In my previous post—about the genderqueer adventure story, The Complete Lockpick Pornography—I concluded with a question. The Complete Lockpick Pornography presents two poles, two possible responses to prejudice. One is the queer response—get in the face of those who oppress you. The other is the make-no-waves response—do whatever you can to avoid confrontation. Each approach comes at a cost. In that post, I asked if there is a third way that confronts prejudice but doesn’t polarize or alienate. Maybe we can find that third way in David G. Hallman‘s first novel, Searching for Gilead. I have previously reviewed his memoir, August Farewell, an account of the final sixteen days of his partner’s life. After thirty-three years together, his partner, Bill, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The memoir recounts their final days together, while drifting back to earlier times, their first encounter, falling in love, building a life together. It is tempting to read Searching for Gilead as a fictionalized elaboration and expansion of August Farewell. Like Hallman, the narrator, Tom Fischer, is an environmental advocate, and the fact that the story is told in the first person creates the illusion that the author and narrator are the same person. But I’m inclined to heed Hallman’s advice in the preface: this is a work of fiction.
One of the things that distinguishes Searching for Gilead is that, while August Farewell has a narrow focus—a single relationship—Searching for Gilead, is broad. When Tom meets Jonathan Compton, we get drawn into their families and the web of relationships that evolve. Characters are not static nor always likeable, which gives them a grittier, more tangible feel. They have to deal with Tom’s sister, who has married into a conservative Christian family and has adopted a more severe view of her brother’s “lifestyle”. On the other side, Jonathan’s father is a bit of a hardass, a pragmatic businessman who has his own ways of making life difficult. Nevertheless, neither character is fixed, and both soften over the years. At the same time, our narrator, Tom, engages in a couple infidelities, and while we want to smack him the head for being stupid, he remains sympathetic; we may not like his choices, but Hallman gives us enough that at least we understand.
The story is also broad in terms of time. It covers the thirty-four years of their relationship and is divided into five parts, each named by its year—1976, 1984, 1993, 2002 and 2010. There’s no plot to speak of, or if it needs to be named, it could be summarized as: shit happens. This is the story of lives interweaving, and they do so in often random and unexpected ways. Tom gets a job in New York at the United Nations headquarters and they have to cope with the strain of a long-distance relationship. Jonathan has an opportunity to teach philosophy for a term in France, but his sponsor/advocate (Michel Foucault) dies of AIDS. They go with Jonathan’s family to the Biennale in Venice (stories of the Biennale ought to be a literary subgenre) and Jonathan’s twin brother commits suicide. Tom’s parents eschew retirement in favour of working at a refugee camp in Kenya near the border of Sudan. Shit happens and we have to cope; each of us has to work to find our Gilead.
One of the things I enjoy about the novel is the way the fictional world impinges on the world of fact. Characters skirt on the edge of the real world. Jonathan has worked with Michel Foucault. Tom’s environmental work at the U.N. means that he rubs shoulders with Maurice Strong. At the end of the novel, Tom sits alone in Roy Thomson Hall and listens to TSO conductor, Peter Oundjian, lead the orchestra in Mahler’s Second Symphony. This may be a work of fiction, but it closely mirrors the world we readers inhabit. Which returns me to the question I posed at the outset: is there a third way? I think Hallman gives it to us with his gentle insistence that we allow his story to impinge upon the margins of our world. This is how our world opens itself to a wider vision. His story breeds empathy.
A final note: I find it heartening that Searching for Gilead is self-published. It confirms yet again my longstanding conviction that it’s possible to enjoy good fiction outside the walls of the monoculture behemoths that control more than 90% of North American publishing. Hallman continues to hone his craft and is currently working on a collection of short stories.
Buy Searching For Gilead at iUniverse.com