Fishing For Meaning ‘Sky Fisherman’ Has Moments Of Strength And Beauty, But Is Missing Something

“The Sky Fisherman” By Craig Lesley (Houghton-Mifflin, $21.95)

For his third novel, Portland writer Craig Lesley takes a shift in his examination of the modern Pacific Northwest. His first two books, “Winterkill” and “River Song,” are a loosely plotted set that features a Nez Perce protagonist, Danny Kachiah, whose wanderings from rodeo to river life seems as aimless as his ambition.

“The Sky Fisherman” is something different, yet at the same time it’s business as usual. The mix isn’t necessarily a good one.

Reading like a memoir, “The Sky Fisherman” tells the story of one notable year in the life of a teenage white boy. Culver lives a nomadic life, traveling from small town to smaller town with his mother, Flora, and stepfather, Riley, who works for the railroad.

Theirs is a marginal existence, one that Riley continually promises to better. Eventually, however, the lure of a better life, one marked by independence, beckons. And so Culver and Flora, minus Riley, end up in Gateway, a small town like so many other small towns in east-central Oregon and Washington.

But Gateway is not just any town to Culver and his mother. Not only is it the home of Culver’s uncle, Jake, but it holds memories of the early years when Culver’s father, Jake’s brother, was still alive.

And so Lesley takes us through the summer and much of the next year, introducing characters who hang around Jake’s hardware store, describing the fire that nearly razes Gateway, telling how Culver deals with a river-running disaster, exploring Culver’s relationship with his mother and uncle and the touchy relationship that uncle and mother have with each other.

There’s much more, too. Lesley tackles the difficult issue of Indian-white relations, which results ultimately in a trio of deaths. He also examines Jake’s relationship with the beautiful Indian artist Juniper, Culver’s talent for basketball and the ultimate secret surrounding the death of Culver’s father.

A lot of “The Sky Fisherman” recalls the deliberate pacing of “Winterkill” and “River Song.” The book just pokes along, occasionally overturning a nugget of characterization or description.

Jake, for example, is a fascinating character. A man’s man, capable of leading fire crews just by the force of his personality if not also the example of his own bravery, Jake is still sensitive enough to know when Culver needs reassurance and simple acceptance. He wouldn’t seem out of place in the works of either Norman Maclean or Ivan Doig.

As for narrative, Lesley proves at least twice in this book that he is capable of writing sections that move quickly and with power. The fire-fighting scene is as tautly drawn as the river-rafting sequence is thrilling.

Here is Culver watching as his uncle and Indian friend, having just climbed a burning fuel tank, are threatened by a low-flying plane.

“Horrified, I watched the Stearman bear down on Billyum and Jake, imagining the fatal carnage of the 450-horsepower engine,” Lesley writes in the first-person voice of Culver. “In that instant while the fire roared, sirens screamed, and the men cried out, time hesitated and all sound ceased.

“Jake’s arms were still draped over Billyum’s shoulders in the style of close dancing, and he forced the bigger man to his knees, pushing him out of harm’s way.”

And here is Culver, having been washed out of his uncle’s boat, trying to swim through the rapids with a panicked man gripping his neck.

“After sucking a deep breath, I clamped my free hand over my mouth and gave in. The water was cold and so powerful it tumbled me and my captor over and over. We hit a smooth, deep underwater boulder, but he took most of the blow against his back. His grip relaxed a second and I wanted to go up for air, but had lost direction. Then he wrapped his arms around my neck and shoulders dragging me down…

“When we stopped tumbling, I opened my eyes and saw a sweep of clear blue-green water. Sunlight shone above, and below I saw a sunken boat, a broken oar still jammed in the oar lock, and I wondered how long it had been there, what fate its occupants met. I considered what an odd thing it might be to die here, drowned like my father, within sight of a sunken boat.”

Riveting as they are, these sequences are atypical of the book overall. And, by comparison, the rest of “The Sky Fisherman” feels as if something were missing.

In “Winterkill” and “Riversong,” Lesley’s wandering plot and gradual pacing actually add to his purpose. Danny Kachiah’s story is like a literary mosaic in which individual scenes, each relatively unimportant unto itself, blend into an overall word picture of deep resonance.

But in “The Sky Fisherman,” Lesley is after something different. He bookends the novel with Culver’s adult reminiscences, constructing the major portion of the book as flashback. He seems to want to portray Culver’s growing understanding of life, and his acceptance of the fallibility of those he has loved.

Yet where is the path to that end? It’s true that life doesn’t always give us clear answers, and often we must construct meaning where meaning is conspicuously missing. But in literature, meaning is more a result of specific reference than, as in the case of Lesley’s novel, a plethora of incidental action.

Which is another way of saying that much of “The Sky Fisherman” feels like filler. It’s a collage of thoughts, memories and outright fantasies that a writer culls from his artistic scrapbook. Lesley brings things up, makes them into mysteries, and then never resolves them or even successfully reveals their significance.

An Indian boy’s death, Culver’s stealing of the boy’s money, Jake’s part in what appears to be a revenge killing, Riley’s part in the tragic fire, the basketball season - all are plot rivulets that Lesley runs together but never is able to blend into a larger body of importance. Each plot point attracts our attention, yet each ends up never disclosing how it affects young Culver’s developing character. The effect, in the end, is left to our best guess.

“The Sky Fisherman,” then, resembles the source of its title. Ignorant of the traditional heavenly constellations, Culver’s grandfather had entertained his sons with stories about star groups to which he gave made-up names such as The Sky Fisherman or The Leaky Boat.

It’s a case of intriguing imagery, even occasional beauty, substituted for real meaning.

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