I always include Scott Bradfield when people ask me who are some of my favorite writers. I base this solely on such works as The History of Luminous Motion, Animal Planet, and What’s Wrong With America.
But those books were long ago, and I was young and impressionable. Would a work more recent hold up to my memories? The answer is yes, with The People Who Watched Her Pass By. Bradfield remains a favorite of mine, and he’s one of America’s great satirists. I imagine he’ll be a writer whose fame and influence will arise after he’s dead. Please don’t let that happen; read him now. Talk about him now. Buy all his books now.
The People Who Watched Her Pass By is a story about Salome Jensen, a 3-year-old girl kidnapped by a boiler-repair man, who she refers to as “Daddy” throughout the story. As with his previous books, specifically Luminous Motion, Bradfield gives the child protagonist a worldly, aged, adult voice. Daddy doesn’t stick around, so Salome (Sal, for short) lives with someone else. Eventually, Sal bounces around different caregivers, either by choice or circumstance. The way she travels from one situation to another clearly lands this novel in the great America road trip genre.
Sal’s story is more than her kidnapping and wandering. It’s a satirical look at selfishness, ego, and the ache for a greater meaning in life. The people who Sal encounters offer sage advice, but in the end, they’re really looking out for only their own wants and needs. Their concerns for Sal are superficial, and she recognizes this early in her so-far short life.
One of my favorite sections in the book is Sal’s persona as a deity, or prophet, by strangers who haven’t seen her, who have only heard rumors of her life. The worship of the unknown is a strong pull for most people, and reading about them lining up just to take a picture of her room’s window is humorous and sad at the same time.
This same temptation for something greater pulls at Sal, too. The difference, though, is she’s doing it for herself. She’s like Jesus wandering in the desert, figuring out who she really is. Other people, specifically adults, in the book try to find themselves through others. Their narcissism is only fed by extraneous encounters and emotions.
This raises the question: What does Sal represent? Bradfield wrote that he didn’t have a purpose in writing the book.
“As with my previous novels, I simply discovered the voice of a character who carried me along until I found out where she was going,” he wrote in a blog post. “Then I spent several years trying to give her, and her story, shape.”
The issue of shape is where satire comes into play. Is Sal a critique of the modern American psyche, always looking for solutions from others via self-help books and reality TV instead of finding it within itself? Is it a story about being responsible for your choices, regardless of what others think? Or is it an acknowledgment that life is a gyre and that one should accept fate and use it to the best of your advantage? Maybe it’s all of those. Maybe it’s none of those. As with the best satirists, Bradfield gives his readers a beautifully written and deeply contemplative story. It’s one that when you’re finished, you’ll want to immediately begin again, like a magic trick you want to experience over and over, always thinking you’re about to discover the solution, only to find you’re still in the dark. But what a delicious darkness that is.
