
WHY STUFF MATTERS
JEN WALDO
Sub-genre: Literary Fiction / Humor
Publisher: Arcadia Books
Date of Publication: June 4, 2019 (US)
Number of Pages: 212


When one of the vendors, a wily ex-con named Roxy, shoots her ex-husband, she calls on Jessica to help bury the body and soon Jessica is embroiled in cover-ups, lies, and misdirection. Into this mix comes Lizzie, Jessica’s late husband’s twelve-year-old daughter by his first marriage, who’s been dumped on Jessica’s doorstep by the child’s self-absorbed mother and it soon becomes apparent that Lizzie is as obsessed with material possessions as Jessica’s elderly tenants.
Why Stuff Matters is a compelling ode to possession, why people like things and the curious lengths they will go to keep them. Returning to her fictional Caprock, Waldo turns her wry wit on the lives of those afraid to let go.
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Three Belongings
Guest Post by Jen Waldo
If I had to
evacuate because of a fire, what three things would I save? Considering that my
new novel, Why Stuff Matters,
addresses a small community’s obsession with material possessions, this is a relevant
question. Also, fires do occasionally sweep through this portion of Texas, so the
possibility of this scenario coming true is a literal concern as well as a
figurative one.
The first thing I’d
grab would be my laptop, which goes with me every time I spend a night away
from home. Over this one item, I’ll admit to obsession . I write every morning.
It is invariably what I do. Even if I were evacuated to some stale hotel while
my home burned down, I’d write.
The next thing I’d
take with me is woefully unoriginal. I’d take the photo albums. Not that I ever
spend time browsing through them, but as a family we’ve had adventures. I think
our sons would want me to rescue pictures of them as children riding camels,
hiking through the Scottish highlands, scrambling around the ruins of Petra, or
strolling through the tulips at Keukenhof.
Lastly, I’d dump
the little dishes that hold my jewelry into my leather jewelry box that’s meant
for traveling. Necklaces, earrings, rings—the usual stuff, but it’s nice stuff
and I wouldn’t want to lose it.
Now keep in mind
that for us, a fire might become a reality. We live amongst a lot of splintery
cedar trees and undergrowth, and when there’s been no rain for a couple of
months, the area becomes frighteningly dry. But there would be warning . An
evacuation notice would be given; we’d have ample time to gather some clothes, pack
up, and get out.
It’s not like my
husband and I haven’t discussed the likelihood and made a plan. The first thing
in the truck will be the laptop. Then, while I gather the photo albums and
jewelry, David would be freeing the art from the walls. We’ve collected some
nice oils and batiks over the years, and each piece holds a memory—where we got
it, how we haggled to get the price down, the endless discussion of where we’d
hang it. In many cases, we know the artist.
After all this
stuff is in the truck, we’d walk through and see what else we could save—probably
a few small pieces of furniture. Together, we’d lift and carry the rosewood
chest that reigns from the end of the hallway, purchased in Sorrento. And another
chest; we bought it in Vietnam when we lived in Singapore and ended up paying
the price again in duty to get it into the country. Live and learn. We’d slide
both of these chests into the bed of the truck.
And that’s it.
That’s all the truck will hold.
While I’ve written
about the items I hold most dear, I’m also aware that it’s just stuff. However,
having said that, a few months ago David and I loaded up the truck and went on
a road trip. Four hours into it, we stopped for lunch. I walked around the back
of the truck and saw that we’d driven that whole way with the tailgate open.
Our luggage and David’s golf clubs were still there, but we lost a box of items
that I’d put in at the last minute. The box held two new beach towels, laundry
detergent, sunscreen, a bottle of Grey Goose, and two bottles of a really nice Malbec.
I didn’t spare a thought about how this box, falling on the highway, could have
caused an accident. I was upset over the loss of the stuff. I felt befuddled
and incomplete until every one of those items had been replaced. It seems I
have more in common with the acquisitive folk in Why Stuff Matters than I thought.

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