The Boy, the Girl, and the Goose in Leif Enger’s Peace Like a River

A critical essay on gesture

…I picked up Davy’s knife and tried it against my thumb, then beheaded the snow.

Watching, Swede said, “Forgive me running, Rube?"

“What?”

“I ran away.”

“From the goose? Swede, it wasn’t any big deal.” I tossed the head into a cardboard box we’d found in the barn and went to work on the wings. They came off a lot harder than the head; I had to saw the knife blade back and forth.

“Come on, forgive me,” she insisted.

I nodded, but said nothing. Those wings were gristly fellows.

…I whacked them off at a chop apiece and tossed them up to the truck. Swede caught them and scrambled over to the grainbed. My hands were freezing and I dreaded the next part—I ought to’ve taken Davy’s offer to clean the goose. Aiming at a spot under the breastbone, I plunged in.

…”I guess so.” Swede, a goose foot in each hand, made them walk daintily along the edge of the flatbed.

…Finishing the goose I held it under the pump until water surged clean from the cavity, then went up to the house with Swede. On the way she showed me how by pulling a tendon she could make a goose foot contract and relax. She made the foot into a tight goose fist and said, “Youuuuu dirty raaaaat!” For a kid sister she did a very adequate Cagney (Leif Enger Peace Like a River 9-11)

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Two things simultaneously occur in this passage: (1) Reuben cleans his first goose; and (2) Reuben and his sister Swede converse about her running away from the goose and, later, their brother Davy’s gal getting beat up by two boys in the girls’ locker room. The juxtaposition of these two actions—much like Coppola’s parallel cutting between Michael’s consecration as his nephew’s godfather and his family’s killing of all the Corleone enemies—creates a tension between the two actions, thereby not only creating a rich, complex meaning but also more deeply engaging the reader in the moment.

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Lesson One: An interesting, rare action provides original, fresh props. I love the way Enger gives Swede the goose parts. Give a girl some goose legs and soon she’ll be walking them across the floor—or doing a great Cagney impression. The dismembered goose opens up the scene and its gestures to new possibilities. The goose’s head, wings, organs provide a similar “goose” to the action.

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Lesson Two: Get characters absorbed in two different worlds. Reuben’s absorption in the task of cleaning his first goose and Swede’s fascination with the attack on Davy’s girlfriend Dolly create two alternative realities that complement and contrast each other. Reuben’s violent dismemberment of the goose is both like and unlike Dolly’s violation, for he although he’s breaking its wing/arm, he’s inflicting such a “beating” on a dead animal. That someone would want to do the same thing to a person intensifies the horror of Swede’s obsession about the attack. Neither cares as much about the other’s world as his or her own. Also, having them finally connect at the end over the goose feet is a particularly nice touch.

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Lesson Three: Focus on the actions, rather than the dialogue. When I write a scene, I bring the dialogue to the forefront. The action here is far more interesting than the talk, Reuben’s what’s and guess so’s. The action, uninterrupted by the dialogue, would take on a tedious quality. But the parallelism adds interest. As Reuben plunges into the “belly of the beast,” the dialogue plunges into the impending war between Reuben’s family and the boys who beat up Dolly. It’s kind of like when thunder cracks in the distance as someone speaks—only it’s far more complex and innovative.