C. E. Morgan's first novel, ALL THE LIVING, ought to be destined to become a classic. It should be read in classrooms, and then again later by people who have soaked up more life experience than young students -- or for that matter, than Aloma, its central protagonist -- so they can better appreciate the hard lessons imparted.
It is Orren, Aloma's lover, who speaks those implacable words (above) about happiness. He is a young man determined to make a go of the tobacco farm he inherited when his mother and brother died. He's tied to the land by grit, grief, duty, and sheer stubbornness, and he wants to do everything by himself. Aloma was three when she lost her parents, so she is as alone in the world as Orren. This, and their primal attraction to each other, is why she agreed to come live on this subsistence farm. But, blessed with musical talent on the piano, she isn't tied to the land in thought or action. She has ambitions for herself. She desires escape from the dreary and lonely life there, and she wishes to expand herself as a pianist. Enter the pastor in nearby Hansonville, who, at Aloma's behest, hires her to play for his church's services. He is single and, again, because Aloma implies it, thinks she is also. But these are not frivolous characters, and this is no salacious melodrama. ALL THE LIVING doesn't shy away from honest sexuality, but it isn't so much concerned with extreme acts of betrayal (erotic or otherwise) as with the subtler, internal struggles of men and women.
Morgan earned a master's degree in Theological Studies and puts it to good use by applying a vibrant undercoat of spiritual philosophy to her novel. The constant opposition between male and female, silence and expression, solitary habits and sharing, outright meanness and passive aggressive tactics highlight the harsh realities about merging as a couple -- particularly when love is such a submerged part of the equation. The author also counters light and dark, drought and deluge, mountains and bottom land to underscore the natural suspense that human beings are additionally dealt by God's creation. Life and death on the farm, and the fundamental tension between survival and higher pursuits contribute too to the characters' grapplings. Happiness, ALL THE LIVING argues, is a superficial goal because existence from moment to moment is a tumultuous and simultaneous wrestling with the beautiful and the ugly. What counts is endurance in commitments and bone-deep unions. The question is, will these people step up to that uncompromising reality?
This novel's crisp, slotted language, redolent with the cadences of Kentucky rural talk, and brimming with both casual and profound insights works economically, at the bone. Morgan wastes no words. She casts light and shadow with a steady and wise hand, leaving us to see stark contrasts and rough splendors. ALL THE LIVING, Job-like, questions the ordering of nature and the cosmos. Perhaps more importantly, it meditates on what constitutes human maturity. It SHOULD become a classic.
