If you’ve read this newsletter or listened to my podcast, you’ll know I grew up in a small town in Iowa, I sometimes write about small towns, and I have a complicated relationship with my hometown—or a fascination might be a better way to put it, an endless fascination.
I love that you quote Elizabeth Strout, who is a master of telling small town stories. Her stories are some of my favorites. After spending my entire life rejecting the small town I grew up in, I, too, find myself endlessly fascinated. In fact, the older I get, the more my writing seems to seep into those crevices.
A place can be like a person in our lives, I think. I'm very sensitive to place, as was my grandmother. Maybe there is something mystical about it. Keep seeping into those crevices ...
Ah grandmother's house. Christmas's, Thanksgivings, summer vacations at her house. Cousins and play abounded. Yet, I learned, as I grew and entered college nearby her house, that grandma, too, had been a wandering soul confined to, and by, proper society. Errant housewife of the early 1920s? Yes. Is an intelligent woman, such as my grandmother, always seeking more than the standard life? Of course. Humans are seldom pleased with success. We are more at home and abroad, more our lively selves when we struggle. Give me a mountain I can climb or lord of the flat plains I abjure you.
I grew up in a place that had a small town vibe, had been a small town but grew (too) rapidly into a combination of rural zones and suburban sprawl for the influx of people who came for work because of a military base. Growing up I always wanted to leave it, and I did, and lo, found myself moving back a couple years ago. And now I keep writing about it. There is something about small towns...I hear you on the complicated relationship!
I once heard Sam Shepherd say that he wrote towards the contradictions in his characters, and maybe those contradictory feelings we have about our small towns are actually the heartbeat of creativity.
I grew up in a town of about 11,000. I always felt like I missed the small town experience shown in movies and tv. I guess this may not really count as a small story, but I love the Ray Bradbury story "Mars Is Heaven!" (Part of The Martian Chronicles). Sure, it takes place on Mars, but it is the men's love for their hometowns that is their undoing.
My hometown was about 11,000 people as well. I don't know the Bradbury story, but I'll check it out—sounds interesting to have their love be their undoing.
"I was part of the place, yet not there. I was actually voted 'Most likely to move furthest away' in high school." (This fits me to a T too, even though I don't think we had a vote like that.) Such a terrific piece of writing, Grant.
Thanks, Elizabeth! I was enough of a rebel to basically not like most of my high school happenings, but I did take great pride in that "Most likely" vote, haha. I'd love to hear your stories about being there, but not in your hometown. It's definitely a condition many writers share.
When I wrote my 3rd novel ELECTRIC CITY, I was in many ways returning to my hometown with a slightly more loving and less jaded perspective. Still, so complicated! Not coincidentally I chose to set the story in a few time frames other than my own --including centuries earlier as well as a decade prior to my birth. Lots more to say about that (as always). I used to tell people that ELECTRIC CITY was a belated love letter to my hometown.
Oh, that's a beautiful story. I've strangely never thought about writing about my town in a different era, but what an interesting exercise. Plus, I love the idea of a novel being a "belated love letter."
From small towns big dreams grow. It is the confinement of small which grows the imagination of what might be if we left our small town to enter the wider world. May heaven thank the small town for the emergence of great personalities burst upon a broader scene. The universe blesses confinement, for it is as you have used the word in talking with Tom Pereotta, as a chrysalis from which emerges the eternal butterfly.
You know, now that I think about it, Stephen King does small towns wonderfully and creepily. TABITHA King (his wife and I think the best writer of the entire clan) writes small-town well, too. Her Nodd's Ridge books are excellent.
Empire Falls by Richard Russo. So happy you mentioned him. As a Maine girl born and raised, this one really impacted me. I saw first-hand what happened to town in the 90s when globalization shut down the shoe and textile factories. Also, I did my student teaching in the town where the diner scenes in the movie were filmed.
When I think of small towns, I think of Larry McMurtry's The Last Picture Show. The movie, not the book. And I was fascinated by To Kill a Mockingbird which taught me so much about the South before I got here. Like how families have names and reputations that follow them for decades.
I always thought I would hate a small town where everyone knew your history and troubles, but somehow also, there was shelter in it. As a teen, I lived in one of those sprawling upwardly mobile suburbs where nobody knew you or much cared what you were doing. The suburb of my life was distasteful, like living in the book Less than Zero. I was in high school during that now forgotten era of the suburban cluster suicides, when kids made pacts and closed themselves in the garage in a running car together.
It's true, there are two sides to people knowing your whole history, and there can be shelter in that. I've never truly lived in the suburbs. There are so many different kinds of suburbs, but I imagine they lack that cohesion or shelter of the past by definition.
My parents moved to a "small town" in Marin County that served as home base for most of my childhood. My Peruvian mother hated it. Because she had accented English and darker skin, in (at that time) an all-white town (where I live with my family) treated her like an outsider. She never made a single friend from the other parents at our local school. She couldn't wait to go to a developing country for my father's job whenever the opportunity came up where life was funner, people warmer and more easy-going, work not as all-consuming. So we ended up living in Manila, Ecuador, and Brazil. And she loved every minute of it--always easily making friends that sometimes lasted for decades.
Oh my, small towns can be at their cruelest in situations like this. Mine was so homogenous and white, and then there were all of the conventions of that era. One brave boy came out when I was in high school. I'm glad your mother found a way out through travel.
Brave indeed! I hope the brave boy was rewarded with a good life for his courage. My mother was resourceful, and realistic. Travel was always an outlet for her, which also included yearly trips to Lima, and holidays all over the world. She went to China, Greece, and India on her own with a travel group. In her 80s she was the oldest when she traveled to China in a group of mostly twenty-somethings.
The ultimate suburban drama to me has always been "Ordinary People." I was pretty obsessed with the movie when it came out and even worked in the actual North Suburban Chicago communities where the film took place a few years later. I found there to be some some strong realism surrounding what was portrayed in the film (and novel.)
How interesting. The film came out when I was in high school, and I've been somewhat obsessed by it as well. I've easily seen it 20 or 30 times. Different than my small-town experience, certainly, but there is the strong sense of "what will people think," especially with Mary Tyler Moore's character, who is a classic.
Our small towns . . . kind of a love - hate thing. How much we want to flee from them and disassociate, to become our own person, yet we bring their memories and lessons learned and photos along with us through the years, never to let go. Our small town is our first experience of where we learn the meaning of belonging, identity and how we fit in. And then it seems we answer proudly when asked where we're from.
Oh Grant, thank you for this. Although my growing up was the 50s and 60s, I left my small town in the late 60s never to return again except to visit.
Boy was I wrong! I returned for a visit in the mid 70s, met the man I love and stayed.
We worried about conforming to small rural thinking but my world travels and exposure to idealism prevented us from falling in that trap.
We set ourselves apart and while people wondered about our lifestyle - organic farmers, and didn’t include us in their activities, it has been a fulfilling life. I believe we have gained respect and credibility but at an arm’s length.
I have often started writing about my love/hate relationship with the place I grew up and never quite gotten the words on paper.
One thing I do know is that my reason for being in this place at this time, if there is an existential reason, is to introduce new ideas and concepts to those that are willing to listen.its been an interesting journey.
Denise, I've always thought your experience was so interesting—and worthy of a memoir for all of the reasons you list here (so I hope that's still in motion).
You know, we moved my mom into a care facility last summer, and we had to sell her home, and the loss of her home has affected me dramatically. Even though it's been decades since I left, Oskaloosa (and Iowa) are in many ways my true place in the world.
I'm so glad people like you are there to introduce new ideas and concepts. That is one thing all small towns need—the drama of a new idea entering them. I see that many wonderful ideas have taken root in Oskaloosa since I grew up there. This newsletter deserves much more, now that I'm writing you about it.
Losing the grounding that your home gave you can be disorienting especially living so far away. We’ve lived in the house Larry grew up in for 45 years. Seems so long a time but also so short. It is hard to measure our contribution to our community but that is not what our life has been about. We are here to take care of and leave in better condition, the land that Mother Earth has gifted us.
I love that you quote Elizabeth Strout, who is a master of telling small town stories. Her stories are some of my favorites. After spending my entire life rejecting the small town I grew up in, I, too, find myself endlessly fascinated. In fact, the older I get, the more my writing seems to seep into those crevices.
A place can be like a person in our lives, I think. I'm very sensitive to place, as was my grandmother. Maybe there is something mystical about it. Keep seeping into those crevices ...
Ah grandmother's house. Christmas's, Thanksgivings, summer vacations at her house. Cousins and play abounded. Yet, I learned, as I grew and entered college nearby her house, that grandma, too, had been a wandering soul confined to, and by, proper society. Errant housewife of the early 1920s? Yes. Is an intelligent woman, such as my grandmother, always seeking more than the standard life? Of course. Humans are seldom pleased with success. We are more at home and abroad, more our lively selves when we struggle. Give me a mountain I can climb or lord of the flat plains I abjure you.
I already want to sit down with your grandmother and hear her stories ... especially the "errant" ones!
And so you shall. That is, her story often unfolds itself in my thoughts. A novel centered on her life is being planned.
Agree! Strout is great. Another Maine author.
I loved the whole little world of Olive Kitteridge that Strout created. And would The Lottery qualify?
"The Lottery" really is one of the ultimate small town stories. So chilling.
I grew up in a place that had a small town vibe, had been a small town but grew (too) rapidly into a combination of rural zones and suburban sprawl for the influx of people who came for work because of a military base. Growing up I always wanted to leave it, and I did, and lo, found myself moving back a couple years ago. And now I keep writing about it. There is something about small towns...I hear you on the complicated relationship!
I once heard Sam Shepherd say that he wrote towards the contradictions in his characters, and maybe those contradictory feelings we have about our small towns are actually the heartbeat of creativity.
I love this take. Thanks for sharing.
I grew up in a town of about 11,000. I always felt like I missed the small town experience shown in movies and tv. I guess this may not really count as a small story, but I love the Ray Bradbury story "Mars Is Heaven!" (Part of The Martian Chronicles). Sure, it takes place on Mars, but it is the men's love for their hometowns that is their undoing.
My hometown was about 11,000 people as well. I don't know the Bradbury story, but I'll check it out—sounds interesting to have their love be their undoing.
"I was part of the place, yet not there. I was actually voted 'Most likely to move furthest away' in high school." (This fits me to a T too, even though I don't think we had a vote like that.) Such a terrific piece of writing, Grant.
Thanks, Elizabeth! I was enough of a rebel to basically not like most of my high school happenings, but I did take great pride in that "Most likely" vote, haha. I'd love to hear your stories about being there, but not in your hometown. It's definitely a condition many writers share.
When I wrote my 3rd novel ELECTRIC CITY, I was in many ways returning to my hometown with a slightly more loving and less jaded perspective. Still, so complicated! Not coincidentally I chose to set the story in a few time frames other than my own --including centuries earlier as well as a decade prior to my birth. Lots more to say about that (as always). I used to tell people that ELECTRIC CITY was a belated love letter to my hometown.
Oh, that's a beautiful story. I've strangely never thought about writing about my town in a different era, but what an interesting exercise. Plus, I love the idea of a novel being a "belated love letter."
From small towns big dreams grow. It is the confinement of small which grows the imagination of what might be if we left our small town to enter the wider world. May heaven thank the small town for the emergence of great personalities burst upon a broader scene. The universe blesses confinement, for it is as you have used the word in talking with Tom Pereotta, as a chrysalis from which emerges the eternal butterfly.
Also, Steven King does a great job of writing about small town life.
You know, now that I think about it, Stephen King does small towns wonderfully and creepily. TABITHA King (his wife and I think the best writer of the entire clan) writes small-town well, too. Her Nodd's Ridge books are excellent.
Empire Falls by Richard Russo. So happy you mentioned him. As a Maine girl born and raised, this one really impacted me. I saw first-hand what happened to town in the 90s when globalization shut down the shoe and textile factories. Also, I did my student teaching in the town where the diner scenes in the movie were filmed.
When I think of small towns, I think of Larry McMurtry's The Last Picture Show. The movie, not the book. And I was fascinated by To Kill a Mockingbird which taught me so much about the South before I got here. Like how families have names and reputations that follow them for decades.
I always thought I would hate a small town where everyone knew your history and troubles, but somehow also, there was shelter in it. As a teen, I lived in one of those sprawling upwardly mobile suburbs where nobody knew you or much cared what you were doing. The suburb of my life was distasteful, like living in the book Less than Zero. I was in high school during that now forgotten era of the suburban cluster suicides, when kids made pacts and closed themselves in the garage in a running car together.
I've always stayed out of the suburbs.
It's true, there are two sides to people knowing your whole history, and there can be shelter in that. I've never truly lived in the suburbs. There are so many different kinds of suburbs, but I imagine they lack that cohesion or shelter of the past by definition.
My parents moved to a "small town" in Marin County that served as home base for most of my childhood. My Peruvian mother hated it. Because she had accented English and darker skin, in (at that time) an all-white town (where I live with my family) treated her like an outsider. She never made a single friend from the other parents at our local school. She couldn't wait to go to a developing country for my father's job whenever the opportunity came up where life was funner, people warmer and more easy-going, work not as all-consuming. So we ended up living in Manila, Ecuador, and Brazil. And she loved every minute of it--always easily making friends that sometimes lasted for decades.
Oh my, small towns can be at their cruelest in situations like this. Mine was so homogenous and white, and then there were all of the conventions of that era. One brave boy came out when I was in high school. I'm glad your mother found a way out through travel.
Brave indeed! I hope the brave boy was rewarded with a good life for his courage. My mother was resourceful, and realistic. Travel was always an outlet for her, which also included yearly trips to Lima, and holidays all over the world. She went to China, Greece, and India on her own with a travel group. In her 80s she was the oldest when she traveled to China in a group of mostly twenty-somethings.
The ultimate suburban drama to me has always been "Ordinary People." I was pretty obsessed with the movie when it came out and even worked in the actual North Suburban Chicago communities where the film took place a few years later. I found there to be some some strong realism surrounding what was portrayed in the film (and novel.)
How interesting. The film came out when I was in high school, and I've been somewhat obsessed by it as well. I've easily seen it 20 or 30 times. Different than my small-town experience, certainly, but there is the strong sense of "what will people think," especially with Mary Tyler Moore's character, who is a classic.
Absolutely. She was perfect in the role. I've met other women like her over the years. That suburban area is full of them!
Our small towns . . . kind of a love - hate thing. How much we want to flee from them and disassociate, to become our own person, yet we bring their memories and lessons learned and photos along with us through the years, never to let go. Our small town is our first experience of where we learn the meaning of belonging, identity and how we fit in. And then it seems we answer proudly when asked where we're from.
Perfectly said, Nancy!
Oh Grant, thank you for this. Although my growing up was the 50s and 60s, I left my small town in the late 60s never to return again except to visit.
Boy was I wrong! I returned for a visit in the mid 70s, met the man I love and stayed.
We worried about conforming to small rural thinking but my world travels and exposure to idealism prevented us from falling in that trap.
We set ourselves apart and while people wondered about our lifestyle - organic farmers, and didn’t include us in their activities, it has been a fulfilling life. I believe we have gained respect and credibility but at an arm’s length.
I have often started writing about my love/hate relationship with the place I grew up and never quite gotten the words on paper.
One thing I do know is that my reason for being in this place at this time, if there is an existential reason, is to introduce new ideas and concepts to those that are willing to listen.its been an interesting journey.
Denise, I've always thought your experience was so interesting—and worthy of a memoir for all of the reasons you list here (so I hope that's still in motion).
You know, we moved my mom into a care facility last summer, and we had to sell her home, and the loss of her home has affected me dramatically. Even though it's been decades since I left, Oskaloosa (and Iowa) are in many ways my true place in the world.
I'm so glad people like you are there to introduce new ideas and concepts. That is one thing all small towns need—the drama of a new idea entering them. I see that many wonderful ideas have taken root in Oskaloosa since I grew up there. This newsletter deserves much more, now that I'm writing you about it.
Losing the grounding that your home gave you can be disorienting especially living so far away. We’ve lived in the house Larry grew up in for 45 years. Seems so long a time but also so short. It is hard to measure our contribution to our community but that is not what our life has been about. We are here to take care of and leave in better condition, the land that Mother Earth has gifted us.
You're the best, Denise. I still hope I can visit--maybe before or after Okoboji this year.