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Daughters of Utopia.
A Utopia for these stressful times.Daughters of Utopia is a fast-moving adventure story about strong women, black belt karate, a wilderness Utopia, and a way upstate New York community. The backcountry setting and the free, though primitive, lifestyles portrayed, make for a restorative reading experience for these stressful times. One quickly becomes drawn into the threads of these women's lives. The serious clandestine nature of the group's activities, so thoroughly mixed with well-drawn fun characters and great stretches of humor brings to mind Edward Abbey's Monkey Wrench Gang (1975) and others. This is a novel that touches us all at some point in our lives .... or someone we know and care about. (Martin Schwalbaum, reviewed November 4, 2001.) |
Not on any map, it was impossible to drive past No Place on the way to somewhere else. Except for the man who drove the propane delivery truck, there were no regular visitors. Once, when Roberto Ramirez was buying a newspaper at the general store in MacMartin, New York [=Jay, NY], the cashier remarked that he had never seen him before. He asked him where he lived. Ramirez told the old man behind the counter that he lived a few miles down the road, by the turn off Route 7N [=Route 9N]. The cashier thought Ramirez must have been from out of town. He, the cashier, had been living in MacMartin all his life, and knew for sure that there was no turn off Route 7N a few miles down the road, in either direction.
All the cabins of No Place had names. Sara Bloom was making her way back from "Sugar Camp," where she, her husband Alter, and their two daughters lived. She had just sent out the exploration party when she heard an ear-piercing scream of "NO!" come from Our Place [=The Cabin]. In record time, she ran back to Sugar Camp, retrieved Johnny Boy [an antique rifle], and stood on the porch of Our Place.
Both Jodi and Sara Bloom were asleep when the reconnaissance party returned. Strassfeld had been sitting watch with a homemade revolver when they quietly climbed the porch steps. Otis saw the look of anticipation on Strassfeld’s face when she stepped onto the porch, and decided he should be the first to speak, "Sorry, mam. We didn’t see Harry’s car. Now, don’t you worry. He’s a doctor. Walton’s home. That much we know. There’s no message on your machine, either, but that doctor is a busy man."
Nature possesses few marvels that can match the majesty of an Adirondack mountain morning. There is life in it. The splendor of the sun mirrored in the freshly fallen shining snow is enough to raise one’s spirits higher than the gentle peaks of the giant glacial mountains. The air, that cool, pure air, is sweeter than the sap flowing through the sugar maples, and tastes twice as refreshing. There’s a smell to it, the quiet, motionless morning as intoxicating as potent liquor. It frees the soul from its corporeal home and suddenly that breath of life is soaring with an eagle flying over head. The subtle scents of pine and cedar leave one with a sense of well being more profound than the sensations induced by anything that can be smoked or swallowed.
In the ensuing opiate induced ataraxia, Jodi felt as if her father had blown her deep into the nineteenth century. She looked around with glazed eyes, but could not find a single light bulb, either fluorescent or incandescent. There were no electrical outlets. For that matter, there were no electric appliances of any kind. There was no television, telephone, or even a portable radio.
Suspended from one end of the cabin ceiling to the other was a single, untreated paper birch log with its bark intact. From this log hung a stained glass kerosene light fixture. Judging from the absence of a wick, Jodi thought it was more for decoration than utility.
Bloom waited for Roberto Ramirez to return from breakfast before she herself had something to eat. When Ramirez comfortably sat down next to Jodi, a shotgun in his lap, Bloom headed for "The Cabin," the largest single structure in No Place [=Fourpeaks]. The first section of this long rectangular log building housed the homestead’s communal kitchen and dining room. In it were a large range, an oven, and a full sized refrigerator-freezer. As were the light fixtures that were secured to the walls, these appliances were powered by propane. An immense stainless steel sink was set flush to the right of a large, red hand pump that drew water from the well underneath the foundation.
A massive breakfront that faced the kitchen served as the divider between the dining area and the living room. Among the contents of the later were a sofa, rocking chairs, shelves filled with books, a dry sink, and an enormous stone hearth. On the left side of the living area was a heavy wooden door that opened onto a covered porch, which afforded a breathtaking view of the unspoiled wilderness of the Au Sable Valley.
She did not care that the door was unlocked behind them. She gently placed her left foot behind the tendons of his right knee, collapsing Bianchon to the upswept floor. She plunged her tongue deep into his mouth. She felt alive, as if she had just been born and was breathed her first breath. She wanted to taste Bianchon as if she were experiencing him for the first time. She tasted his mouth, his shoulders, and the nipples of his chest. She savored his flesh, all of it, and in doing so, she nourished her soul.
When the adults were seating themselves around the blazing fire in the large stone hearth, Marvis Otis found it necessary to excuse himself. He said he would "be back in just a few minutes." What he really meant was that he would return in the time it took him to sneak to the outhouse and smoke one of the stubby Cuban cigars he bought in Canada.
Rabbi Moss Krupnick has been studying martial arts for fifteen
years, and holds a blackbelt and instructor certification in Shoa Lin
Kemp kung fu and jui jitsu. His specialty is the Japanese long sword, a
weapon with which he has competed internationally. A graduate of
Columbia University and The Jewish Theological Seminary of America,
Rabbi Krupnick is also a hospital chaplain, with extensive experience in
counseling victims of trauma, domestic violence, and AIDS at Robert Wood
Johnson University Hospital and Overlook Hospital, both in New Jersey.
His next novel, God's Will in the Time of AIDS, is expected in the
spring of 2002.
Daughters Of Utopia
By Rabbi Moss Krupnick
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