Ruthie Fear

 Ruthie Fear

By Maxim Lukutoff

Sickel gave this to me during our visit to the cabin this summer. He'd meant to mail it, and inside was a
note that said: "This book is crazy!" Obviously, I was intrigued.

To be honest, I didn't find it all that crazy -- for most of it. It is the story of the titular character, Ruthie Fear, who lives in a trailer in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana with her father, Rutherford. One of the main themes of the book is the gentrification of the area by outsiders while longtime residents see their lives upended. This particularly grates on Rutherford, who simmers not-so-silently with rage. They were technically poor, but with all the public land around, they were rich -- until the really rich started taking that land away. Rutherford is particularly incensed when a country music star moves into the valley and starts baiting ducks near a public pond. Why? Because it is illegal to shoot baited ducks. 

We watch Ruthie struggle in the valley to find a life of meaning and, it seems, upward mobility. She is torn, both loving and despising the insularity of Montana mountain life. She briefly attempts to flee to Las Vegas, inspired by a poster of the city her father brought back from his only trip out of Montana. But she can't quite make it, and winds up robbing a tourist for bus fare back.

It's all pretty ordinary, if disturbing. Except. One day when she was seven years old, Ruthie saw a creature. It had no head, spindly "insect" legs, and a kidney-shaped body covered with feathers. Rutherford believed it to be a figment of her imagination, but Ruthie held fast. She build a blind so she could see it again. But it never appeared. 

Until. One morning she was duck hunting, and there it was. And then there was another. And another. Gun shots rang out through the valley. Hundreds of the creatures had appeared, and been killed. They brought them to the local dump, where the fire warden was waiting for approval to light the pile of carcasses up. But when he did, they gave off a noxious smoke that killed everyone whose nostrils it entered. All along, it had been posited that the valley would be better off with fewer people. And now there were.

The creatures were obviously a metaphor for something. The author certainly seems unsympathetic to the Big Sky-ification of Montana. What, exactly, they stand for I'm not quite sure. But this was a good read, propulsive till the end.