Review by Michael Carrier
Peter Geye, in his novel A Lesser Light, has served up to his readers a well-constructed and entertaining chunk of his heart—and it’s a sizable chunk at that. Here Geye not only demonstrates his amazing ability to put words and sentences together in a deeply compelling fashion (particularly given that he is telling his story in the mindset of a remarkable period of time in our nation’s history—very early twentieth century), he does so in a unique style that pulls the reader in and makes him turn pages. I found it virtually impossible to put this book down.
By the time a guest is a mere first-hour’s read into the book he will realize that Geye also has a definite gift for description. Take, for example, this short segment: “Down the shore a lighter sky, another freighter steaming toward her—already the third she’d seen today—bordered by the inland woods ebony with evergreens and shadows. There was no pull toward home.” I have no doubt that I could have randomly opened the book at any point my finger might have chosen, and be able to find equally intriguing word paintings.
Geye’s storyline transports the reader through the daily lives of Theodulf Sauer, a disbarred attorney who now serves as master keeper at the newly commissioned Gininwabiko Lighthouse on Lake Superior, and his young and beautiful wife Willa, who came to him via a less-than-convenient marriage arrangement.
Very early on in the story we can see that the Willa/Theo relationship is going to be a rough one—he is more than a little overbearing, and she not a woman who puts up with intolerance. While that part of the story is not particularly unique, what makes it quite entertaining is the manner in which Geye pours out the emotional interactions of his main characters, and even more captivating is the fashion he allows them to bounce their lives off the highly constrained walls of their lighthouse living quarters.
At times Geye is guiding us through Willa’s rustic pantry, and doing it with such care that we can smell the stored lard, onions and potatoes, and sense the cold moistness with the sort of reality that’s apt to shiver a chill. And then the next thing we see is Willa jarring Theo’s brain with a hard-thrown hand. However, throughout it all Geye still never loses sight of his story.
All of the characters Geye introduces and exposes, he does so in a thorough fashion—you feel as though you actually get to know these folks just as they are perceived by the other players. Geye makes it a point to tell the truth about them.
While my primary field of interest lies in contemporary murder mystery (I’ve published eighteen such books set in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula), earlier in my career I completed several years of postgraduate study at various universities (NYU and the University of Pennsylvania) majoring in history. So, I think it likely that it is this background that at least in part made this historical fiction offering quite enjoyable for me to read.
However, there just might be an even more compelling incentive for my interest to be drawn to books like Geye’s A Lesser Light. That driving force lie in the fact that I do possess an inordinate interest in matters involving Lake Superior—I spend half of the year (the warmer months) living in my house overlooking the final resting places of numerous Great Lake shipping vessels.
For instance, looking directly out from my front windows, but 500 or so feet beneath the water’s surface, lies the broken remains of the giant oar carrier known as the Edmund Fitzgerald. And between the Fitzgerald and my window (probably two hundred yards or so north of my house) rests the wooden skeleton of the Ora Endress, which was permanently awarded that real estate in 1914.
Then, just a few hundred yards east of my living room stands the oldest operational lighthouse on Lake Superior—the magnificent Whitefish Point Lighthouse. And right beside that landmark is the gate granting access into the world-famous Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum.
The realization of the great dangers posed by that lake makes me quick to confess that many have been the nights, with northwest gales beating against my house, that I have sneaked a peak out of my bedroom window to assure myself that the Fresnel lens atop that stately lighthouse structure was functioning as intended, and thereby hopefully preventing a fully-loaded one-thousand-foot ore carrier from crashing through the rocks and smashing into my living room.
So, if asked whether I would recommend reading this book, my answer would be this: “An enthusiastic Yes!” I would urge reading A Lesser Light to anyone who would relish coming as close as possible to experiencing what it would feel like to step back in history and spend a few days in an early twentieth-century lighthouse—it would not be regretted. And, if one does start A Lesser Light, they should be sure to complete it; because, as with most good novels, some surprises await him at the end.
Michael Carrier, is the author of “Murder on Sugar Island”
