The Road To Somewhere

Review by Mary Keener

The road is the path the author and his 10-year-old son took on an 8-week, top-of-the-tourist-season, around-the-world journey in the summer of 2001. The somewhere is the vague, flexible, unstructured route they embarked on, "east of the moon or west of the sun or maybe just some interesting place in between," - a place where father and son "could teach each other something valuable, about finding and preserving a boy's heart in each other."

The quest is reached by way of, detoured through, altered, abruptly turning and stopping to take advantage of the moment. In the process, we are witnessed to personal stories of those living in the area, history lessons made fascinating by our sense of being present in the place where they occurred, and the easy, humorous and loving relationship between a father and his son.

James Dodson's extensive knowledge of history and literature add a deep dimension to the stops. He is a good traveller, an excellent listener with a great respect and fondness for the past. I was not always eager to follow he and his son's footsteps, but once I let go, the adventure or lack of was well worthwhile.

I never laughed from my gut, but I often chuckled at Mr. Dodson's creative short tales, stimulated by his understanding of other cultures and extensive reading, as well as his unique approach to several of the more popular tourist attractions. For example, upon entering Notre Dame Cathedral, he explains the meaning of the word, relic and adds the following. I particularly enjoyed this because of French pride and a certain superior snobbishness, plus Mr. Dodson was having fun. So was I.

"According to one legend I'd read somewhere, during one of the Seine's periodic massive floods, a French cardinal held aloft one of these surviving nails (from Christ's crucifixion) and commanded the river to recede, which it supposedly did. If I recalled correctly, too, Notre Dame also claimed to own Christ's original crown of thorns - missing one thorn, I guess, which Joseph of Arimathea smuggled off to Glastonbury to grow the thorn tree.

As we reached the admission booth, where a baby-faced young man was dispensing sacristy tickets, I handed him a fifty-franc note and inquired if it might be possible to see Christ's crown of thorns or maybe the Calvary nail that pushed back the flooding.

You wish to view what?
The nails that hung Jesus on the cross!

He looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.

C'est impossible!
Do you mean it's not possible to see them or it's not possible they are here?
C'est impossible, monsieur. S'il vouc plaît!

James Dodson was always in control, even in uncontrollable events. Attitude is everything.

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