shotgun lovesongs

On the plane ride from California to New York, I read Shotgun Lovesongs by Nickolas Butler, a beautiful compact novella that takes place in Wisconsin. It's narrated in turn by five friends who grew up in a small rural town together, one of whom is very loosely based on Justin Vernon, lead singer of Bon Iver. I loved the book in part for this, and for the description of Bon Iver's music, which is very near and close to my heart. The writer of Shotgun Lovesongs went to high school with Justin Vernon, but hasn't spoken to him in twenty years and what's told in the book is not based on their actual friendship. But he writes about Bon Iver's music as if from Justin Vernon's perspective, and it touched me to think that this is actually speculation based on what Butler feels from his music. Listening to Bon Iver's music, Butler weaved it into the fibers of his own narrative and thoughts--I was blown away by the power of one person's art on another. And it fills that gap you don't realize is there until someone else resonates with something in the same way that you do. He writes about the sounds and sentiments of this music in a way that encapsulates how it makes me feel. You always think your personal responses to something are so personal, want to feel they are unique to you. And sometimes you want to keep it that way, but I think the best art is the kind that's strengthened when shared, and that's how I felt reading someone else's interpretation of this music that I really feel is a part of me.

The book itself felt much like this music. When I acquired my very first iPod, I was obsessed with playlists and added all of my favorite songs to different themed playlist. My all-time favorite songs always ended up in the "winter" playlist. Those were the ones that embodied that sort of cold warm ache that, during that period of my life when I'd moved to the East Coast, I could finally attach to the tangible experience of an actual snow and ice winter. This book also felt like winter. It loves wide expanses of space, and also understands how within that people draw close. And what can happen as a result. Stories about simple lives really show how much can be held in the rawness of people, that it doesn't take much other than the daily act of trying to survive and co-exist together to reveal the depth of what we can feel.

Part of the book talks about Justin Vernon's character becoming rich and famous, and moving to New York after marrying a beautiful actress. He returns after their divorce, and spends a lot of time writing songs about Wisconsin and talking about the difference between the two places.

I'm always excited to come to New York, the city I've visited likely almost a hundred times by this point but have never lived in. Excited to see my friends who feel so far when I'm back west, and excited to have new experiences because every visit here is so different. From the Cloisters in the winter, to waterfalls in Central Park in the spring, to running in Prospect Park and biking along the Hudson all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge in the summer--I've been lucky to have so many bites of life here.

I also forget until I arrive, the chaos and noise of this huge place. Staying in my friends' apartments I hear and feel trains, parties, and cars. It takes an hour to get from one end of the airport to the other. The highway signs are designed to confuse more than clarify. There are tons of cars on the road at 10 PM on a Sunday. I step out from the house into busy streets lined with shops, surprised to suddenly be hit with a community having been in private space one second ago. I do love that there are fruit stands open at all hours, and that within a few blocks of this apartment there are a dozen small markets where I can buy food to make fresh lunches, and that there's so much within walking distance. But it is a jarring contrast to the quiet, intimate space of my book and its images of rural Wisconsin.

I've always been too defensive when becoming labeled as anything general, and I think part of that comes from feeling like so much of me and of any person lies in different places. I'm really not sure if I'm a small town or a big city person; sometimes I feel adaptable to the point of not having an identity. I think that the most important thing is to be able to come back to yourself wherever you end up because it's as easy to get lost in the emptiness of Wisconsin as it is in crowds of New York.