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DALE KUETER
MY BOOKS
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Ma Bremer's Boys
ISBN-978-1-64719-332-4
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With her abusive husband gone, Molly Bremer is alone in Little Rock, Ark., to raise their three children. She faces all the challenges of a single mother during the chaotic years of World War II. Over the years, her two sons follow wayward paths. She is confronted by their twisted lives of avarice and murder. It is painful, but what can she do? When does being a mother end?
Motel Sepia
ISBN-56-6784659396375
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. . . Roy picked up a pebble and casually tossed it into a part of the stream where water had pooled. He watched the widening ripple. Every action we take, he pondered, produces some form of reaction. Parts of the ripple bumped into the surrounding bank and were repelled, while other parts filtered through reeds, engulfing them gently. Another section of the growing undulation was quickly swallowed by the force of moving water.
. . . Just a few hours ago this man was enjoying life. How can this be? Byrne fought off the impulse to consider that killing was part of man's nature, an inherited trait that was not discarded after the Stone Age. Do we exit our mother's womb with an intrinsic proclivity to harm others? Is the belief of most religions that man is basically good. Is that wrong?
The Smell of the Soil
ISBN-68-3459876038524
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Stories bring people to life, even the dead. They paint an indelible history. It's commendable to have an orderly and complete genealogy. It is the official family record, but it's only the bare bones. Stories put flesh on these people.
"The Smell of the Soil" is both a montage of my stories (including a revealing account of why I danced naked in front of my mother) and an earnest plea that you write your family stories. My sincere hope is that my stories will jog memories of your stories.
Vietnam Sons
ISBN-58-2459886032524
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The man raises Redbone coonhounds. He lives in a backwoods mobile home, alone, save for the awful memories of Vietnam. He cradled dying men, bagged bodies of fellow Marines, killed with vigor and was wounded three times. Most of these horrors have faded to shadows. One, his belief that he was responsible for a friend's death, seems indelible. The elderly couple are in their 80s now, their children long grown and dispersed. Their dead son, their second oldest, a victim of Vietnam, is never far from their thoughts and prayers. They now know how their son died, that another Marine believes he is to blame. Several years ago they met with this beaten-down survivor of war. "We don't hold you responsible for our son's death," they emphasized to him. Their words, while easing the veteran's anguish, have not erased it. In recent years, the elderly man has become a surrogate father to the aching man. "He reminds me a lot of my real father," says the former Marine.