Any time I catch you, you will pay.rnOr the secretive, impenetrable CousinrnLilias (the family black sheep?), whornSeems to move in time to a bellrnthat tollsrnBeyond the carehil measures ofrnnight and day,rnHer mind a prospect of indifferentrnskies.rnOr Uncle Wallace, who, with sifter inrnhand, preaches the virtues of restraint inrnall things, corporeal and spiritual, andrnabout whom the speaker says, “Never didrnwe hear I Such praise of moderation from arnman so potted.” In terms of religious belief,rnthe family ranges from the “True Believer”rn(“Uncle Zack believes that we willrnthrive / By doing everything the Biblernsays. / Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.rnI Whatever happened to Aunt hiez?”) tornthe “Nonbeliever” (“But Cousin Terryrnthinks Holy Writ / Holds no authorit)’,rnnot a whit, / Although to score a point,rnhe’ll quote a bit. / Oh, what a filthy hypocrite!”).rnIn presenting these good country people,rnChappell could easily have resortedrnto caricature or, worse, to the fashionablerndysfunction that permeates all too manyrnliterar)’ and dramatic works dealing withrnfamily relations todav. He resists therntemptation admirably; if, now and then,rnhis skillful pen lapses into stereotype (asrnin his portrait of the bachelor CousinrnWilloughbv, who “owns an antique shoprn/ And dreams of days when little boys /rnWere thought quite suitable erotic toys /rnFor older men . . . “), then we should bearrnin mind that cliches are cliches becausernthey hold some kernel of truth.rnIn Jayber Crow (the full title reads ThernLife Story of jayber Crow, Barber, Ofrnthe Port William Membership, As Writtenrnby Himself), Wendell Berry also stagesrnsomething of a family reunion. This is arnculminating work, a summation of thernthemes Berry has been developing forrnmore than 40 years now as a novelist, poet,rnand essayist. I would stop short of declaringrnit definitive or final, however, becausernBerry, while nearing 67, appearsrnever more fecund in these autumnalrnyears of his life. Still, I get the sense thatrn]ayber Crow is his grand pastoral symphony,rnhis magnum opus. It is a profoundlyrnbeautiful book, simple in design and executionrnbut intricate in its portrait of peoplernand place.rnIt is about membership in a place, asrnthe subtitie implies: in this case, Bern”srnfictional Port William, Kentucky, the settingrnof all of his short and extended fictionrn—his geographical “postage stamp,”rnas Faulkner said of his own fictitious YoknapatavvpharnCount}-, Mississippi. Thernnovel cycle began in 1962 with NathanrnCoulter, a gentie story of a boy’s initiationrninto manhood and responsibility, andrnculminated in at least one masterpiece.rnThe Memory of Old Jack in 1974; now,rnwith Jayber Crow, possibly two. JayberrnCrow reunites many of the charactersrnfrom those earlier books, some of whom,rnsuch as the Coulters, make a major appearancernin the story, while others, likernOld Jack Ketchum, make only a brief appearance.rnHas’ing Crow be Port William’srnresident barber is an ingenious wayrnof allowing Jayber (a mispronunciationrnof the old Southern epithet “Jaybird”) accessrnto all the major and minor personagesrnand all of the important events thatrnoccur in Port William during a 70-yearrnspan of the 20th century (from 1914rnthrough 1986, when the book is set). Inrnthis way, Jayber becomes the town’s “hoveringrnbard,” to use Andrew Lytle’s classicrnphrase. In his memoir, he becomes itsrnsecretary, its recorder of deeds, its keeperrnof collective memor’ as well.rnJayber is no mere provincial, howe’er,rnhaving tasted the wider world (as far atrnleast as Frankfort, Kentuckv, the staterncapitol). Orphaned at three by the earlyrndeaths of his parents, Jayber lives with elderlyrnrelatives imtil their demise. Hernspends time in the Cood Shepherd, anrnorphanage, and later studies to become arnminister until his own doubts thwart himrnand his instincts lead him back home.rnThere, he plants himself to live out thernrest of his days, any lingering wanderlustrnconquered. His homecoming is an occasionrnto unite past with present, the PortrnWilliam he has left with that to which hernhas returned:rnI looked at everything and rememberedrnit, and let my memoriesrncome back and take place . . . Thernchild I had been came and madernhis motions, out and about andrnaround . . . All my steps had madernthe place a world and made me atrnhome in it, and then I had gone,rnjust as Aunt Cordie and UnclernOthey had been at home and thenrnhad gone.rnHis epiphany continues:rnAnd like a shadow within a shadow,rnthe time before my time came tornme. I was old enough by then tornknow and believe that the old hadrnonce been young. Once AuntrnCordie had been Cordie Quail, arnpretty girl. There had been a dayrnwhen Uncle Othey and AuntrnCordie had come there, young, justrnmarried, to begin their life at thernlanding, to have their pleasures andrnto endure what had to be endured.rnThere had been a time before theyrncame, and a time before that. Andrnalways, from a time before anybodyrnknew of time, the river had beenrnthere . . . And I saw how all a-piecernit was, how never-ending—alwaysrncoming, always there, always going.rnLater, when he assumes the job ofrngravedigger in addition to his barberingrnduties, Jayber contemplates the dead inrnan absolutely lovely passage recalling thernclose of Flannery O’Connor’s “Revelation,”rnin which Mrs. Turpin stares intornthe night sky and sees the proper order ofrnheaen’s multitudes making its way upwardrnon a starry bridge:rnThe people had lived their littlernpassage of time in the world, hadrnbecome what they became, andrnnow could be changed only by forgivenessrnand mercy. The misled,rnthe disappointed, the sinners of allrnthe sins, the hopeful, the faithful,rnthe loving, the doubtful, the desperate,rnthe grieved and the comforted,rnthe young and the old, thernbad and the good—all, sufferersrnunto death, had lain down there together.rnSome were there whornser’ed the communit)’ better by dyingrnthan by living. Why I shouldrnhave felt tender toward them allrnwas not clear to me, but I did.rnLike Chappell, Berry is too wise a manrnand too skillful a writer to lapse intorncliche or stereotype. His Port William isrnno Agrarian Shangri-la, and its denizensrnare as susceptible to temptation and frustrationrnas any city dweller because theyrnare human. But there is a difference:rnThe people of Port William have foundrntheir place in the world and are happy tornsubmit to its natural order. This givesrnthem an advantage as they live and stiugglernand fight and die to maintain that order.rnWho are their enemies? Some,rnsuch as Cecelia Overbold, a transplant torn30/CHRONICLESrnrnrn