Before the Fall by Noah Hawley

I really thought that my next post wouldn't be a book review, but here we are. I had planned on writing about what's been happening in my realm of storymaking, but then this book happened and I couldn't stop reading. Also, I just finished this book today and couldn't wait to gush about it.

Seriously. I wrote most of this at work because I had so many feelings and thoughts that manifested throughout the day.

On a foggy summer night, eleven people-ten privileged, one down-on-his-luck painter-depart Martha's Vineyard on a private jet headed for New York. Sixteen minutes later, the unthinkable happens: the plane plunges into the ocean. The only survivors are Scott Burroughs-the painter-and a four-year-old boy, who is now the last remaining member of an immensely wealthy and powerful media mogul's family. 

With chapters weaving between the aftermath of the crash and the backstories of the passengers and crew members-including a Wall Street titan and his wife, a Texan-born party boy just in from London, a young woman questioning her path in life, and a career pilot-the mystery surrounding the tragedy heightens. As the passengers' intrigues unravel, odd coincidences point to a conspiracy. Was it merely by dumb chance that so many influential people perished? Or was something far more sinister at work? Events soon threaten to spiral out of control in an escalating storm of media outrage and accusations. And while Scott struggles to cope with fame that borders on notoriety, the authorities scramble to salvage the truth from the wreckage. 
Amid pulse-quickening suspense, the fragile relationship between Scott and the young boy glows at the heart of this stunning novel, raising questions of fate, human nature, and the inextricable ties that bind us together. 

Okay, let's be honest and upfront here: I requested this book from NetGalley because it's written by Noah Hawley, the guy who brought Fargo to the television screen. I wasn't the most avid fan of the movie, but the television series is amazing. So of course I had to grab this one, and I may have had a little heart attack the day that I got the email confirming my request.

This is a story about a plane crash, but, weirdly enough, the plane crash is merely the background for the real story: what happens to the survivors of horrific disasters? The dead are mourned or vilified, but it doesn't matter to them because they're dead. The survivors are, sometimes, given the same treatment and they can't fade off into the horizon. 

When Scott swam away from the wreckage of the plane crash with four-year-old JJ on his back, he wasn't thinking about being a hero. All he wanted was to be safe, to get the kid to safety. He wanted to be sure that they would be able to reach land before hypothermia set in, before the child died and Scott had swam all that way for nothing. Imagine that: someone committing a selfless act in the middle of overwhelming tragedy.

Oh, wait, people do that?

I only say this because this book is a mystery wrapped in a scandal waiting to happen. As soon as every twenty-four hour news network catches wind of Scott's heroic act, they hound him, wanting to get a word from the hero himself. When Scott shows no inkling of wanting the fame, the sharks appear, twisting his life and desires into adultery and disaster. Bill Cunningham, the voice of one of the crash victim's television network, decides that maybe the truth is too boring. Maybe the crash wasn't an accident at all. It was an act of terrorism - since the passengers on the private jet were worth more money that I can even imagine - and Scott, the only adult survivor, a painter that depicts natural disasters, must be privy to the terrorist plot.

Picture every news pundit on Fox News smashed together and thrown into red suspenders, and you have Bill Cunningham.

Hawley lets you know right up front what is going to happen, and he allows you to hope and pray that these characters will be okay, that they will wash up ashore with nothing more than scratches and bruises. Even though this book is called Before the Fall, it's really a story about after. What happens when the truth isn't enough to satisfy the viewers' desires? Why must we sensationalize a tragedy? Why do we think we have the right to invade the personal life of another human, merely because their story is famous?

Although, I have to admit, halfway through, I caught myself thinking, oh my god, what if Scott did it? The writing is that persuasive, and even though Bill Cunningham is a character to revile, he makes some good points, and he does it in such a way that you're left wondering if maybe you're being too innocent in thinking that some people are just good.

Without spoilers, the end to this tragedy is sadder than the rumors. It leaves you a little empty inside, as if the truth of this story really matters, as if you know the victims and you have closure, but what does that really mean? It doesn't bring anyone back, it doesn't make anything better, but it does let you live your life again or, as Scott says, "It's time to press play." It makes you wonder what if, and then it's over and you're crying for more.

Or maybe that was just me.

Monthly Check Up

I really must be the world's worst blogger.

I wish I had a valid excuse for why I've been missing in action for the last few weeks. I wish I could say that I was writing up a storm or that a thousand publishers were begging for the rights to my newest masterpiece. Really, I can account for the last week, but before that? Ummm...I had to adequately prepare for the last week?

That's true, really. Last Saturday, the boy and I woke up at some ungodly hour to get on a plane at another ungodly hour to fly some ungodly amount of hours to get to New York! This was our first real vacation in...years. We went to New York together once before, but we went with his family that time, and this was just us. It was so fun to just walk around the city and get lost. It was rainy and cold and gray, and I couldn't have asked for better weather. Of course, we went for a reason (his overwhelming love for Pearl Jam), but we managed to do some things that we had planned, like a trip to The Strand (my new holy ground), a midnight snack at Shake Shack, and a lovely afternoon walk around Central Park.

Courtesy of the boy

It was the most fun I've had in quite some time, so I'm grateful that we went. The boy had a wonderful time at the two Pearl Jam concerts we attended (I know, like, six songs out of about eighty billion), and it was nice to get away from work for even just a few days.

Now we're back and life must resume. Sigh.

For me, that means I have to get back on track with writing. I wasn't kidding when I said that I spent the weeks before vacation stressing out about the vacation. Now that it's in the rear-view mirror (and the next one isn't until August), I'm going to dedicate what time I have toward writing and my German courses.

What I've been stressing about most is that I haven't felt a pull toward writing. I know that I want to write and that there are stories inside me that excite me, but that full-blown excitement just wasn't...there. Then, as I was scrolling through Tumblr one day, I came across a quote that I had seen before, but never before had it seemed so relevant. Basically, it equated writing to nature and how trees don't "produce fruit all year long." We all have dormant times, stretches of days or weeks or months or years where we don't "produce" any writing. I thought that my writer's block had been cured a few weeks ago, but that's not the case. I had a wonderful idea for a new story and it's one that's pretty close to my heart since it's based on actual events in my life, but nothing seemed to come of it. I think I've been pushing myself to produce something, to sit down and write, and I can't force something like that. I'm not sure anyone can. If your heart's not in it, then you shouldn't force yourself to do it.

So, what I'm planning on is to circle my computer, to maybe sit down and write out a few things, just to see what I'm feeling. But I'm not going to force myself to write something that I'm not excited about. I've finished one story last month, and I can edit that, and usually editing is the bane of my existence, but it does make me excited to write. We'll see how it all works. I'll try my best to keep everyone updated, but I do have to get through some NetGalley books, and then those reviews will be up here, I promise!

Yeah, yeah, we've heard that before, right? Sigh.