Abstract
“Tell me what you can’t forget, and I’ll tell you who you are.” This powerful opening line sets the tone and the theme of the novel, Marlena. No spoiler alert is needed when revealing the centrality of a character’s death to this story. We know from the fourth page that Marlena Joyner is dead and that this is her story—and/or the story of her friend Catherine (Cat) and the impact on her of Marlena’s death…and life.
Others might say that the short- and long-term influence on Cat was disastrous, but the intense relationship between Cat and Marlena is experienced as largely positive by each of them, since each has something to offer that the other needs. Although they regularly share a bed, and physical contact is described, this intimacy is not portrayed as romantic or sexual—even if that might be debatable. Interactions with boys and men, in contrast, are romanticized and/or sexualized. This contrast could be the basis of an interesting classroom discussion.
It is clear that Marlena and Catherine want to be strong and act in ways that intend to show that. However, this often means using their sexuality to manipulate men, boys, and circumstances, and ends up not feeling empowering. The men and boys in their world are not paragons. They lie, cheat, abuse, and betray. These strong young women are surrounded by intellectually inferior and hormone-driven teenage peers, absent and abusive fathers, a brutish drug dealer who demands sexual favors, and a lascivious teacher. They submit and engage to the extent necessary to get what they want, but they do not view this system or its representatives as benevolent or admirable…merely as powerful.
Buntin’s writing is beautiful and both effective and highly evocative in portraying relationships, dialogue, and a sense of place. As someone from Michigan, I found it a pleasure to read a story set firmly in familiar territory. The stark and isolated beauty of northern Michigan features strongly and is well-captured, serving almost as a character unto itself. This region is known for its harsh winters, but at the same time is a summer tourist haven. The changing seasons and their interactions with the characters are strongly and realistically portrayed. This could provide much fodder for discussions related to the importance of focusing on the person-in-environment approach.
The portrayal of the desolation and hopelessness experienced by many young people in rural settings is also harsh but realistic. Thrill-seeking and acting-out behavior that once would have involved going behind the barn and smoking, or driving down to the river and drinking beer all night, in today’s context is likely to go far beyond those activities and, instead, into the use of drugs, including opioids. The consequences of this risk-taking are well-known, and effectively portrayed in this book.
Buntin does not fall into the trap of equating substance abuse with lower socioeconomic status. It is clear in Marlena that drug and alcohol use are equal-opportunity hazards—although they have fewer front-end and back-end consequences for the wealthier kids, whose resources allow them safer and easier access and use and better outcomes if criminal charges result.
At one point, it does seem as if Buntin is blaming class and money for the ultimate differences in behavior and outcome for Marlena and Cat, but it then becomes clear that she is saying that the difference actually comes from having or lacking a solid foundation of parental trust and love. This raises an interesting point of discussion for social workers. A strong attachment and relationship with a parent from birth may be most desirable, but many people don’t have that. Given that reality, what are points and means of intervention that can help?
Buntin avoids easy answers and pat endings. Near the close of the book, Cat herself, mired in regrets and reveries about the past, still drinks heavily to forget and to cope. There is a glimmer of hope at the end that Cat may be able to move forward and become more free of what haunts her. This hopeful development is not overstated, however, in keeping with the realistic perspective of this book—and of the profession of social work.
There are social workers in this story who become involved as Marlena’s situation unravels. They do what they think they can to help, even bending rules to try to give Marlena every chance to change her trajectory. As social workers, we could pose several questions: What might social workers have done differently? At what points in this story could they have intervened effectively? And more broadly: What kinds of systems could be put into place to increase the life chances and future hopes of young people in isolated rural communities?
I can see opportunities for using this book in the social work curriculum. In fieldwork-related classes, it could help affirm the reality of those students practicing in rural settings, and it could help inform those in urban settings about other realities. Practice classes could frame discussions about many issues based on reading Marlena. While it has a significant focus on substance use and abuse, other important themes include loss and grief; family dynamics and relationships, including issues of abuse and abandonment; and aging—including both understanding and “becoming” your mother.
Practitioners, too, will find this both interesting reading and relevant to their work.