“In art,” Rodney says, “I was constantly being asked to explain images constructed from a palette of emotions and ideas, which couldn’t effectively be described in words.”
But then, later in life, Rodney discovered an affinity for writing.
“In writing, the words are creating the images, images are telling a story, the story is evoking feelings.
I like it,” he says, “there’s nothing to explain.”
RODNEY JONES
is an Indiana based artist and author.
His life-long ambition was to be an artist, which manifested in a collection of over 700 original paintings and drawings, as well as awards and exhibitions, including: The Albright-Knox Art Gallery (Buffalo, NY); Art Dialogue Gallery (Buffalo, NY); The Anderson Gallery (Buffalo, NY); and The Elaine Beckwith Gallery (Jamaica, VT).
Shhh… the past is trying to sleep.
A few times in the life, we meet a situation, or perhaps the crossing point of many, which, seems to have no importance, but only on the first look.
The significant things always come almost unnoticed. They don’t have pompous names and there is not a bustle happening around. The chance to read “THE OTHER MR. BAX” before being published is one of them.
Noticing the title of the RODNEY JONES’ book, I said – it sounds mysterious.
The opening chapter suggested that I’m going to read a sweet romance. But all those assumptions happened to be far away from the truth.
Author – in a very subtle and discreet way – developed a story, which only some people would live, but many will read and consider illusory; an eclectic imagination condensed into the pages of a book.
The span of more than thirty years of life suggests the depth of personal experiences, very intimate and dear, which author with an ease and flow fused into a surprisingly cutting edge parallel realities plot played as a background for an unprecedented love story.
Roland, the main character, true to his name – a rare personality, enjoys his school’s short breaks only because there is a girl - on a swing. She took his full attention and in the innocence of the pure child’s heart Roland undergo short, but deeply rooted encounter with a purest human love. Shy introvert outside, but spontaneous within, finds how brief moments of joy engrave in a human psyche as a long-life longings.
Joyce, the object of his devotion, moves with a family to a new town without a word of explanation, leaves Roland experience his first pain of abandonment.
After that short, but poetic in nature introduction, the author let us jump in time directly into another emotional crisis. Roland, after 10 years of marriage, faces divorce.
His wife Nancy, unsatisfied with the life spent with him, tries to use all possible ways to be free. Even advises Roland to date a particular woman from their community, cooks for them dinner and leaves the house.
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Joyce, visiting a festival in the city and passing between the tents of artist and craftsman, spots a painting which attracts her observe more. A name-tag on the painter suggests “ROLAND BAX”.
The name pops into her memory from the deeply repressed moments, when as a girl enjoyed his company during the school breaks. She had known that her family moves between the military bases very often and didn’t want to spoil her short moments of nearness and joy.
But now, she stands here, right in front of him. The end of their conversation becomes also the beginning of their possible reunion.
“I’m Joyce Rubens.” The name, Roland all those years had held alive in his memory, opened the room of still lit desire, unquenched and painful.
“The warmth in her eyes enveloped his anxious heart, melting away his doubts
as though the act of smiling represented a commitment.
The gravity of the earth fell away.”
“Honey, went for a walk, will be back soon. XXX”
The short note waited on the table when Dana came home from the work. Hours passed but Roland didn’t come. He never did this. Entire sixteen years of their marriage.
A phone call from a cop suggests that a man in the hospital with a concussion might be her husband. Joyce has a hard time to sleep at night, but the morning does not bring her any relief. Roland let the hospital call his brother, not her. Why? The mounting stress within Joyce denotes an unknown threat.
“Where is Dana?” Roland’s question stunned his siblings. “Your wife’s name is Joyce, we don’t know any Dana” Brain, his brother looked serious; he would not create such a drama.
“And what are you doing here in Buffalo?"
“He stared toward the door. His life, like pages ripped from a book—
shuffled, shaken, and scattered in a malevolent wind.
Anyone could pass through that door. Any scenario could lay beyond it.”
A woman who entered the hospital room does not resemble any of his recent memories. Why is she here? The lingering tears in her eyes and familiarity how she looks at him reveals the depth of the feelings which only long relationship allows developing. She knows him, but he doesn’t know her.
Two people in a hospital room; one is looking for an explanation, any promise of the familiar smirk, and words of apology. The second in his entire life cannot find a place where this woman would fit. Maybe into his childhood memories, vague and distant, but not connected to her tears, real and present now. She is Mrs. Bax and he feels disinterested, as would be the pedestrian walking in the opposite direction.
Why is this happening? His cruelty displayed as a coldness of not knowing her and his burn mark on the back, which she has never seen before, added another mile to the distance between them.
Joyce turned and left the room. Why the ends seem to be so simple. Her entire life remained in that room; Joyce who left was only a hollow emptiness.
Two days after Roland disappearance, his energy was missing, as though he’d never been there.
“The place felt oddly untouched by his presence—his energy missing, as though he’d never been there. She had repeatedly assured herself that this, his absence, would soon end.
But doubts were beginning to interfere with that assumption.”
“Dana”—Brian coughed, then cleared his throat—“he’s convinced that he’s married, and she… his wife, vanished. Same as his house.”
Dana tries to measure the scope of that sentence, of the words, which have the power to destroy what they together with Roland - now someone else – built the previous sixteen years. Is the piano beside her unreal, and the painting, still waiting for his signature, the nights in the woods they enjoyed? Only the empty space in her bed is real.
The house, the lunch he was just preparing, Joyce… all that disappeared and Roland stares at the boulder, that stands where he has chosen 5 years ago to build his house. A desert or a deserted place? How feels the person who just lost his significant one? Screaming inside, rejecting the cold truth of powerlessness, fighting everyone – but there is no one to fight. Just the night in a desert.
“He gazed off toward the south, unable to form even the beginning of an idea about what happened,
what to do next, how to fix it, or destroy it.
He sat back on his heels, everything receding in his mind—dull, tiny, distant—until only thin, passive concepts remained.”
Two women, Joyce and Dana, are waiting for the seemingly same man. Roland. Or the other Mr. Bax?
Unknown twin? Double life? No. It would be very simple. Perhaps, they would meet.
It’s very hard to write a review for such a complex book. I just started and if I don’t want to reveal the unexpected twists in the plot I must stop. On the first look, four main characters are trapped in a mystery. One of them – Roland - disappears from his commonplace of existence and appears in the same timeline but in a different space.
As if they are all playing roles in a movie, but the director just applied a different casting and forgot to inform them.
Do I read a sci-fi? I found myself lost in a searching for the right description of the book, but only because the author precisely planned every tiny detail. The whole book is like a labyrinth; the author returns in time and enters the space through the back door just to show another scene perceived from the opposite side of a reality.
What is real and what is a fantasy? The word fantasy would not serve its purpose here. So what then?
“Reason and logic had, both, abandoned him as apparently reality, too, had.
What possessed him to move in the direction he chose lay hidden in the depths
of his subconscious at a place where reason would have been a liability.”
I would let the reader choose. I'm aware that everyone will find a different understanding of the story depending on own life experiences.
The question persists till the end: who is the Other Mr. Bax?
Our memories are connected with the time they happened but have nothing in common with our present existence. To live in the past is a deception, but for whom? For Roland or the other Mr. Bax?
“Perhaps it’s a synchronicity, she thought—a notion which gave rise to an equally hopeful
possibility that an answer, a sign, or clue, was right then floating about in the ethers.”
RODNEY JONES managed well playing with my emotions. I had to stop reading a few times, just to breathe and calm my overwhelming responses. I like the books which speak directly to the soul of the reader. I read just a few such books, and I read them several times. If they are still on the shelves of the library, they keep my DNA as a proof. Every time I read them, I cried over the same pages. They are yellowed from my tears.
“THE OTHER MR. BAX” belongs to that category. I read that book three times and can read it again.
The author drew me into the story, surprised me with the thoughtful details falling right to their specific places in the plot and unfolding even deeper with every next reading.
The dialogues flow smoothly as if they were recorded in the daily lives of people, near and dear, but unaware of the fact that their words had been inscribed into the pages of the book.
I was carried along the protagonists but felt their every breath; shuddered when they shuddered, suffered their inner struggles, felt that kiss and disappointment when they let the love of their life leave.
“He smiled, allowing yet another stirred up moment to pass.
But then the smile fell away as he lowered his lips to hers.
She closed her eyes, inhaled the mix of his breath and hers, the scent of his skin and hers, and forgot the concern that only a moment before had stood in her way.
Another thank you, a good bye, and that was it. He left.”
I was searching for a book, which would entertain me, satisfy my expectations for the reflective personal experiences and have a literary merit.
“THE OTHER MR. BAX” by RODNEY JONES is that book.
Author’s effortless style, authentic emotions packed in the simple moments, fleeting sense of a desire and anticipation, and the realism of the setting - play adagio for all strings of a human core.
“She seemed to have arrived on the scent of the wind, on the air’s coolness, it’s dryness,
and then traveled on the light, the colors of the leaves, a particular brightness,
the crispness of autumn, the season of love and loss.”
I recommend “THE OTHER MR. BAX” by RODNEY JONES as a sensational and manifold story of life, loss, and realizations, where love has its deep and unceasing power and metaphysical realities blend with the contemporary drift. A great read for every advanced reader, who expects more than a mere entertainment.
I give “THE OTHER MR. BAX” by RODNEY JONES 5 stars for content and reader’s experience.
Reviewed by Gabrielle de la Fair
22nd January 2015