22 October 2007

Remembering Argos - Lee Bemrose

There is a very fine writer that resides in Sydney who has written a short story reflecting everyday humanity. His Remembering Argos is laden with emotion although as Lee Bemrose himself has pointed out, this is interesting since the lead character is pretty unemotional. Perhaps its poignancy comes from the sad transitions of his character's life and the never-ending 'what-ifs' that hang in the unspoken air.

Remembering Argos follows a man throughout his life from a pre-adolescent to the edge of his death. The story dips in and out of different time periods in his life giving the reader a sense of the character's growth and appreciation of the loneliness and sadness embedded within it.

It's the first gripping paragraph that hooks me. During the lead's malleable years of childhood, he is with his father out in the Australian Bush. The father seems a bit of a callous and blue-collared man prone to bouts of violence and a lackadaisical attitude towards education. But on this particular occasion in the Bush, his dad is happy. Lee describes the father laughing at their family dog, Argos, and he's really going for it with his "face twisted shut to the sun, shoulders shaking." He has captured something so human and fleeting; a moment that even whilst it is occurring you just know it's going to bring on nostalgia or perhaps melancholy in the future. I love this introduction and the Australian flavour laced throughout it.

The whole story punches me with emotion. The character is confronted several times with great opportunities but dismisses them because he's been told it isn't worth carrying on; he's from common work stock, apparently. I want to hug the 16 yr-old guy and say, "You don't have to follow this path. There are others." But as with him, too many people like this exist in the world. They are expected to be something others like their parents or friends want them to be. Deep down they question it but it isn't enough. They don't break away for whatever reasons, "It's not the right time." "I need to save up." "I'm not sure I'm capable of doing that." And whilst voicing these desires to some loved one they are usually agreed with instead of encouraged and therefore a person can begin to believe the path of others that he or she has been following is, in fact, what they want, too.

There are several threads that I could describe within Remembering Argos. I feel for so many. The loneliness of sitting in an empty room within a bustling city or of being in a pub on your own with only the company of a pint. I was touched in these solitary and sad situations.

The character somehow manages to find love or at least some version of it. Perhaps that, too, was a depressed type of love. He never seems overly passionate but is amazed at times to realise he has someone who has stuck around and believes in him. Although, he becomes involved in an affair with another woman, the strained tug and pull it generates is somehow pathetic and understood.

He has a hard time growing older, as it seems most people do. His cynicism has grown, too. And then he grows ill. It's the heart-breaking regret he has that ties the story from beginning to end. He was able to escape an unhealthy and oppressed environment but didn't bother to save another. As he's on the brink of dying this seems to be the most important 'what-if' out of them all. And it is heart-wrenching. If he had helped this other then perhaps he would've been a better person. With a happier life at knowing he had done something worthy.

Lee's short story won an award and is published online with Literary Vision Magazine but remains unpublished in print. It will be later on, no doubt.

God, I can't stop thinking about that father laughing. I can see it. I can feel the sun and smell the scent of dried sweetened bush. It's like...I'm there.

3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wow, what a great story Lee has. Really, really fantastic.

Personally, I enjoyed the solitary aesthetic of that apartment overlooking the bay. I could feel the sense of infinite possibility, just outside the window.

We are not in a definitive position to judge the character. He probably could have done better for himself in the end, but indeed, sadness is better than emptiness.

Still, we are supposed to "do something" with our lives. Aching sadness has its merits, but I'm pretty sure that joy is better.

The story seems to warn us that we should live joyfully in the present and engage our passions, as we have a limited amount of time to express them. Ironically, it simultaneously reminds us to be nostalgic and sentimental, or else forget the sublime, beautiful ache of things past.

1:37 AM  
Blogger Lee Bemrose said...

Thank you for writing this, Kat. It's quite funny how little direct feedback you get when you write something and get it out there. Friends, sure. But when you somehow get the feedback of someone you don't know and you realise it's reached in there and stirred emotions... it's quite rare. I mean I know this got the prize and I'm not going to be falsely modest and say aw shucks... obviously I wouldn't have kept sending it out again for four years if I didn't think it was a good story. But it's rare to hear that it affected someone. And it's cool.

And thanks Graham. I am in a definitive position to judge the character. You're spot on with the solitary aesthetic of that room overlooking the bay. That was pure me and that was my home and solitude is not actually all that bad sometimes.

And joy is definitely better than sadness. I'm all for smiles and laughs and kindness because the opposites of all those do nothing for anyone, and sometimes it needs seeing someone slowly dying to realise that.

And I think that was one of the things that sparked the story - watching my girlfriend's father dying. What are you thinking, I wondered when he was in his half sleep... you're at the end, you must be looking back, so what are you thinking?

It just made me think that when it comes to our end, if we have time to think, we're going to think of all the small kind things we could have done. And the beauty of that thought is that while we're alive, we can still do those small kind things.

9:50 AM  
Blogger Kathryn said...

So glad you liked it. Thanks for the quality writing. Am looking forward to the novel...

And the beauty of that thought is that while we're alive, we can still do those small kind things.

So good.

8:31 PM  

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