The Spoon River Anthology: William Goode

I’ve just finished the Spoon River Anthology, by Edgar Lee Masters. I know I read a few of these in high school, but certainly never took a crack at the whole book (I wasn’t even reading the books when the whole thing was assigned, back in those days). I would love to recommend it… as it is, I recommend having the experience if you’ve got the will for it, but speaking honestly, I must confess it is a long journey that taxes patience at times.

But if you can stay attentive, you’ll find moments of great pathos and golden light in these pages. You are likely to see yourself and your loved ones in these characters, and to see these flawed people elevated to mythic and beautific status… from where I am, here at the end of the collection, I suddenly feel a growing gratitude.

So from here on out, I am going to stop referring to this book as a “slog” when I describe it to my acquaintances.

I noted several poems that were compelling in various ways — some crushingly sad, some mysterious, and some genuinely sympathetic and inspiring. Of the latter, I’ll note one of my favorites below. This might not have the effect on you that it had on me, being deep in this literary journey and finally closing in on the end.

This is the poem that I felt closest to, the character who spoke for me most directly. His name is William Goode. His poem is here: William Goode.

To all in the village I seemed, no doubt,
To go this way and that way, aimlessly.

William’s reverence for the quest, his embrace of the journey itself, knowing after death that he had no clear destination, and now it’s too late to find one… this feels like a rallying cry for me, who is always crafting something, but doesn’t have the nerve to sell it, and doesn’t feel compelled to settle.

I think I may do some more writing after Masters’ characters… maybe some posts on the hopeful and willful, maybe a few on the tragic, the defiant, the weird. I was stretching to finish this book in the last week or so, but now that I’m done, I’m not ready to release my grip on it. Not for a little while, at least.