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The　Notebook　by　　Nicholas　Sparks　　


In　1932；　two　North　Carolina　teenagers　from　opposite　sides　of　the　tracks　fall　in　love。　Spending　one　idyllic　summer　together　in　the　small　town　of　New　Bern；　Noah　Calhoun　and　Allie　Nelson　do　not　meet　again　for　14　years。　Noah　has　returned　from　WWII　to　restore　the　house　of　his　dreams；　having　inherited　a　large　sum　of　money。　Allie；　programmed　by　family　and　the　〃caste　system　of　the　South〃　to　marry　an　ambitious；　prosperous　man；　has　bee　engaged　to　powerful　attorney　Lon　Hammond。　When　she　reads　a　newspaper　story　about　Noah's　restoration　project；　she　shows　up　on　his　porch　step；　re…entering　his　life　for　two　days。　Will　Allie　leave　Lon　for　Noah？　The　book's　slim　dimensions　and　cliche…ridden　prose　will　make　parisons　to　The　Bridges　of　Madison　County　inevitable。　What　renders　Sparks's　（Wokini：　A　Lakota　Journey　of　Happiness　and　Self…Understanding）　sentimental　story　somewhat　distinctive　are　two　chapters；　which　take　place　in　a　nursing　home　in　the　'90s；　that　frame　the　central　story。　The　first　sets　the　stage　for　the　reading　of　the　eponymous　notebook；　while　the　later　one　takes　the　characters　into　the　land　beyond　happily　ever　after；　a　future　rarely　examined　in　books　of　this　nature。　Early　on；　Noah　claims　that　theirs　may　be　either　a　tragedy　or　a　love　story；　depending　on　the　perspective。　Ultimately；　the　judgment　is　up　to　readers？be　they　cynics　or　romantics。　For　the　latter；　this　will　be　a　weeper。

CHAPTER　ONE　–　MIRACLES

WHO　AM　I？　And　how；　I　wonder；　will　this　story　end？

The　sun　has　e　up　and　I　am　sitting　by　a　window　that　is　foggy　with　the　breath　of　a　life　gone　by。　I’m　a　sight　this　morning：　two　shirts；　heavy　pants；　a　scarf　wrapped　twice　around　my　neck　and　tucked　into　a　thick　sweater　knitted　by　my　daughter　thirty　birthdays　ago。　The　thermostat　in　my　room　is　set　as　high　as　it　will　go；　and　a　smaller　space　heater　sits　directly　behind　me。　II　clicks　and　groans　and　spews　hot　air　like　a　fairy…tale　dragon；　and　still　my　body　shivers　with　a　cold　that　will　never　go　away；　a　cold　that　has　been　eighty　years　in　the　making。　Eighty　years。　I　wonder　if　this　is　how　it　is　for　everyone　my　age。

My　life？　It　isn’t　easy　to　explain。　It　has　not　been　the　rip…roaring　spectacular　I　fancied　it　would　be；　but　neither　have　I　burrowed　around　with　the　gophers。　I　suppose　it　has　most　resembled　a　blue…chip　stock：　fairly　stable；　more　ups　than　downs；　and　gradually　trending　upwards　over　time。　I’ve　learned　that　not　everyone　can　say　this　about　his　life。　But　do　not　be　misled。　I　am　nothing　special；　of　this　I　am　sure。　I　am　a　mon　man　with　mon　thoughts；　and　I’ve　led　a　mon　life。　There　are　no　monuments　dedicated　to　me　and　my　name　will　soon　be　forgotten；　but　I’ve　loved　another　with　all　my　heart　and　soul；　and　to　me　this　has　always　been　enough。

The　romantics　would　call　this　a　love　story：　the　cynics　would　call　it　a　tragedy。　In　my　mind　it’s　a　little　bit　of　both；　and　no　matter　how　you　choose　to　view　it　in　the　end；　it　does　not　change　the　fact　that　it　involves　a　great　deal　of　my　life。　I　have　no　plaints　about　the　path　I’ve　chosen　to　follow　and　the　places　it　has　taken　me—the　path　has　always　been　the　right　one。　I　wouldn’t　have　had　it　any　other　way。

Time；　unfortunately　doesn’t　make　it　easy　to　stay　on　course。　The　path　is　straight　as　ever；　but　now　it　is　strewn　with　the　rocks　and　gravel　that　accumulate　over　a　lifetime。　Until　three　years　ago　it　would　have　been　easy　to　ignore；　but　it’s　impossible　now。　There　is　a　sickness　rolling　through　my　body；　I’m　neither　strong　nor　healthy；　and　my　days　are　spent　like　an　old　party　balloon：　listless；　spongy　and　growing　softer　over　time。

I　cough；　and　through　squinted　eyes　I　check　my　watch。　I　realize　it　is　time　to　go。　I　stand　and　shuffle　across　the　room；　stopping　at　the　desk　to　pick　up　the　notebook　I　have　read　a　hundred　times。　I　slip　it　beneath　my　arm　and　continue　on　my　way　to　the　place　I　must　go。

I　walk　on　tiled　floors；　white　speckled　with　grey。　Like　my　hair　and　the　hair　of　most　people　here；　though　I’m　the　only　one　in　the　hallway　this　morning。　They　are　in　their　rooms；　alone　except　for　television；　but　they；　like　me；　are　used　to　it。　A　person　can　get　used　to　anything；　given　enough　lime。

I　hear　the　muffled　sounds　of　crying　in　the　distance　and　know　who　is　making　them。　The　nurses　see　me　and　we　smile　and　exchange　greetings。　I　am　sure　they　wonder　about　me　and　the　things　that　I　go　through　every　day。　I　listen　as　they　begin　to　whisper　among　themselves　when　I　pass。

“There　he　goes　again。”　I　hear。　“I　hope　it　turns　out　well。”　But　they　say　nothing　directly　to　me　about　it。

A　minute　later；　I　reach　the　room。　The　door　has　been　propped　open　for　me；　as　it　usually　is。　There　are　two　nurses　in　the　room；　and　as　I　enter　they　say　“Good　morning”　with　cheery　voices；　and　I　take　a　moment　to　ask　about　the　kids　and　the　schools　and　uping　vacations。　We　talk　above　the　crying　for　a　minute　or　so。　They　do　not　seem　to　notice：　they　have　bee　numb　to　it；　but　then　again；　so　have　I。

Afterwards　I　sit　in　the　chair　that　has　e　to　be　shaped　like　me。　They　are　finishing　up　now；　her　clothes　are　on；　but　she　is　cry…ing。　It　will　bee　quieter　after　they　leave。　I　know。　The　excite…ment　of　the　morning　always　upsets　her；　and　today　is　no　exception。　Finally　the　nurses　walk　out。　Both　of　them　touch　me　and　smile　as　they　walk　by。　

　　　I　sit　for　just　a　second　and　stare　at　her；　but　she　doesn’t　return　the　look。　I　understand；　for　she　doesn’t　know　who　I　am。　I’m　a　stranger　to　her。　Then；　turning　away；　I　how　my　head　and　pray　silently　for　the　strength　I　know　I　will　need。

Ready　now。　On　go　the　glasses；　out　of　my　pocket　es　a　magnifier。　I　put　it　on　the　table　for　a　moment　while　I　open　the　notebook。　It　takes　two　licks　on　my　gnarled　finger　to　get　the　well…worn　cover　open　to　the　first　page。　Then　I　put　the　magnifier　in　place。

There　is　always　a　moment　right　before　I　begin　to　read　the　story　when　my　mind　churns；　and　I　wonder；　will　it　happen　today？　I　don’t　know；　for　I　never　know　beforehand　and　deep　down　it　really　doesn’t　matter。　It’s　the　possibility　that　keeps　me　going。　And　though　you　may　call　me　a　dreamer　or　a　fool。　I　believe　that　anything　is　possible。

I　realize　that　the　odds；　and　science；　are　against　me。　But　science　is　not　the　total　answer。　This　I　know；　this　I　have　learned　in　my　life…time。　And　that　leaves　me　with　the　belief　that　miracles；　no　matter　how　inexplicable　or　unbelievable；　are　real　and　can　occur　without　regard　to　the　natural　order　of　things。　So　once　again；　just　as　I　do　every　day；　I　begin　to　read　the　notebook　aloud；　so　that　she　can　hear　it；　in　the　hope　that　the　miracle　that　has　e　to　dominate　my　life　will　once　again　prevail。

And　maybe；　just　maybe；　it　will。

CHAPTER　TWO　GHOSTS

It　was　early　October　1946；　and　Noah　Calhoun　watched　the　fading　sun　sink　lower　from　the　porch　of　his　plantation…style　Home。　He　liked　to　sit　here　in　the　evenings；　especially　after　working　hard　all　day；　and　let　his　thoughts　wander。　It　was　how　he　relaxed；　a　routine　he’d　learned　from　his　father。

He　especially　liked　to　look　at　the　trees　and　their　reflections　in　the　river。　North　Carolina　trees　are　beautiful　in　deep　autumn：　greens；　yellows；　reds；　oranges；　every　shade　in　between；　their　dazzling　colours　glowing　with　the　sun。

　The　house　was　built　in　1772；　making　it　one　of　the　oldest；　as　well　as　largest；　Homes　in　New　Bern。　Originally　it　was　the　main　house　on　a　working　plantation；　and　he　had　bought　it　right　after　the　war　ended　and　had　spent　the　last　eleven　months　and　a　small　fortune　repairing　it。　The　reporter　from　the　Raleigh　paper　had　done　an　arti…cle　on　it　a　few　weeks　ago　and　said　it　was　one　of　the　finest　restor…ations　he’d　ever　seen。　At　least　the　house　was。　The　rest　of　the　property　was　another　story；　and　that　was　where　Noah　had　spent　most　of　the　day。

The　Home　sat　on　twelve　acres　adjacent　to　Brices　Creek；　and　he’d　worked　on　the　wooden　fence　that　lined　the　other　three　sides　of　the　property；　checking　for　dry　rot　or　termites；　replacing　posts　where　he　had　to。　He　still　had　more　work　to　do　on　the　west　side；　and　as　he’d　put　the　tools　away　earlier　he’d　made　a　mental　note　to　call　and　have　some　more　timber　delivered。　He’d　gone　into　the　house；　drunk　a　glass　of　sweet　tea；　then　showered；　the　water　washing　away　dirt　and　fatigue。

Afterwards　he’d　bed　his　hair　back；　put　on　some　faded　jeans　and　a　long…sleeved　blue　shirt；　poured　himself　another　glass　of　tea　and　gone　to　the　porch；　where　he　sat　every　day　at　this　time。

He　reached　for　his　guitar；　remembering　his　father　as　he　did　so；　thinking　how　much　he　missed　him。　Noah　strummed　once；　adjusted　the　tension　on　two　strings；　then　strummed　again；　soft；　quiet　music。　He　hummed　at　first；　then　began　to　sing　as　night　came　down　around　him。

It　was　a　little　after　seven　when　he　stopped　and　settled　back　into　his　rocking　chair。　By　habit；　he　looked　upwards　and　saw　Orion；　the　Big　Dipper　and　the　Pole　Star；　twinkling　in　the　autumn　sky。

He　started　to　run　the　numbers　in　his　head；　then　stopped。　He　knew　he’d　spent　almost　his　entire　savings　on　the　house　and　would　have　to　find　a　job　again　soon；　but　he　pushed　the　thought　away　and　decided　to　enjoy　the　remaining　months　of　restoration　without　worrying　about　it。　It　would　work　out　for　him；　he　knew：　it　always　did。

Cem；　his　hound　dog；　came　up　to　him　then　and　nuzzled　his　hand　before　lying　down　at　his　feet。　Hey　girl；　how’re　you　doing？”　he　asked　as　he　patted　her　head；　and　she　whined　softly；　her　soft　round　eyes　peering　upwards。　A　car　accident　had　taken　one　of　her　legs；　but　she　still　moved　well　enough　and　kept　him　pany　on　nights　like　these。

　He　was　thirty…one　now；　not　too　old；　but　old　enough　to　be　lonely。　He　hadn’t　dated　since　he’d　been　back　here；　hadn’t　met　anyone　who　remotely　interested　him；　It　was　his　own　fault；　he　knew。　There　was　something　that　kept　a　distance　between　him　and　any　woman　who　started　to　get　close；　something　he　wasn’t　sure　he　could　change　even　if　he　tried。　And　sometimes；　in　the　moments　before　sleep；　he　won…dered　if　he　was　destined　to　be　alone　for　ever。

The　evening　passed；　staying　warm；　nice。　Noah　listened　to　the　crickets　and　the　rustling　leaves；　thinking　that　the　sound　of　nature　was　more　real　and　aroused　more　emotion　than　things　like　cars　and　planes。　Natural　things　gave　back　more　than　they　took；　and　their　sounds　always　brought　him　back　to　the　way　man　was　supposed　to　he。　There　were　times　during　the　war；　especially　after　a　major　engagement；　when　he　had　often　thought　about　these　simple　sounds。　　“It’ll　keep　you　from　going　crazy；”　his　father　had　told　him　the　day　he’d　shipped　out。　“It’s　God’s　music　and　it’ll　take　you　Home。”

He　finished　his　tea；　went　inside；　found　a　book；　then　turned　on　the　porch　light　on　his　way　back　out。　After　sitting　down　again；　he　looked　at　the　book。　It　was　old；　the　cover　was　torn；　and　the　pages　were　stained　with　mud　and　water。　It　was　Leaves　of　Grass　by　Walt　Whitman；　and　he　had　carried　it　with　him　throughout　the　war。　He　let　the　book　open　randomly　and　read　the　words　in　front　of　him：

This　is　thy　hour；　0　Soul；　thy　free　flight　into　the　wordless；

Away　from　hooks；　away　from　art；　the　day　erased；　the　lesson　done；

Thee　fully　forth　emerging；　silent；　gazing；　ponderi