‘
‘Bonefish are chameleons of light. Over sand they are albino bright, as hidden as a single frame in a firestorm. Over grass they darken, take on the aspect of soft green shadows’
‘There is in me, among so many longings, a yearning for the essence of things, of mountain and sky, sunlight and shadow, wild fish rippling in deep, dark waters still touched by wildness, moving in time’s inexorable flow, life as it comes and goes.‘
In the previous edition of TPR&F I introduced the American author Harry Middleton, and provided a brief summary of his autobiographical trilogy, three of my favourite books. Here I will continue with his literary legacy, my “author review” rather than “book review”.
Alongside the trilogy, Middleton’s other three books represent a change of style and content. He had a prolific if tragically short career; five books in as many years. He also left a distinguished literature of articles published before and during his “book years” in notable fishing, sporting and regional periodicals. Although I have addressed the “trilogy” consecutively, between On The Spine Of Time and The Bright Country he published two very different books. If I appear to give them shorter thrift here, a flippant explanation is that both are short books, less than one hundred pages even with large fonts. The two are starkly different in style and content, and In my opinion, one falls well short of the standards of the trilogy. In fairness though, someone looking for more focused fishing content will find both much more to their liking, and through that lens, both are excellent books in isolation.
Rivers of Memory (1993) is the hardest of all six to categorise. Each of the eight chapters is a standalone story; the geographies and style of angling range widely. Middleton acknowledged that: “Some of these bits and pieces of memory took their first tentative steps, in vastly different form, in newspapers and magazines”. They read as such, which is not intended as criticism, but to emphasise the contrast with the trilogy.
The early chapters are a real departure. Coastal rather than mountain fishing: Baja, Mexico for marlin; North Carolina for bluefish; bonefish in the Florida Keys. The language is recognizably Middleton, and the setting and geography gets closer attention than most writers would devote, but these read as the work of a salaried magazine contributor. Far removed from Middleton’s mountain trout, and the love and human connection is missing from the narrative. One scene in particular is the complete antithesis, capturing the wholesale slaughter of migratory shoals. That these locations and quarries hold no appeal to me personally doubtless clouds my judgement, being the complete opposite of Middleton’s treatment of South Park, Colorado.
Bonefish are chameleons of light. Over sand they are albino bright, as hidden as a single frame in a firestorm. Over grass they darken, take on the aspect of soft green shadows. I look for the dark eye, outlines, furrowed shadows, ghost fish marked by dark stripes, bars, the inky lateral line, the so-called nervous water that signals the presence of fish.
The book then takes a further sharp turn. In five chapters he revisits scenes from his earlier life and works, the mountains of the Ozarks and Smokies. All familiar from the trilogy, but told as standalone stories. Perhaps it is the sense of repetition, or the condensed format, but these chapters lack the affinity and immersion with their characters. I am not hiding my disappointment, though a reader picking this book in isolation from Middleton’s wider catalogue may find my verdict too damning.
Wild fish enchant me more than does the hardware of fishing. It is rivers that captivate and haunt me, rather than the arcane technology of modern angling. I yearn for the solace and mystery of moving water, not its honey spots nor its piscatorial trophies.
If I could have my introduction to Harry Middleton over again, I would start with his third book, The Starlight Creek Angling Society. It is a scant fifty seven pages, several of which are devoted to line drawings. Into this limited space he has condensed his most superlative prose, covering his childhood years with his grandfather and great uncle, distilling from The Earth Is Enough a focus on their fly fishing. It flows uninterrupted, with no separation into chapters, and can be read in an hour. No Piscatorial reader could possibly be disappointed. I would wholeheartedly recommend The Starlight Creek Angling Society as anyone’s introduction to the author, save for one glaring problem. It was a limited, private printing in 1992 of 500 copies and has never been reproduced. As a result it is scarce and highly collectable, with copies typically selling for around $1,000.
It is interesting to speculate about this limited production. Middleton’s books both before and after were produced in conventional quantities by a large and reputable publisher, Simon and Schuster. Perhaps they saw Starlight Creek as too repetitive of the earlier The Earth Is Enough. The small size also doesn’t fit comfortably in a conventional “book” format. Yet Middleton, at a time when we know his life was difficult at best, clearly felt strongly enough to pursue the private publication. Notwithstanding the high price that the book now commands, at the time of publication it would surely have been a labour or love, not an attractive commercial proposition. The inference is that Middleton felt this content as important enough to warrant publication, despite the small audience it would reach. Unreservedly, I agree.
While storms pressed hard against the resolve of the farmhouse, Albert and Emerson would work at the desk with the determination of minor gods, forsaking at every turn the dictates of reason and good sense in their search for the great concoction, the random mating of fur and feather and colored threads that would break new ground in piscine seduction, speak in the language of pure appeal, absolute fascination, enticement, allure, be the perfect corruption, the faultless hooked bribe, deadly enchantment, a come-on no trout could deny, something beyond the tame geography of mere interest, something exotic and completely irresistible. No combination was considered too distasteful, out of bounds. No creation was too shocking.
The sixth and final book is a further departure from its predecessors, this time by adopting a familiar format. In That Sweet Country, first published in 2010, seventeen years after his death, is simply and accurately subtitled Uncollected Writings of Harry Middleton. It is a sampling of the numerous articles he published across many years, starting a decade before his first book. It is well curated and thoughtfully organised by geography and subject. Each chapter is a standalone article with the familiar length of a quality periodical. Subjects extend beyond fishing to include hunting and the broader outdoors. Some of the locations and characters are familiar, but most are not. What strikes me is the variation in style and quality, perhaps not surprising given the broad timeline over which they were written and the different audiences. At its best, the prose could be lifted straight from The Earth Is Enough or The Starlight Creek Angling Society. Other chapters though disappoint, replacing Middleton’s familiar artful prose with typical magazine fodder, sometimes only poorly disguised infomercials. From one of the better ones:
Even when such rods were selling for $50 to $80, few average fly fishermen could afford a Leonard or even a Payne, for this was nearly a fifth of a farm’s annual earnings. But in those years money did not deny bamboo’s elusive magic, its beauty and its performance to any angler, for not only were there Leonards and Youngs and Paynes, so were there Grangers, Heddons, and Phillipsons, each a sound bamboo rod for a modest price. Albert had two Phillipsons, a Paramount and a Paragon. Later he added a Granger Registered. Bamboo rods were much like his grouse dogs: he struggled to spread his time and affection among them equally.
So, there we have it, the works of Harry Middleton. A writer that I think would be enjoyed by many TPR&F readers. And hopefully that would be reciprocated; Harry, I feel, would approve of the priorities and standards of the Piscatorials. His best works, in my opinion, are what I have dubbed the Trilogy, plus The Starlight Creek Angling Society. Books that feature fishing rather than focus on fishing. Autobiography disguised as storytelling. Characters who shock, but don’t surprise. Middleton is a master of sparing prose; each word is carefully chosen, fulfils a specific purpose, and fits into a deliberate sequence. Not for him the typical book of 300 pages, the publishers target; instead, exquisite quality rather than a proscribed quantity. The settings may not be familiar to a British reader, but Middleton will deceive you otherwise. There is magic, but no fairy story; the harsh realities of life are laid bare, but there is no self-pity, instead a dry, self-deprecating humour. I hope I can encourage you to pick up a copy of The Earth Is Enough. Used copies are available cheaply online, even if postage from the US needs to be added. I will be surprised if you are disappointed.
Finally, I cannot resist one further quote. From On The Spine Of Time, the wisdom of the Proverb Man who served milk shakes at the Dairy Queen in Pigeon Ford, Tennessee:
“When buying horses or taking a wife, shut your eyes tight and commend yourself to God.”
…to be continued…
Writing & Images Paul Adams Autumn 2023
You must be logged in to post a comment.