“Unfatally Dead: To Thaw Or Not To Thaw?”

Wayne Edmiston graduated from Chico State College in the 70s; now living on the Central Coast with his wife, Jacque, they teach Science of Mind principles as ordained New Thought ministers with Centers for Spiritual Living.

In an homage to his late wife, Sherry Plaster Edmiston (1944-1989), Wayne has crafted a tale mixing fact, fancy, and a heavenly bureaucracy, all centered on the fate of one Walter Elias Disney and his sidekicks Mark Twain and soul-in-training Eepia, who tells the others that “art, science, and religion are interrelated, part of the Universal triune.”

Disney died in 1966, but his body was cryogenically frozen. At the same time, “a place known to all who have passed into the wild blue yonder, Heaven’s Creative Department is headed up by Walt Disney himself.”

As the angel Gabriel makes clear, Walt has a choice. He can remain or return to his body to be resuscitated and, if all goes well, bring his creative spark to new generations. “Unfatally Dead: To Thaw Or Not To Thaw?” ($14.99 in paperback from WEDmiston Publishing; also for Amazon Kindle and audiobook formats), adapted from a 1986 screenplay, is indeed the question.

In order for Walt to decide, he, Sam Clemens, and Eepia are sent to various venues to see what has transpired after their deaths. Eepia in the beginning remains a shimmering presence, while Disney and wise-cracking Clemens take on their human forms and keep altering the timeline by interacting with others.

The trio flits from Haight-Ashbury in 1968, to Menlo Park in 1973 (where Clemens takes a bite out of an apple and hands it to a young man at a garage sale named Steve Jobs), to Disneyworld, to Hurricane Katrina—their presence mystifies (especially when they suddenly disappear)—and inspires. 

A girl named Sherry finds inspiration. “The gigantic screen zeroes in on the young cartoonist they had just been discussing. In the bottom left corner of the screen, a time stamp indicates the year, 1957, when the young girl was enrolled in a junior high school reading classroom in Chico, California.”

Walt’s decision? Readers will need to join the wild ride that rivals Mr. Toad’s.

“You Can’t Complete Me—But I Can!: A Self-Love Story”

Hayley Kaplan graduated from Chico State with a Masters in Social Work, became a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, and is the process of recovering from a lifetime of codependency. She learned through a series of painful attachments to half a dozen men in her life that “to desire love is perfectly normal and healthy, but healthy and normal gets lost when we go searching for external love as our primary source of identity, worth, or purpose.”

She tells her story in a brutally candid memoir, a thoughtful, sometimes humorous and even hopeful account of her progress when, as a married woman, she began an affair with a married man. “You Can’t Complete Me—But I Can!: A Self-Love Story” ($12.99 in paperback, independently published; also for Amazon Kindle) is a journey of humbling self-discovery. (Kaplan has also published a workbook with the same title, drawing on her professional training and using significant quotations from her memoir.)

Too often, she writes, when we want to express our “authentic selves” we learn instead to “grin and bury it,” so “when you’re desperate for love, you behave in desperate ways, and that tends to attract one-sided relationships.”

When she met “Dax” online in her twenties, he was “peace incarnate” after compulsive gambler “Chuck.” Yet “our communication styles … contradicted each other…. Waiting for Dax to complete a sentence was like waiting for a scab to heal…. I was a neurotic, multi-tasker who wanted to do things lickety-split, and it would take Dax longer than a minute to count to sixty.” So they got married.

Seven years later, after Kaplan had given Dax a back scratcher gag gift “for that seven year itch,” she and an acquaintance, “Leo,” became emotionally involved. Leo was married, and Kaplan was torn: “How do you hurt someone as kind and as loyal as Dax? You don’t. But then, how do you turn your back on a love as rare and true as my love for Leo? You don’t.”

There are painful but needful lessons ahead as what is buried is exposed, and what is exposed can, with help from others, bring some measure of completeness.

“Deborah’s Gift”

Deborah’s life is suffused with grief. Growing up in St. Louis, around the turn of the twentieth century, she faces what will be the first of many losses, the death of her parents.

She finds herself under the thumb of Charity Millais, her great aunt, Tante Charity (“the French form of address the old lady insists on”), harshly judgmental of Deborah’s wildness expressed in her boundary-breaking drawings and paintings. And so hangs a tale.

“Deborah’s Gift” ($21.99 in paperback from New Wind Publishing; also for Amazon Kindle) is a novel by Chico State grad Lois Ann Abraham who, before her retirement, taught literature and creative writing at American River College. Her story won the Gold Prize for fiction from the Northern California Publishers & Authors.

Deborah yearns to be free of “the dragon,” Tante Charity, who dies in 1902. Before that time, Deborah as a teenager had journeyed with her great aunt to Martinique, to her family’s estate in St. Pierre, “the little Paris of the Antilles,” historically rooted in white plantation owners “who continued to own, if not people, then certainly everything else on the island.”

A dalliance with the nephew of Villette, their Black servant, results in the birth of a baby boy, whisked away from Deborah as Deborah is whisked from the island to a respectable April-December marriage to a judge. She longs to find her son and live “where the color of his skin was not a scandal.”

In 1902, as Deborah once again approaches Martinique, Mt. Pelée explodes. “The ship was bombarded with burning stones that struck her face, and the passengers behind her screamed and pushed at her so that she lost her balance and tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs.” St. Pierre is obliterated, tens of thousands perish.

Deborah survives, though horribly burned, and paints what she witnessed. “With La Catastrophe, she had entered new territory, a place where she would challenge and implicate, grasp by the throat, and demand that her viewer not just look but feel, know, believe, experience, and respond. This, then, is what she had gained with the loss of everything.”

This, then, is the power of art, and Deborah’s gift.

"How The Word Is Passed: A Reckoning With The History Of Slavery Across America"

Thomas Jefferson's Monticello, in Virginia, was not only his home but a plantation. A World Heritage site, it has also become a place to memorialize the 607 people Jefferson owned in his lifetime, enslaving even his own six children he had with Sally Hemings. As reporter/researcher Clint Smith notes, the person who wrote "all men are created equal" "believed that Black people, as a rule, were not capable of poetic expression. 'Among the blacks is misery enough, God knows, but no poetry.'"

Himself a poet and staff writer at The Atlantic, Smith, a New Orleans native with a Harvard doctorate, visits "eight places in the United States as well as one abroad to understand how each reckons with its relationship to the history of American slavery." Smith calls on scholarly accounts, empathetic interviews with those attending the sites he visits, and oral histories--the way tenuous memories are passed down.

He visits "plantations, prisons, cemeteries, museums, memorials, houses, historical landmarks, and cities," mostly in the South but also New York and Senegal, site of the "Door of No Return."

"How The Word Is Passed: A Reckoning With The History Of Slavery Across America" ($18.99 in paperback from Little, Brown and Company; also for Amazon Kindle) is the 2023-2024 Book in Common for Butte College, Chico State (resources at csuchico.edu/bic) and other community organizations. (Smith is scheduled for a Laxson Auditorium presentation April 11, 2024.) It is a stunning book, rigorously fact-checked and yet deeply personal.

"Here I was, on a plantation that enslaved hundreds of people who had skin like mine, having a conversation with a white, conservative, Fox News–consuming woman from Texas, whose mother had conveyed to her throughout her life that people like me were—that perhaps I was—better off dead than alive. A woman with whom, surprisingly even to me, I was sharing photos of my fourteen-month-old son."

"The history of slavery," he concludes, "… is in our soil, it is in our policies, and it must, too, be in our memories." There are big gaps in our collective memories, and this book succeeds in filling them in.