Excerpt: The Running Trees by Amber McMillan (Part 1)

When Amber McMillan published her non-fiction book The Woods: A Year on Protection Island (Nightwood Editions, 2016) there was a bit of controversy. Let’s just say the inhabitants of Nanaimo’s tiny island suburb didn’t agree with the author’s depiction of their home. Quill & Quire notes that at first glance the book might appear to be “a celebration of coastal beauty and wilderness adventures, but such expectations will be disappointed [as] McMillan includes very little description of natural settings or outdoor activities. Instead, The Woods is about navigating small-town life as an outsider.” Another review compared the book to the 1987 cult classic  Withnail & I, where the main characters “go on holiday by mistake” only to confront disaster upon disaster.

In the years that followed The Woods, McMillan began to write a three-act play satirizing to some extent, the little-thought-of controversies a book might bring to unsuspecting members of a fictionalized book club in a small, northern town. This collection of play-stories appears throughout McMillan’s short fiction collection The Running Trees (Goose Lane, 2021) and The Miramichi Reader is pleased to present to you the first of three installments in this exclusive excerpt. Part II is here.


Conversation #214: The Book Club, Act I

CHARACTERS

MRS. MARSHALL.76, the head volunteer at the library. She wears glasses and keeps her long, grey hair in a braid at the back of her neck. She’s well-spoken and contained. She has a faint British accent.

BELLE.24, a new volunteer to the library fulfilling a community service obligation for shoplifting a pair of Levi’s skinny jeans from the mall. She spends a lot of time smiling and nodding, as if in need of constant approval. She wears casual shorts, a sweatshirt with flowers on it, and bright green flip-flops.

DIXIE.60, a volunteer at the library since its inception, so a fixture in the community. She wears oversized dark clothing and hiking boots. She has a halting way of moving. She carries a nearly constant concern that Belle will steal a book from the library.

PROFESSOR.50, a retired professor of humanities and good friend to Mrs. Marshall. He wears a drab plaid shirt and dark pants. His shoes are unremarkable and brown. He has a light air about him as if he’s been preparing a joke and is awaiting the opportunity to tell it to the group. He’s eager and good-natured but has a reputation for being sarcastic and impatient.

JANET.44, a search-and-rescue volunteer. She has a bold way of speaking and often commands a room when she talks. She has a reputation for initiating many petitions, rallies, fundraisers, and other socially driven displays of personal politics. She has a confident demeanor and moves around with swift, focused efficiency.

SETTING

In a low-ceilinged basement room outfitted as a library sits a semicircle of five mismatched chairs, all facing out toward the audience. There are bookshelves of different colours and sizes behind the semicircle, each crammed with books. Some extra books rest on top of the bookshelves, and others in piles on the floor. There are three potted plants placed around the room at random and an old electric kettle plugged in and sitting upon a small table against one wall. There are mugs beneath the kettle, as well as a jug of water, an assortment of tea bags, a can of instant coffee, and a bowl of sweetener packets.

ACT ONE

A door is heard opening, then the rustling of coats and boots.

MRS. MARSHALL. The light please, Belle. It’s the switch right there behind you.

BELLE. Okay, yes, I’ll find it, one second —

Light floods the room.

MRS. MARSHALL. There. Well done.

DIXIE. Coming through!

Dixie barrels past Mrs. Marshall and Belle and unloads the bags she’s been carrying in her arms to the floor. She leaves one bag hanging from her left wrist. Mrs. Marshall looks around the room, assessing the space with a finger to her chin. Belle stands motionless, awaiting guidance.

MRS. MARSHALL. Sit wherever you like. I don’t think it makes a difference.

BELLE. Okay, great, how about here? It doesn’t have to be here though. I can sit anywhere. It really doesn’t matter to me at all.

MRS. MARSHALL. There is fine.

Belle sits in the seat closest to the door. The door is heard opening again. The Professor walks in, places an umbrella against the wall, and looks around the room.

DIXIE. Who else is coming?

PROFESSOR. I am, and I believe I saw Janet parking her car outside.

BELLE. Hello, Professor.

PROFESSOR. Hi there.

MRS. MARSHALL. She sent me a message this morning saying as much.

Dixie checks her watch. The Professor moves toward the chair farthest from the door and sits down, crosses his legs, smiles. Dixie checks her watch again, this time more dramatically so as to get the attention of others in the room.

MRS. MARSHALL. Perhaps we should all choose a seat and prepare to begin. I believe I said the discussion would begin at two o’clock.

DIXIE. And it’s 2:11 sharp.

Mrs. Marshall and Dixie take the two seats in the middle, leaving one empty chair between them. Dixie rustles through the bag she’s been carrying and passes around a small stack of identical books: The Many Faces of Withanu Lake by Sarah Hilderman. The front door opens again and Janet enters the room.

JANET. I just ran into Sam and Mary out front. They’re trying to organize another bake sale for the school and need some extra help. I said I would do whatever I could. It’s for the school.

Janet unzips her windbreaker, walks through the semicircle, and drops herself into the last available chair.

BELLE. Hi, Janet.

Dixie passes Janet a copy of The Many Faces of Withanu Lake. Janet takes the book and holds it at some distance from her face, examining the cover.

DIXIE. Okay, let’s begin.

BELLE. Yay!

MRS. MARSHALL. Why don’t we start with why you chose this particular book for the book club, Dixie?

JANET. You mean besides the obvious?

Janet begins snickering and looking around the group, encouraging everyone to laugh along with her. Belle lets out a giggle.

DIXIE. I chose it because, as you all know, the author is a friend of mine and I thought —

BELLE. Wait, this is that book?

MRS. MARSHALL. Yes, dear.

DIXIE. I thought it might be an interesting idea if we could all get together like this and —

BELLE. The book that names real names and is also not so polite?

MRS. MARSHALL. Yes, dear.

DIXIE. It’s more than polite. Yes, real names are used but this is a memoir and it’s done with a lot of —

JANET. I think using real names invades privacy.

PROFESSOR. You do?

JANET. I do. I’m certainly not interested in seeing my name in a book.

PROFESSOR. Do you not go onto your Facebook page each day and use real names? Name names all day long on there?

JANET. I do so on my own terms.

PROFESSOR. Oh, for goodness sake. What on earth is the difference between the author’s terms and your terms?

JANET. I think we just disagree on this point. Facebook is different and you know it.

The Professor smiles and folds his hands in his lap.

DIXIE. As I was saying, I —

JANET. I just think it’s fair to say that we should all protect people, protect their privacy. As you well know Professor, there are a good deal of people in Withanu Lake deserving — needing — of privacy.

Mrs. Marshall gets up from her chair and walks over to the table across the room. She pours the jug of water into the kettle, turns the machine on, and returns to her seat.

JANET. Seeking consent from individuals named in a book is a basic courtesy and, one would think, a fundamental part of serious publishing.

MRS. MARSHALL. Did you find yourself mentioned in the book, Janet? Did you find your name?

JANET. I wouldn’t know.

MRS. MARSHALL. So you’ve come to today’s book club meeting, knowing that we are discussing The Many Faces of Withanu Lake, without having read the book?

BELLE. I’m sorry! I haven’t read it either! Not all of it. But I will, I promise!

Janet shifts in her seat, uncrosses her legs and then re-crosses them. Her arms are resting, also crossed, on top of her legs.

MRS. MARSHALL. I see.

DIXIE. As I was saying, my interest in choosing this particular book, okay, is that I want to talk about what’s been written in it. I want to —

JANET. I don’t see that it’s absolutely necessary that I read this book. I don’t. What I see, is that someone — someone from away — has come to this place where I live, where we all live, where I share my life with friends and neighbours, and has decided to write a book of stories about our home. A book full of the private details of people’s lives. Let’s say, perhaps some of us had planned to someday write about our lives here in Withanu Lake. This book has now robbed us all of that opportunity. Robbed us of our agency.

BELLE. Oh, yeah, for sure.

Everyone turns to look at Belle.

BELLE. I just think — I mean, this is a small place, right? Using real names means that everyone knows . . .  I mean, is that fair? It’s like, no one asked if that would be okay, you know?

JANET. Exactly, Belle. Yes.

The kettle timer pops, indicating the water is boiled. Mrs. Marshall crosses the room again, pulls a mug from the table, drops a tea bag in, and fills the mug with water.

MRS. MARSHALL. Would anyone like tea?

PROFESSOR. I would, please.

JANET. Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Marshall.

BELLE. Pass!           

Belle looks around the room and laughs nervously as Mrs. Marshall prepares two more mugs of tea and hands them to the Professor and Janet.

DIXIE. What I’m trying to say is that I read this book and I think it’s a lovely book. The author has really captured something about this place. It’s done well, I think, and yes I know the author, fine, okay, fine, but I’d still like to discuss the book.

JANET. I think it’s boring.

PROFESSOR. You haven’t read it, Janet. You said so yourself a moment ago.

JANET. It’s a boring storyline. Something like a person moves to a small place and things don’t go as expected. Right? Totally unimpressed.

Mrs. Marshall picks up her copy of the book and holds it in front of her to study the back cover.

MRS. MARSHALL. The back of the book — the synopsis — reads: “Withanu Lake is a remote community tucked deep in the forests of Northern Alberta, surrounded by the towering Rockies and carnivorous wildlife . . .”

Janet chimes in to read along with Mrs. Marshall.

MRS. MARSHALL and JANET (together). “Deeper still is a river of secrets just waiting to be unlocked.”

JANET. A river of secrets! Give me a break. Is this fiction? Janet looks around the room dramatically. More like science fiction!

BELLE. I’m just not sure how I feel about somebody coming in here out of nowhere like that and writing whatever they want about our place.

JANET. One pithy year the author lived here! The arrogance!

PROFESSOR. I read the book. At one point the author confuses seals for sea otters, but I’m not sure that counts for arrogance. Imprecise, perhaps.

JANET. Arrogant and imprecise it would seem.

BELLE. Sea otters!

Belle bursts out laughing again.

JANET. And this is a “remote” community? Where is the author from? Manhattan? There are many, many people that live right here. Hundreds of people.

DIXIE. She’s from Toronto.

JANET. Ha! Enough said.

PROFESSOR. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the author normally doesn’t prepare the back-cover copy of the book. Editors, sometimes even interns, do. That is to say, it’s unlikely the author chose the word “remote” to describe Withanu Lake.

JANET. Well, that may be.

PROFESSOR. More than that, it probably is.

MRS. MARSHALL. That’s enough, please. Please let’s not carry on like children bickering.

DIXIE. And I chose this book for another reason as well.

JANET. I don’t see how you can be so sure, Professor. How could you possibly know for sure who wrote that nonsense on the back cover. Do you work in book publishing now too?

MRS. MARSHALL. What reason is that, Dixie; I’d love to know.

PROFESSOR. Are you finding it difficult to talk to me when I am so bullheadedly sure of my own opinions? Janet, are you finding it burdensome to have to talk to me about something I don’t know much about at all?

BELLE. I don’t understand. What’s wrong?

JANET. I’ll tell you what I know — I know about what’s right and what’s wrong. I know that it’s wrong to write a book about real people and their lives. To never even ask permission. I know that for damn sure.

MRS. MARSHALL. Janet, I can see that you’re upset.

JANET. It isn’t right.

MRS. MARSHALL. Perhaps we should take up the discussion of this book another time.

PROFESSOR. Yes, I suppose we could try that.

The Professor takes a sip of his tea and shifts his body away from Janet.

BELLE. When, though, because I have volleyball most of next week.

MRS. MARSHALL. Janet, does that sound reasonable to you? If we reschedule this discussion?

JANET. It sounds fine.

MRS. MARSHALL. Dixie? And you?

DIXIE. I guess it’s okay. I had wanted to do it today. I came with all the books today hoping we would discuss the book . . .  I guess it’s okay with me as long as I can leave the pile of books here at the library until next time. Dixie glances over in Belle’s direction. I don’t want to carry them back and forth again.

MRS. MARSHALL. Fine.

PROFESSOR. Perhaps she can leave the pile behind except for one. Except for one book that Janet could borrow so that when she returns for our next book club meeting, she will come having read the book under discussion.

MRS. MARSHALL. Fine.

BELLE. Oh! I’ll need one for that too.

PROFESSOR. Right. And one for Belle.

Dixie stands up and begins ringing her hands. She appears anxious.

JANET. I don’t feel comfortable borrowing Dixie’s book. Being forced to borrow another person’s belongings this way. I will buy my own copy from the bookstore in town, thank you very much. I will not take something that doesn’t belong to me.

MRS. MARSHALL. Wonderful. How about we meet next week on the same day at the same time and try again?

DIXIE. Fine. Okay.

PROFESSOR. Fine with me.

BELLE. Okay, so long as I don’t have volleyball.

DIXIE. Fine . . .  but . . .  I just . . .  Belle?

Everyone begins shuffling, readying themselves to leave.

MRS. MARSHALL. See you all next week.

PROFESSOR. Yes, goodbye, everyone. It’s been interesting.

JANET. Until next week.

DIXIE. Belle?

The Professor, Mrs. Marshall, Dixie, and Belle get up, gather their belongings and exit through the door, one at a time. Dixie is the last to leave the room. When everyone has left, she stands up from her seat, straightens her shirt with her hands, and begins collecting the stray mugs. She sets each mug on the table by the kettle. She crosses the stage again toward the door, reaches out for the light switch, and flicks it down. The lights go out and the stage is dark. The door can be heard opening and closing behind her as she leaves.

End of Part I. Part II continues here.


Amber McMillan is the author of the memoir The Woods: A Year on Protection Island and the poetry collection We Can’t Ever Do This Again. Her work has also appeared in PRISM internationalArc Poetry Magazine, and the Walrus. She lives in Fredericton.

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1 thought on “Excerpt: The Running Trees by Amber McMillan (Part 1)”

  1. This is delightful! I love the way Amber McMillan takes the judgment given her earlier work and deals with this through humour. I think I have met Janet!

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