Thirty-Three Cecils

Thirty-three Cecils is a tragedy. This isn't a spoiler: the novel says so right in its prologue. What is surprising is how uplifting this tragedy is. That's because, as with all good stories, it's not what happens that matters as much as how something happens. Everett De Morier's first novel isn't just a good story, but a great, sad and deeply humane tale about loss and redemption.

The novel purports to tell a true story of Walker Roe and Riley Dutcher who, in the early 1990s, came into the national spotlight due to a series of remarkable and controversial events they've been involved in. It does so through recently uncovered journals - equally fictional, of course - written by Walker and Riley to explain how these two people, these complete strangers with seemingly nothing in common, came to meet.

At first glance, the two couldn't be more different. While Walker Roe is an award-winning animator, Riley Dutcher is working a dead-end job at the city dump. And yet, both of them are good men trying to atone for their past sins. Personal tragedy pushed Walker into bank frauds and counterfeiting money. He got caught, served time in prison, brought shame to his family and ended up divorced. Meanwhile, Riley is an alcoholic - a highly functioning one, but an alcoholic nevertheless. Riley used drink to ease into being with people. A decade later, his drinking alienated him from his now dead parents, his wife, and his friends.

It is when De Morier examines everyday lives of his flawed, yet remorseful characters, that Thirty-three Cecils is most engrossing. Using two narrators in the novel is a clever move by De Morier, allowing him to stress the differences - and similarities - between two men. While Walker often muses on his life with certain sad humor, Riley's journal, while not as articulate, feel more visceral. Both of them hunger for a chance to start anew, but their self-confidence is achingly, cripplingly brittle.

Walker is obsessed with the way others perceive him. He tries to stay out of everyone's way. He picks up and drops his daughters at his divorced wife's house regularly and on time. He's never late for work. Every day, Walker checks the local newspaper for articles that might mention his name. Walker's obsession is not just in his head either: he regularly faces distrust from colleagues and strangers alike who would like him to disappear somewhere, anywhere but here. While rightfully bitter for being ostracized by the society at large, Walker is far more worried about what he refers to as "breaking the seal" - that one painless act of wrongdoing that will send him again down the slippery slope of lies and crime. Walker's solace are his daughters, Liz and Abby with whom he has a delightful relationship. But even they worry him a little: Walker's rightful concern is they might grow to hate him as they experience the shame of having a criminal for a father.

Like Walker, Riley is similarly ashamed of his weakness. His hygiene is meticulous: afraid of being seen as a stereotypical wino, his clothes are always clean and his alcoholic breath carefully hidden with breath mints. Riley is also very careful about how and when he drinks, afraid of possible damages he might cause during his drunken binges. His journal doesn't really make it clear what made Riley an alcoholic and Riley himself seems to have a vague understanding of his need to drink. Thinking of his past, Riley realizes the unsettling malleability of memory and the way we can shape our life stories into justifying all kinds of selfish deeds. Throughout the novel, he looks at his own life and sees all the people he selfishly pushed away with his drinking.

And then, both Walker and Riley experience extraordinary events that upend their everyday lives. One of them involves death. The other, a mysterious appearance of a bicycle in an apartment kitchen. But maybe, just maybe, these events might offer Walker and Riley a chance for a better life. But it is here that the third, unnamed protagonist of the story comes to the front - society itself. While complete strangers offer Riley help, next door neighbors scorn Walker. At every step, the ever-volatile opinion of the public, shaped by prejudice and the media both hinders and helps these two men - even more so than their own internal flaws.

The story of Walker Roe and Riley Dutcher could have been easily written as a simple morality tale and, in a way, that's what it is. However, instead of banal moralizing about the sins of lying or crime or alcohol or whatever, De Morier is far more interested in a story about human imperfection and the way our thirst for success and recognition battles with our need to simply be better with ourselves and each other.

It's not a coincidence that Walker and Riley both see themselves as little a bit childish. Walker unfavorably compares himself to his own pre-teen daughters, while Riley explains how the mind of an alcoholic remains stuck in the period of life when he started drinking. This childish naivete is, in fact, an important part of their recovery: it takes an active, persistent effort to unburden oneself from preconceived notions and gray everyday cynicism to look at one's life with an earnest wish for a positive change.

De Morier hides the novel's message right in its very title. Thirty-three Cecils is a fairy tale Walker sometimes tells his daughters. It is a funny little story but, the more you think about it, the truer and sadder it sounds. A similar message is succinctly told by Walker when he observes that, "in a world where there are no major successes, minor is major". And truly, that's what the lives of Walker Roe and Riley Dutcher are about. Sometimes, the greatest success is simply to persist. Sometimes, the greatest accomplishment is atoning for our mistakes by helping others. It is when we start to hunger for more - more recognition, more wonder, more success - that bad things start to happen. This is obvious even in the novel's prologue, where, decades after the events in the novel, a chance discovery of an old cardboard box containing the journals of Walker and Riley leads to a multi-million dollar lawsuit between two college roommates.

Early in the novel, Walker wonders can he truly "rewire" himself into a better person or is he destined to forever repeat his programming, unable to stop, change or even recognize his actions for mistakes that they are. While the artists, scientists, philosophers and holy men have asked themselves that very same question since the time immemorial, there's an even larger question hidden behind the novel's story: what if it is society itself that is preventing us from improving? Because, as Thirty-three Cecils shows us, the unusual partnership of Walker Roe and Riley Dutcher doesn't end all that well. It's that aforementioned greed coupled with envy that leads to a sad demise of these well-meaning, albeit flawed men.

And then there's chance itself. Throughout the novel, both Walker and Riley experience strange and baffling coincidences that twist and turn the course of their lives over one incredible summer. A favorite of mine - and quite possibly the most spectacular one in the entire novel - revolves around a failed make of a 1970s sports car. In a lesser novel, such events would have strained the story's credulity. In Thirty-three Cecils however, these seemingly wondrous events are precisely the point. Life is bizarre and strange and complicated, but how can we really notice this if we don't give it a chance by breaking our routine.

I must admit that, when I started reading this novel, I was skeptical at first. I was wondering what kind of story I'm getting myself into. Then, I practically devoured the entire novel in one sitting. More than anything, Thirty-three Cecils is a life-affirming novel. It is quirky, funny, sad and yet hopeful. De Morier asks us to look for wonders in everyday life with courage and joy, to celebrate even the smallest victories and to live with grace, patience, and compassion. He asks this not because there are no tragedies and misfortunes in life but - as the novel's ending reminds us - precisely because there are far too many of them. And we shouldn't let them overwhelm us.

Walker Roe and Riley Dutcher are good men trying to atone for their past sins. And they succeed. Don't let the novel's ending fool you: they've both turned their lives around. If the ending may not exactly feel like it, again, that's precisely the point. In a world where there are no major successes, minor is major. It's rare for me to find a book that makes me feel as if I, and, by extension, the world itself, can be made a little better just by reading it. Everett De Morier's Thirty-three Cecils is one such book.