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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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071089
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07108900.074
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1990-09-17
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BOOKS, Page 62Born Witness
CLEAR PICTURES: FIRST LOVES, FIRST GUIDES
by Reynolds Price
Atheneum; 304 pages; $19.95
Unless your childhood was as magical as Mozart's, writing an
extended memoir of those primal years is a risk bordering on
chutzpah. Why on earth should anyone else care about the assorted
teachers, neighbors and maiden aunts who were your early sources
of inspiration? Such people are the private memories of the ones
who knew and cherished them.
Readers can be persuaded to care, however, if the memoirist is
Reynolds Price (The Source of Light, Kate Vaiden), one of a few
writers whose full-length fictions do honor to the term regional
novel. Price's region is central North Carolina, where he has lived
for most of his 56 years. His father Will was a traveling salesman
who fought a lifelong battle against alcohol and financial
insecurity. His mother Elizabeth was one of the genteel metal
magnolias who, despite generosity to their black servants, Price
notes, were the "chief conveyors" of the racist code that cursed
the pre-King South.
A loner by temperament and circumstance -- his family was
constantly relocating from one drab Piedmont town to another --
Price describes the boy he was as "a born witness or spy . . .
helplessly fascinated by the ritual power of language." In Clear
Pictures he comes across as a precocious Dixie dandy, worrying
earnestly about God and masturbation, and toadying up to visiting
artistes like the great contralto Marian Anderson by sending them
portraits he had sketched from publicity stills.
There is no posturing, however, in the taut, emotion-driven
chapter that tells of his father's death at age 54. Surgery to
remove a cancer-infected lung disclosed that the disease had
spread, inoperably. Reynolds, then a junior at Duke University, was
at his bedside, holding the "warm, dead flesh" of Will's wrist,
when the end came. He heard "a high moan, an eerie whistle." As
Will's head pressed deep into the pillows, "the eyes stayed shut
but the skin of his face turned purple, and the hard wave rolled
downward from mind to feet. It was plainly as real and irresistible
as what drives the surf."
Price, today a paraplegic from cancer of the spine, cites
Freud's comment that the most important day of a man's life is the
day his father dies. It may have been the day that Reynolds Price
truly became the writer he hoped to be.