I've been reading Denison, Iowa by Dale Maharidge. The subtitle is "Searching for the Soul of America Through the Secrets of a Midwest Town." When discussing which town to use for this book, Maharidge says:

[I]t became rapidly clear that this book had to take place in Iowa. One reason was that the state is geographically in the center of the nation. Another reason was its neutrality. Many Americans have built-in prejudices against certain regions and states. "Alabama" said to a northerner conjures stereotypes, just as "New York" uttered to a southerner evokes another type. And to southerners and easterners, "California" has, well, its own baggage. Iowa's neutrality is why so many fictional stories from popular culture are set in the state:The Music Man, The Bridges of Madison County, Field of Dreams.

Iowa definitely is neutral. I'm actually reading this book and I have to keep reminding myself that the town isn't in Idaho or Ohio, as all three state names play a game of musical chairs ignorance in my mind. I've driven through Iowa. About a year ago. And I can't conjure one single image.

The book is really interesting though. I like the writing well enough, even though it is clearly coming from a more cosmopolitan person than any in Denison, which is unfortunate, in a way. Denison is described, maybe not in facts but in tone, as a miniscule town. When I read that it had a Wal-Mart, I thought, Oh. I guess it isn't all that small.

I am reminded that I live in the sprawling metropolis that is LA. Not only that, but I live in the valley. If Manhattan were an animal, it would be something like a cat, with long claws, balled up and ready to pounce. Los Angeles would be a sleeping St. Bernard, legs and feet carelessly spreading out all around him.

I took a ride through Laurel Canyon with my boss today. He doesn't have a lot of respect for the double yellow lines...as in, traffic should always stay to the right of the double yellow lines. He is much more creative than that. The car was in reverse for about a fourth of the time I was in the car. Oh, yeah, and we were lost.

As we rode along (before going into the hills), he pointed at various drugstores and coffee houses and told me what the lots used to hold when he was a boy. And it occured to me that this was a man who never really left his hometown. I know he's lived elsewhere and travelled, but that isn't the same. The comfort that must bring him startles me. I started getting these weird panicked feelings about going back home for my birthday...

I'm never going to see the places I grew up in ever again. Not really. There are more new businesses in town, more houses dotting the highway. Seeing those things gradually, like my boss was able to do, at least means that you're in the loop.

I did a couple of image searches for my hometown...and the results were almost spooky: the courthouse, the stained glass windows of the church I grew up in, a guy I went to high school with, the parents of a girl I knew, Main Street during the parade, etc. Things so familiar, but totally foreign.

Maybe I should read some Thomas Wolfe. Somewhere I have a memory of a professor saying, You can't go home again. You really can't.

Labels: books., tennessee., work.

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