242 Western American Literature The Canyons of Grace. By Levi S. Peterson. (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1982. $4.95.) Mormons are much given to comparing themselves to the Jews, and in fact this resemblance (on a small scale) isconspicuous, structurally and histor ically. Both cultures are solidly patriarchal, and once upon a time the Mor mons, too, suffered social ostracism, legal persecution, and physical violence before their wanderings brought them to a desert homeland. But here the resemblance ceases. Most urban of all people, the Jews have contributed their talents to sophisticating their environment, whatever it might be; they seem to farm only under duress and willingly fling down their shovels as soon as they can afford a ticket to the city — any city. Mormons, by contrast, carry with them an indomitable insularity, wherever they may reluctantly roam. Though life long residents of exotic climes, they remain homesick for Utah. Urbanity of course implies breadth of outlook and a tendency toward freedom of expression. Thus Jewish writers have always eloquently revealed their culture to the world, exposed their own foibles, crotchets, problems, in a thoroughly objective and often humorous way. Not so the Mormons. In recent times especially, they have shown a para noiac dread of being known outside Zion on human terms; their communica tions are formal, cautious, self-censored. True revelations are fragmentary, rare, presented either defiantly or furtively. So it was with a sense of astonish ment that I read Levi Peterson’s collection of short stories, The Canyons of Grace — first that they could have been written at all, and second that they have been written so brilliantly. Mormons have of course become authors before this, and paid for their success in the literary world with censure from the folks back home. Some have gone more or less gladly into exile (Fawn Brodie, Vardis Fisher) ; some have been persuaded to recant (Maurine Whipple) ;still others kept on proba tion after having their knuckles rapped (Juanita Brooks). Yet all these writers were historians; not one was audacious enough to attempt an objective picture of contemporary life within the Church. More strictly local lights have avoided the problem by producing only fantasy, science fiction, or juvenilia, often larded with religious affirmation. So far as I know, Mr. Peterson is the first Mormon writer to attempt, and to publish, a piece of adult contemporary Mormon literature. Yet there is a timeless tone to these stories, partly, perhaps, because Mormons remain so agrarian in their bent despite their business success in the middle class modern world. Except for one story set in Paris, the scenes are rural, and except for certain clues of dress and other objects, the action might often be occurring a generation ago. This impression isreinforced by the dialogue;Mormons rarely swear, and their slang is reminiscent of World War I. Nevertheless, Mr. Peterson is writ ing about life in Utah today, and it all rings true. Men and women in these stories seem locked not so much in conflict as Reviews 243 in a sort of melancholy apposition. The male characters, resembling Mr. Peterson himself, one suspects, are mystically, often poetically attracted by pagan images and ideas. They feel unworthy of God and women (frequently linked in their emotions). They are depressed by the burdens and exactions of the Church: “The commandments overweighted a man, bent him low, squeezed him into odd shapes like a gnarled, missprouted tree.” More than their own consciences, women compel their service to these commandments which prohibit their liberty. One character, Paul, wildly flings into a lake the Book of Mormon copy which his wife has sneaked into his backpack — then he nearly drowns in the effort to retrieve it. Peterson’s men love their women, though not passionately, are patient with their nagging, seem sometimes a bit awestruck at the female predica ment, so much more crippling than their own. In fact, all the women in these stories are damaged; they range from mildly neurotic to dangerously psychotic. One wife, isolate, somehow fam ished, her sights set only on the golden after-life, appears in a stunning vision of fear to her husband as he sits eating his sandwich...
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Dec 1, 2004
B W Jorgensen 
