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The Storyline That Evolved
A Jericho’s Cobble Miscellany features a variety of voices whose stories are stitched together to form the layered history of a small town. What was the inspiration behind this book?
To properly tell multiple tales, it seemed important to use a variety of voices and characters. A town – especially a small town — is people as individuals, it is not a monolithic entity. I researched in many towns during the writing of an earlier book, The Most Beautiful Villages of New England, and in my volunteer work in helping establish the Upper Housatonic Valley National Heritage Area, which spans two states, and being a trustee of the Connecticut Humanities Council, for which I traveled widely and visited many small towns.
Do you have a storyline in your book that stands out as a favorite? One that was particularly enjoyable to write?
The book has multiple storylines, dozens of them, and their interweaving is at the heart of the book. I particularly liked the storyline that evolved as I wrote, about the friendship of the young woman director of a small historic house/museum, and the much older woman civic association trustee who team up to save it from being closed, and in so doing discover a lot about themselves that they had not known.
I enjoyed the shifts in writing. Why was it important for you to use more than one form of storytelling?
Multiple characters and situations demanded their stories be told and personalities showcased in as many forums, such as newspaper columns, diaries, playlets, brochures, a playground nursery rhyme, poems, oral history transcripts, state markers, and other forms.
What is the next book you are working on, and when will it be available?
I’m in the midst of writing it. Please see my recent novels, The Memory of the Minotaur and Echoes, Or the Insistence of Memory, both available on Amazon.
Author Links: Website
A Jericho’s Cobble Miscellany
When I first opened A Jericho’s Cobble Miscellany, I expected a quaint collection of small-town stories. What I found was something richer, stranger, and more layered. Tom Shachtman’s book is not so much a single story as it is a patchwork quilt stitched from voices, artifacts, and memories. We meet townspeople past and present, from accident victims hovering between life and death to schoolteachers scribbling in their diaries, from old family dynasties with troubling legacies to modern-day residents juggling community duty and private worries. The narrative dances between perspectives: sometimes a newspaper clipping, sometimes a poem, sometimes the musings of a geological formation. It’s messy and alive, much like the New England hamlet it captures, spanning from Labor Day 2003 to Memorial Day 2004, with centuries of echoes reverberating in the background.
What struck me first was the sheer variety of voices. Shachtman has a gift for making each character distinct, whether it’s the weary but hopeful thoughts of Grace Newington in a hospital waiting room or the earthy humor of the women at Get’nGo who call themselves “the sorority of the brown bags.” The writing has an intimacy to it that I enjoyed. At times, I found myself moved by how history and personal memory get tangled. I loved how the town’s past, its Native roots, its Whitbred settlers, its scandals, sits so close to the surface that every conversation seems to brush against it. The book shifts forms. A poem would melt into a diary entry, which would jump into a mock playlet, and I’d have to steady myself. But maybe that’s the point: a miscellany should feel like rummaging through a box in an attic, never sure what you’ll find next.
The book also made me think about how communities wrestle with memory and change. There’s anger and pride about names, schools, and family legacies. There’s tenderness in how neighbors watch over one another, yet sharp divides between “Cobblers” and “Gobblers,” the locals and the weekenders. I liked that the author never smoothed these tensions away. He let the contradictions stand, and they felt real. The emotions felt raw. I found myself laughing at one passage and then feeling the weight of grief a page later. The shifts gave the book a strange vitality that straight storytelling might have missed.
A Jericho’s Cobble Miscellany is less about a plot than about a place, less about neat answers than about what it feels like to live in the shadow of history while stumbling through the present. I would recommend it to readers who like community sagas, who enjoy oral histories, or who simply want to sink into the rhythm of a small town that is both ordinary and mythic. If you’re willing to wander, to let yourself be surprised, you’ll find something touching here.
Pages: 286
LITERARY TITAN 