I cannot talk about Gatekeeper II: The Leaving without talking about King – King College, that is.
Just as Gatekeeper I: The Finding is my love letter to Oxford, Gatekeeper II is my tribute to my alma mater, a private, Christian, liberal arts college tucked away in the mountains of Tennessee.
In the BBC film adaptation of Pride & Prejudice (the 1995 version starring Colin Firth & Jennifer Ehle), the character of Mrs. Gardiner makes this remark about her hometown of Lambton:
…a little town of no consequence to anyone, except those fortunate enough to have lived in it. I think it the dearest place in the world.”
When I was at King, full heartily could I share in this sentiment. King has since grown significantly beyond such small praise – ‘tis King University now, and long may it thrive – but it is the enduringly warm, intimate, nurturing environment that I sought to recreate in Hope College, Anna Merritt’s fictitious place of higher education.
I have a soft spot in my heart for Gatekeeper II.
The second part of a trilogy is always at a bit of a disadvantage. The first part introduces the world and the characters; the third part brings everything to a rousing conclusion; the second part…well, the second part mostly exists to carry the characters from the first part to the third part. Can you name one “book two” in a trilogy that could make it as a standalone novel?
This is not to say the stories in themselves are not brilliant. I know many people who firmly avouch that The Two Towers is their favorite in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, or that The Empire Strikes Back is the best film in the original Star Wars saga. But can you imagine picking up The Two Towers and jumping right in, knowing nothing of The Fellowship of the Ring? Could anyone make successful entry into the Hunger Games world via Catching Fire? I’m sure it happens, but I attest merely that such things are rare.
Setting out to write Gatekeeper II, I was keenly conscious of this inherent deficiency.
Gatekeeper I was exciting because it was all about European adventure, and it was authentic because I had actually been to all of the places (and had some of the conversations – the “cult of the skeleton” discussion really happened, people). I didn’t want to try to fabricate a flimsy, fake international tour as a follow-up; it would disgrace the firm foundation laid down by Gatekeeper I. Ergo, I determined to follow the age-old counsel: write what you know.
And what I knew was King, and the pain of leaving King, and the utter lack of vision about where to go next.
I was in my senior year when I wrote Gatekeeper I, but I was already making notes for Gatekeeper II. Unlike Anna, I was a music/theatre major with an English minor. I went into King determined to double major in English and Music and be as involved in the Theatre Department as possible. That was actually one of the determining factors in my choice of college: folk at other institutions had laughed in my face when I described my plan, or asked – with eyebrows raised to a perilous height – “And just how long are you planning to be here, exactly? Five years? Six?” The Music professor at King (one of the professors upon whom Mrs. E is based) looked me in the eye and asked, calmly, “How hard do you want to work?”
That sold me.
Theatre did creep up on me, rather like it did on Anna.
I went to auditions for The Glass Menagerie in the first weeks of my freshman year. Miraculously, I – a lowly freshman – made it into the cast of four, and I debuted on the King College stage as Laura Wingfield. I was hooked. The Theatre people were friendly and welcoming, the experience was intoxicating, and I dove in head-first, acting and writing and directing and painting sets and sewing costumes and creating abstract art out of coat hangers, duct tape, and papier mâché. My double major gradually changed from Music/English to Music/Theatre, with English hanging on as a minor. Hence, it only made sense for Anna to find herself drawn into the theatrical world.
Christmas break was grim my senior year. Faced with the prospect of graduation mere months away, I felt like King was vomiting me forth, a mother bird mercilessly launching her unwilling and terrified offspring into the wide and cruel unknown. ‘Twas from a place of deep truth that I wrote Anna’s first letter to Eddie:
Life up to this point has been fairly well planned for me, you know? You go to elementary school, you go to middle school, you go to high school, you go to college, you graduate college . . . and then what? Suddenly, the chauffeured car of life comes to a screeching halt, the driver gets out, and you find yourself left with the keys and a running engine.”
Like Anna, I did try to get back to England. I applied for many graduate programs and even made an overnight trip to New York City to audition at Juilliard for the Royal College of Music in London. Still, after months of labor (and a shocking number on my credit card bill from various international application fees), every door on which I pounded seemed closed – except the theatrical doors, that is. Somehow, those kept opening. Finally, when May came, I found myself rather bewilderedly headed off to the University of Georgia to pursue a Master of Fine Arts degree.
I vividly remember how confused, conflicted, and even guilty I felt about this. Doubt was gnawing at me, whispering that this degree was a pointless detour that would irrevocably derail my true dreams.
“I want to be a writer,” I confessed to my friend during those last weeks in King’s haven. “I’m an English major masquerading in a performing arts major’s body. Why I am going to get an MFA? In ACTING?”
I will always be grateful for my friend’s counsel: “You are a writer. Any life experience you have is going to make you a better writer. You’re not wasting time; you’re just gathering more material.”
True words, and proven even more true by the vibrant three years that followed:
(Photo credit to UGA Dept of Theatre and Film Studies)
My time at UGA is not yet recounted in any tale; but, in a way, I am telling that story every day, for my three years there significantly shaped who I am today. ’Twas a vigorous and merciless shaping, akin to a baker repeatedly punching and pounding a hapless lump of dough, but I am grateful nonetheless.
Still, during those last few days at King, I was unaware of all the adventure and growth that lay ahead. I was conscious of having come to the end of a great race, for I had worked hard over four years to pack in every opportunity possible. While grateful for the imminent reprieve, I was also grieving the ending of something that would never come again. My time at King is a diamond on the chain of my life story: radiant in memory and full of sparkling light, but impossible to break back into.
In a way, it was Gatekeeper itself that helped carry me through.
I remember one Monday in particular, the opening of my final “finals” week. Gatekeeper I, which I initially wrote as an honors thesis, had been due that morning, so I had stayed up all night, eating oatmeal and Easy Mac and listening to U2’s The Unforgettable Fire on repeat. Then had come a full day of classes and “end of year” activities. That evening, I stumbled back to my dorm only to find my bench – my special bench, on which Anna’s bench is shamelessly and assiduously based – missing. My friend helped me retrieve it from whence some mischievous students had taken it; and, after we restored it to its proper place, I lay on that bench and watched the sun set over the lake for what I knew would be one of the last times. Despite the stress of finals and the sorrow of impending partings, I felt peace.
The first draft of the first part of Anna’s story was out of my literary womb at last – and, while gasping for air and wailing away like any newborn, it showed every sign of surviving long enough at least to grow into some semblance of maturity. What’s more, I already felt the stirrings of its sequel in my imagination. I knew that, come what may, I would always have Gatekeeper to hold onto. In the murky “in between times” that followed, this story became my through-line – in some dark seasons, a lifeline – connecting me back to Oxford and King and the person I used to be.
I guess it is fitting that Gatekeeper II, holding the “transitionary” spot in the trilogy, is my tribute not only to King, but to every time of transition. While Gatekeeper I allows the reader to trace my steps across the countryside of England and various European cities, Gatekeeper II invites everyone to follow me on a different sort of road: the painful, awkward, deeply personal adventure towards “the next step”. The journeys upon which each book is based are equally real. Perhaps the second is more self-conscious, confused, and fumbling than the first; but, that chapter was necessary to carry me from “part one” to “part three” – and beyond.
I’ve often wondered what its like to go from a small private college and to be thrust into the wide world. I love Anna’s analogy of being driven in a car up until college then being dropped off and left with the car still running for you to continue. Not having had this experience, it is fascinated to read and begin to understand. I can’t wait to read the final chapter of Anna et al — rereading the *new* first 2 so I’m thoroughly prepared to dive in. I can not wait to get to Gatekeeper 2 now – to read it with fresh perspective. <3
Woohoo! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on them. 🙂
Great reflections on life changes. I loved walking with Anna through her angst, through her sifting and considering. Challenged me to do some reflecting, too!!
Oh, I am glad! It is good to know it wasn’t introspective to the point of exclusion. 🙂