A Review of Maud Lavin’s SILENCES, OHIO
As a person who has lived on both coasts but never in the “fly over states” (which I imagine to be pejorative to those to who live there), I came to Maud Lavin’s chapbook, SILENCES, OHIO from Cowboy Jamboree Press, interested in learning more about a large swath of our country about which I know so little. Lavin’s book, a series of short memoirs about life in the Midwest, more than delivered.
Lavin lays out the book’s argument in the introduction. “So much a part of Midwestern culture, silences and their kin, small talk, are often ignored in literature and news coverage, upstaged by attention to polarizing words and actions.” She goes on to discuss the two-fold nature of these silences. At times, they can be used to perpetuate bigotry through the silence of complicity. At other moments, a silence “can be a lifeline,” allowing those who might be different from the mainstream a pause to get through the moment or the day.
In the thirteen pieces that follow, Lavin illustrates these points beautifully, with crisp prose giving just enough but not too much detail. Her first recollection, “Keep Quiet” hits hard. She describes sitting with friends who are trying to decide how to handle break-ins which have occurred at the trailer park their father manages. The police are almost called – then silence. At the episode’s end we learn the devasting truth about the break-ins, and, once again silence is maintained.
In the longest and perhaps most poignant of the pieces, “4-H Church Basement Meetings”, Lavin describes her childhood attachment to 4-H and how it allowed her as an outsider, a Jew in a very dominant Christian community, to find friendships and activity which brought her happiness. Only years later as an adult, did she discover that she was systematically excluded from regular group dinners, her friends and the adult leaders all maintaining a silence for years. Here Lavin’s prose shines as she reflects on the complexity of the situation in hindsight. “If I’d known how much I was left out of the dinner social scene around it, that would’ve ruined it for me.”
In other essays, Lavin gives us a beautiful portrait of her father, a clear view of a racist on whom she once had a crush, the erasure of women through silence, and advice to those who might seek to move to the Midwest. Each piece is both lush and restrained. With an economy of words, Lavin achieves remarkable emotional resonance throughout the text.
The collection turns to the political toward its end as Lavin, living close but in a blue state, copes with the fact that her state has voted red in the 2016 election. She struggles with the notion of returning for various functions and ends the collection with the moving, “Another Reunion”, a story of going back. The last line in the book exemplifies everything about what has preceded it, short but with a beautiful kick.
Even the format of the book suits its meaning. The stories are short, often ending at the top of a page, leaving a white space or silence for the reader to reflect on Lavin’s words and experiences. I left Lavin’s work sad that it ended too soon, but immensely grateful for the journey across time, space, and culture.
François Bereaud is a husband, dad, full time math professor, mentor in the San Diego Congolese refugee community, and mediocre hockey player. He writes, edits, and sometimes publishes. His first full manuscript, San Diego Stories is out from Cowboy Jamboree Press. Read him at francoisbereaud.com.