“We all die, but some of us—those who are blessed or maybe just lucky—have the opportunity before that end to be redeemed. We can let go, forgive others, and also forgive ourselves for the worst of what we are or have been.”
Currently, I have a crush on William Kent Kruger. I’m smitten with his rich perspective and captivated by his sapient storytelling. He’s a dreamy writer. I just finished his latest, The River We Remember, and I’m so sad it’s over. Of course, stories must end—I know this—but it doesn’t get any easier to let characters knit inside your heart go. It’s as if Kruger inserts bright, breathing fictional people into my heart, wraps them counterclockwise around my soul, and pulls them through me. A part of me wanted to stay put in Jewel, Minnesota. (I kept hitting repeat on the sleep timer deep into the night to coexist there, and I’ve got the eye bags to prove it!)
I can still remember the small town feeling I had when I read To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time. Harper Lee transformed the South into a memorable character. Kruger has the same gift. A beautiful landscape is his muse. In 1958, Jewel is a homey place—of course, the town gossip is as good as gospel. When wealthy Jimmy Quinn’s body, full of buckshot, is found in the Alabaster River, there’s no stoppin’ the rumors. Prejudices, not long buried, surface. Sheriff Brody Dern arrests a Native American Vet who looks good for the murder but refuses to plead one way or another. The story revolves around solving Quinn’s murder. But Kruger’s real focus has more to do with “the wounds left by the wars we fight abroad and at home.” My crush isn’t afraid to confront the fact that we’re all broken. Much of being human means finding ways to heal. Kruger is too good. The River We Remember is beautifully written. Some have suggested this may be Kruger’s magnum opus—you’ll need to visit Jewel to decide for yourself. You’ll be incredibly glad you did.