Merci, Armand

Once a snob about reading mysteries, I sneered at them as a colossal waste of time. Now I know how much I can learn from them, how happily I can grow absorbed in their worlds. Last week introduced the Canadian writer Louise Penny and her intriguing mystery series featuring detective Armand Gamache. This week focuses on one of the books, A Great Reckoning. It’s better to start with Still Life, the first, but Penny weaves in enough background so the reader starting in the middle won’t feel totally lost.

Two elements of A Great Reckoning seem particularly noteworthy. One is a creative, artistic map woven throughout as a symbol, but no one knows its significance until the end. It’s touching when Gamache and his group discover it was left by a grieving mother for her three sons, missing in action during World War I, just in case they needed to find their way home.  Though all had died, it prompted me to think about the many teachers who’ve offered maps to uncharted inner territory: most recently, Henri Nouwen, Kathleen Singh, James Finley. Their books have been signposts, maps of a different kind, offering pathways Home.

In a moving scene near the end, after the murders have been solved and Armand returns to his deepest joy, his family, the local community and officers who’ve been key to the action gather in the village church for the baptism of the Gamaches’ grandson. The minister asks, “Who here stands for this child?” Two previously designated godparents stand, then the most cantankerous, foul-mouthed, nasty alcoholic stands, straight, tall and resolute. Gradually, one by one, the whole congregation follows her lead and stands. Even a pet duck rises, looking “as dignified as a duck possibly could.”

I don’t know if that question is particular to the Canadian rite, but how it resonates. In the face of the all-too-prevalent wreckage to children—in war, parental abuse, separation of families at the border, blatant neglect, dismal schools–the whole sickening list—someone must stand. Who will be voice for the voiceless, shield for the vulnerable, advocate in a system that steamrolls the innocent? In a small response that barely registers on the cosmic scale, the question prompted the renewal of my commitment to volunteer in an Oakland first grade for another year.