John Brantingham's Continuum

One of my favorite images of John Brantingham is one I witnessed through the windshield of my car. I'd arrived early at Mt. SAC to meet John to brainstorm projects we'd most like to work on together. We had just reconnected after more than a decade since graduating from the MFA program at CSULB, and in catching up realized we both had been working on the same themes from different directions, as John put it. We also discovered a great admiration for each other's most recent work. And for each other.

It was an otherwise non-descript day. I don't recall the weather or the month or even the exact year, but as I waited at the light at the intersection, I spotted John walking back to campus from a corner coffee spot, and on each side of him was a student. John was animated in whatever it was he was talking about, and both students were looking up at him and smiling as they crossed the street together. Behind them another two students stepped quickly to stay close and listen in, all eyes on John. Trailing behind them, laughing and bouncing, a string of perhaps four more students, all following in the footsteps of their mentor. It warmed my heart. The procession was not unlike a line of baby birds, I thought, trailing the parent. It was profoundly beautiful and touching. John was his nonchalant and engaged self: authentic and fully present (as he always was, of course). Just another day of honorable service to others for him, this after-class bonding. But for each of his students I knew it would be something much more memorable: a generosity of spirit and sense of community they would surely carry forward with them as they set off on their own career journeys.

John's career and my career followed parallel arcs in many ways. We'd both gone from "freeway flyer" adjuncts to full college professors, both founded writing programs. John had been named the inaugural Poet Laureate of Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks just a few years before I was appointed by the City of Anaheim as their inaugural Poet Laureate. Both of us were widely published and actively writing in multiple genres, and once we reconnected realized we were also simpatico regarding our writing philosophies and World Views. John suggested that we try to write something together, and this initial meeting was to brainstorm what that might look like.

Our "working on the same themes from different directions" included our concern with missed histories and the humanity lost to the shadows. Both of us, in our separate writings, had been digging to unearth the stories assigned to the footnotes of California history, of people whose names were not well known, whose lives were affected by others in the spotlight wielding the power. John said he was working on a book about William Mulholland and the journey of California's water systems, the lives affected by it, the shifting landscapes both geographic and societal. I had just written a long poem about the shifting landscapes, demographics, and psyches of California's inhabitants throughout time.

Similar research-heavy narratives, we knew, would be too much to add to our busy schedules, but then John pointed out that the most compelling stories in any era were those of the nameless everyday hero, the individual facing challenges while trying, really and truly trying, to be a good person (as John said of Steinbeck in his foreword to our book, once we'd finished). For history is not just about extraordinary individuals, or the "victors" who have controlled the narratives, despite the implication of most of history books. The world is equally shaped by all of us, one person at a time, one gesture at a time, and all of it is a part of our collective story. So why not show that via fictional characters instead of reconfabulating accounts of the already well-accounted for? Imagine instead the interior lives of characters who stood just outside of those in the spotlight and bore witness to the consequences of the larger forces at work — and of their own decisions in response.

Then with that non-traditional off-center framing show the humanity clearly present yet heretofore unrepresented — as Steinbeck had accomplished in his compassionate and ultra-compressed "Breakfast" (which John considered the most beautiful short story ever written). Then to convey California's grand diversity of peoples and events, present a vast and varied scope of such stories throughout the past millennia.

John mentioned that he greatly admired the invented structure of my long poem "Untended Garden" where I devised a way to simultaneously present multiple histories (geographic, biological, cultural, personal) by using non-linear, non-chronological braided narratives and employing indentations to help flatten the time settings down to a single plane (perhaps inspired by my art director days when flattening layers in Photoshop or InDesign). I then offered that we could try to do the same with this collection by organizing them non-chronologically and bouncing backward and forward in time, à la Kurt Vonnegut in Slaughterhouse-Five — but instead of a singular pilgrim's (Pilgrim's) storyline, overlay those dozens of protagonists' separate episodes like a montage, and make them all in the present tense so that every story is happening "now" — almost as if it's an all-at-once-ness (as opposed to the "Freytag's Pyramid" sequence of exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, resolution). So then, aim for the read to leave an impression similar to that of viewing a wall-mounted patchwork quilt from a distance. Or the extraordinary perspective of a satellite photo showing the Golden State as a patchwork of colors, square-ish farms and long spines of mountain ranges, lush greens and sprawling browns, the biodiversity visually confirming California as not any one thing, yet still beautifully connected. A singular gestalt experience rather than a lengthy unspooling of a long thread of ink. And with that our working title became California from the Air.

We knew this was a shaping up to be a very ambitious project, one that we'd never seen anything even remotely similar to, but that was a plus for us. We both liked to aim for the new, to "try something daring and difficult" (as Galway Kinnell advised), to expand our creative skill sets. And whether the writing succeeded or not, at the very least it'd be an excuse to spend more time together. So we set about penning dozens and dozens of highly compressed flash fictions, each a California sub-division as it were, seemingly unrelated yet subtly interconnected in any number of ways: via common natural forces that cut across the character’s lives (floods, fires, etc.); via common physical structures (towers, bridges, holes, etc.); via common themes (migration, reconstruction, redemption); via locations visited centuries or even thousands of years apart; via common objects buried or lost and then re-discovered. John and I then brainstormed specific parallel yet contrasting images that we might plant in separate stories to both cross-brace the narratives and balance the tensions — but without overtly pairing them up or naming the connections outright. Our notes included the following: coastal redwoods vs. offshore oil rigs; workers building the first gated community in one story vs. families dismantling the chain link/border wall in another; new cars parked at the Orange Drive-In listening to a Sunday morning sermon on soul cleansing (delivered by a preacher standing on the roof of the snack bar, his tinny voice crackling through car window-mounted speakers) vs. cars being hooked to a squealing winch to be pulled through an automatic car wash in Hollywood; Owens Valley snowmelt glistening down the "Aqueduct Cascades" in Sylmar (beside the 5 Freeway's river of cars in the blazing sun at noon) vs. the midnight chaos of the St. Francis Dam collapse (with families in the valley fleeing on foot through the darkness and scrambling up the hillsides); a bundle of new rebar for a skyscraper falling off a railroad car to rust beside the tracks vs. that very same steel later finding vertical stasis in the Watts Towers; Mulholland's quickly constructed concrete conduits laid to snake water down to Los Angeles vs. the slow rising of (concrete-colored) tufa towers as Mono Lake's water level recedes. Bits of history recast in contrasting parallels as the setting for a parade of anonymous protagonists caught in the spasms of California's growing pains. We pitched the idea to Mark Givens at Pelekinesis and he gave us the green light, generously allowing us all the freedoms that we needed. And so it was that the book California Continuum eventually came to be.

Now, to co-create a work of art that sidesteps formula is a tricky thing, regardless of medium or shared vision. I have found that journalistic pieces and ad copy are easy to collaborate on because there are known formulas and essential content that must be included within a fixed word count, but to co-author an open-ended piece of creative writing while inventing a unique structure for it, well, that's another thing entirely. It required of us the utmost of mutual respect and a willingness to surrender the text fully to the other. And remarkably, once we commenced to setting ink to page, John and I never once disagreed — very rare in the creative arts, it seems. Regarding deadlines, with each of us having full-time teaching gigs and other life commitments, we knew we'd have to maneuver our workloads to create pockets of times to meet, but we agreed there would be no pressure should our manuscript contributions slow or our rendezvous times get bumped: we'd be writing pieces for the book on our own whenever we could find the time, then when our calendars aligned, we'd meet in person, usually at a restaurant that allowed us to sit for hours in the booth (with both the blessings and encouragement of our remarkable wives). In our first meeting we set about creating a list of goals (on which we also had zero disagreements) and we summarized them in the notes at the end of the published book: "The authors are donating their earnings from this book to not-for-profit organizations whose work is the same as the goals of this writing: equal opportunities for everyone to have their voices heard and an equal place at the table; a broader and deeper understanding of what has come before us; and a more inclusive and respectful community in the here and now, for all living things who share this place and time in the continuum."

The finished book of California Continuum wound up taking us several years to complete, but it led us to travel to the Flash Fiction Festival in Briston England at Trinity College to present a related writing workshop titled "Extraordinary Points of View." Not just that workshop, but John and I had extraordinary plans for how California Continuum might be expanded to educate and entertain an even broader audience. We imagined a website that featured a California map identifying those places and things alluded to in the book (even if we'd never identified them outright in the stories), thereby linking the missed to the familiar. Places on the map would have clickable links to passages from the book, to photographs, to teachers' guides and lesson plans, with additional links to other texts to augment. We decided to subtitle the book "Volume One: Migrations and Amalgamations," with ambitious plans for future volumes. Volume Two, we thought, could be an extension of similar stories, containing some of those aforementioned cross-brace pairings that hadn't made the first volume edits. Volume three might then see John and I stepping aside to serve as co-editors, soliciting pieces from writers we most admired, both the famous and those yet to be published, including several current and past students (and we made a wish list of those individuals to approach later, should we somehow find the time to bring the series that far). Perhaps a non-fiction volume of essays that shed light on lesser-known histories and marginalized Californians, all of which helped shape the State/state we find ourselves in today.

In writing this piece you're reading now, I went to my files and pulled out folders containing dozens and dozens of pages of notes and diagrams that John and I made while brainstorming. It's been cathartic for me in processing his passing to glean from those files to write this piece, and to re-visit our times together. What makes me nod and smile even now are the memories of just how much we enjoyed the process, the figuring out, and just how sharp a mind John Brantingham possessed. Also, as writers, just how much was gained by emulating the other's voice and syntax to find a hybrid that was somewhere between us. We may not have been granted the time to develop the series beyond that Volume One, but we did achieve something of worth with it. We did find some truth, as John put it.

It's strange to think I'll only be seeing John through the rear-view mirror now, never to share another long hug or short story. Yet as the characters in our book demonstrate, our history is inextricably woven together regardless, and how we react to life's challenges and treat one another moment by moment is what creates our legacy, both individually and collectively. One of the sections of California Continuum begins with this epigraph by Aristotle (by way of Will and Ariel Durant): “Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but rather we have those because we have acted rightly. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” John Brantingham established his excellence, his good his virtue, daily — through every piece of writing he completed, every writer he helped promote, every student he walked beside or noshed with long after class time was over. It's no hyperbole: John was one of the most generous, kind, talented, and funny human beings I've ever known. To have shared the page with him remains an honor. And oh how we laughed. That laugh, that tremendous heart, that writing so full of brilliance shines on. Such is the continuum of John Brantingham.

Grant Hier was the first Poet Laureate of Anaheim, California from 2018-2020. Honors include Prize Americana, the Kick Prize, and the Courage Award. Books include Untended Garden, The Difference Between, and Similitude. A new book of poetry and instruction titled Practice: 394 Poems in 365 Days, is forthcoming. California Continuum Vol. One is a book of historical flash fiction he co-wrote with John Brantingham, the Poet Laureate of Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. Grant has been entered for three Grammy Awards: as a writer for “Best Album Notes” (for the last two Los Lobos albums, Llegó Navidad and Native Sons) and as a Producer for “Best Folk Album” (for Joyride: Friends Take the Wheel). He recently wrote the liner notes to a forthcoming, special edition 5-LP box set (WAR—The Vinyl: 1971-1975). As a voice actor he contributed to the audio book of George Saunders' Lincoln in the Bardo, which won the 2018 Audie Award for Audiobook of the year. Grant is a Full Professor at Laguna College of Art and Design, and poetry editor for Chiron Review. More at www.granthier.com.