the scene at the weekly bluegrass and potluck barbeque, Cooper educates the tourists with “Blevins announced that he would do a song everyone knew. He sang ’Hold Back the Waters’ by Florida’s folk song hero Will McLean, and everyone around Moreno joined in on the chorus about the threat of a flood” (103), while also creating an intimate nod, perhaps, to his bluegrass duet and Florida blues scholar partner. Not all of Cooper’s references are obscure. A scene involving a family argument about religion contains this comparative analysis: “The Bible prophets knew all about suffering. Vanity is the bastard child of the ego. The bigger the ego, the more dukkha, the more suffering”(68) which is countered with “so then he wandered around the rest of his life eating other people’s, poor people’s food. Never turned a lick in his rich boy life” (69). The novel never bogs in such gems, and is cleverly structured to visit various persons, including a point of view change, that don’t overwhelm the reader with the work’s basic premise of the murder mystery plot, or the unlikely hero’s journey to redemption.

  Cooper is a clever writer: because of the adept complexities here, the novel’s marketability is Florida-based, mystery based, comedy based. Perhaps it is this last aspect that might leave a bit of aftertaste, as Cooper’s Ocala Forest is a town tourist’s view, but few would remark the lack of empathy; in fact, Cooper’s suicidal, family failure deputy is hardly likeable. The novel’s setting of a relatively unknown region rapidly loosing its local history does position the work as succeeding in a core value of folklore—illumination of a threatened culture, even if the story paints that culture with a severe eye.

Su Zi is a writer, poet and essayist who produces a handmade chapbook series called Red Mare. She has been a contributor to GAS from back when it was called Gypsy Art Show, more than a decade ago.

                     

Check out her author page on Amazon.