Obviously the young fellow didn't get the help he needed from school or parents which is too bad, but also "too true" for much of our youth today (or always, I guess). Reckon they said the same thing fiddy or hunnert year ago. But maybe we're more attune to it today. We've reached a point in evolutin' where we achingly see a common humanness in Dickens' street urchins, that keenly reminds us...of us.
But with absentee parents and unavailing schools as non-guides, how many gonna be lucky enough to run into a brilliant sage who'll teach us the meaning of life? I dunno, but I appreciate Myers pointing this out. Is like the whole crux of the matter.
And the concept of telling a story by way of telling someone else's story seems like a novel approach. Or maybe not, but is a clever double-meaning sentence, no?
Anyway, the story is the story of Robert uncovering Romy's story - a dead poet, so to speak. Romy sort of died to live forever, which worked okay for Jesus but is a tough act to follow. Basically, I wouldn't recommend trying that. Reminds me of Buddhist monks who self-immolated to protest stuff during the Vietnam War. Was pretty sensational to see on TV but has a limited run for the burning monk.
Myers' interplay amongst the three characters - Robert the youth, Dulcie the sage, and Romy the dead poet - is artfully done. Dulcie, the ancient non-mariner is a remarkably heroic older lady (aren't they all) who has seen and done it all. But that's just the beginning for her. And we should properly respect - revere even - all our tribal elders for the knowledge and history of their life years. What they've witnessed and learned is a ready-at-hand encyclopedia we should avail ourselves of. But somehow, foolishly, we don't.
But there's an excellent point to Robert's quest - if you wanna find out what life's about - go look. See what there is to see and y'might learn something. Good advice for everyone, but especially the young. Don't settle for the yoke and chain (kinda mixed metaphor, but you get the point). Check out the path less traveled by and see where it goes.
And the metaphor of the Phoenix or Jesus, is a good thing. Especially as there's a hinting of impending danger ever-present in the story. But it seems tied to an enigma, or an anchor maybe. The dilemma being: no one wants to be the drone working in the coal mine for to warm the toes of aristocrats. But if everyone were to realize that - how would we ever keep our feet warm?
Thing is, if everyone were to wake up and face this fairly obvious truth - yer little more than cattle yoked to the cartel of industrialized capitalism...then, wouldn't we really really need a planet-wide re-make of our entire economic structure? Yeah, reckon so. And since the ultra-wealthy who thrive off this system, own and control everything and everyone - the chance of change is about as likely as Romy the dead poet rising like Venus on the half-shell.
So the other option is what? Those of us enlightened few who've escaped the coal mines can tread water, drift, or float somewhere in between the aristocrats and the drones on our own mid-level island. Well, beats working, I guess. And it's a way out, of sorts. The knowing that we've all unlimited potential, the impossibility of ever making that a practical reality for everyone, and the usefulness (or not) of making everyone aware of this tragic comedy.
Well, perhaps it's a start. A beginning of our quest, so to speak. And I'm very fond of the Walden quality of Myers' book. It's very peaceful, calming, green and tranquil. Charming even, despite the hedge rows.
But as Myers' young character was wending his way through the brambles, I was out there in the back yard plucking Lambs quarters from patchwork grass. And thinking, old-time farmers knew this of the soil - how things grew together and maybe why. But sons of their sons scoffed misunderstanding "dollars per mechanized acre." And a once-world of small farmers tilts now toward Bayer Corporation owning Monsanto's patents on half the world's food supply. Stick that in yer craw and ruminate.
Oh well...there're valuable lessons here, and it's a grand story.
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