Lou’s View – March 13, 2014
by Lou Bernard
No Rain in Heaven
I’ve been writing for the Record for a couple of years now. The editors, John and Jeannine Lipez, are wonderful people. I say based on the fact that they put up with a lot of crap from me, and have yet to restrain me or even edit me in any significant way. Seriously, they’re wonderful. I’d have edited my column by now, if I were them. I could be described, I guess, as a freelance historical humor columnist, a career I’m pretty sure I invented. In the last couple of years, I’ve written about my own childhood and pretended it was history. I’ve written about legendary monsters, including vampire squirrels. I’ve compressed the entire history of the city down to eight hundred words. I even wrote one in poetry a while back. All of this, they ran without flinching.
So, it’s time to push the envelope again. I’m going to see if they’ll run a book review.
It isn’t like I’m going completely off the rails here; the book does have something to do with local history. The Ross Library is lowering the price of “No Rain In Heaven,” by Mary Hess McCormick, to $1.75.
Mary was a local; she lived on Water Street. She worked for the local newspapers and the university library, and she served on the board of the Ross Library for years. In 1947, she won the “Mrs. Hush” contest on the Ralph Edwards show, which brought her some nationwide fame. No idea how long she’d been writing the book—Her sons published it after finding the manuscript in her desk after she died in 1973.
The story follows a teenaged girl named Agnes, who lives in Branchville, a very thinly disguised Beech Creek from the past. Nearby is the city of Tiadaghton, which is probably Lock Haven under an assumed name. Agnes spends the summer with her visiting cousin, Mopsie, the two of them growing and having interesting experiences together.
The book was written, most likely, to evoke memories of childhood summers. And in that respect, it succeeds, reminding the reader of summertime if the reader had any kind of childhood. A scene where Agnes and Mopsie quietly discuss blasphemy after bedtime is reminiscent of after-dark discussions by most of us with friends or siblings. Another chapter, in which Agnes’s aunt visits and makes her do chores, tends to stir memories of older relatives who come to visit, and think they’re in charge of the children, no matter what the actual rules are. (I still haven’t entirely forgiven my older cousin Amy for the summer of 1983, by the way. She knows why.)
The plot meanders lazily along, loosely connected by the events of each chapter. It’s not exactly a densely-plotted thrill ride; more of a pleasant walk in the park—Exactly the sort of tone designed to evoke memories of a childhood summer. Mary McCormick set the exact feel that she intended for the book; a slow, enjoyable summer read. The closest thing to an intense plotline is Agnes’s ongoing quest to find out where babies come from, a relatable question for those of us who remember their early teens.
As the story flows at a leisurely pace, it also contains many moments of drama and amusement that are instantly recognizable—Those common moments when, as a teen, it feels as if the world is about to end; the same moments that adults recognize are not a big deal and never were.
There. Did that sound like I know how to write a book review? I hope so, because the library is selling Mary’s book for $1.75. If you buy one, I’ll even autograph it—Not that anyone wants that, because I have nothing to do with the book. I was just looking for an excuse.
But definitely—Come in, and ask at the front desk. Buy a copy of the book. Because all the proceeds go to support the Ross Library—And that’s what Mary Hess McCormick really would have wanted.
