Ethan Joselow

This is the opening scene from A Ripe Republic, a historical fiction narrative based on actual people and events. It takes place in New Orleans on December 24, 1910. May Evans’ House was either an allegory of loss or the city’s finest whorehouse. Soon after her husband died unexpectedly, Mrs. Evans liquidated his dull farm-equipment business in the Marigny and used the proceeds to establish a more congenial enterprise in Storyville. The house was once the town residence of a Livingston Parish cotton family whose name no one remembered. The family sold it for a pittance after their cotton had all burned away during the war. Mrs. Evans also was now long gone, but her name endured as a celebrated byword for the city’s commerce in vice and iniquity. Lee climbed the house’s half-dozen brick steps in two bounds, coming to stand at a heavy door coated generously in burgundy oil paint to fill in the gouges in the millwork. The entrance was framed by a pair of gas lights that flickered and flitted inside filigreed brass domes wrapped in holly. Lee took a last furtive glance down Basin Street, where a pair of men in full-length overcoats stood as if standing were their life’s purpose. “Better be a back door to this place,” he said through his teeth. The door knocker was a statuette of Venus, beneath which lay a tableau of ancient nobility lounging on pillows as they were fed grapes and fanned by attendants. Lee snorted when he lifted the knocker to find that the scene was in fact an orgy. “Hell of a world,” he said, rubbing at the grey stubble on his chin. Restraining an impulse to crack wise at the men down the block, he scraped the mud off his boots and used Venus to deliver two sharp raps on the door. The door opened immediately. “Mr. Christmas! Good of you to join us this fine evening! And, uh, a Merry Christmas to you as well.” It was Guy Molony, tall, young, head like a cue ball, and eager to impress through a tight smile. Lee touched his hat with reflexive courtesy, taking in the surroundings, and deciding to leave his hat on. “That’s General Christmas, son. And ain’t a damn thing merry about this fine evening.” Guy blushed. “All right then. Well come on in. Homer, take the General’s coat and see to it he has something to drink.” “Yes, sir,” Homer responded. He was a heavyset jet-black man in a three-piece tuxedo with bloodshot eyes on a hangdog, impassive face. Guy pushed past Lee and Homer. Before closing the door, Guy stared long and hard at the men down the block. Lee laid a gentle hand on Guy’s shoulder, causing a twitch, and said, “If them Secret Service boys was gonna pay a visit, they would of paid it by now. Far as those fellas know, we just setting in here carrying on like anyone else coming through those doors. Nothing gon-transpire anyway until we get away from this place.” His entire future depended on getting out of May Evans’, but saying so would only make matters worse. “Correct. Of course. It goes without saying.” Guy turned on a heel, leading Lee out of the foyer and into the famed comforts on offer in the parlor. The room was paved in oriental rugs, two- and three-deep in places. On all sides and at odd angles were plush overstuffed Chesterfield sofas, with end tables covered in empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays. A plump redhead with a blue and a brown eye met Lee’s gaze, beckoning for him to sit with a siren’s guile. Lee took a step toward her. Guy loomed behind Lee. “Sir, General, with all due respect, it’s hardly the time to pay a social call.” Lee stopped where he was and turned around. “You may be right about that, kid. But I ain't got to like it.” He took a dramatic bow, “I am of course, at your service.” A den adjoined the parlor behind dark wood double doors. The walls inside were burled maple adorned with oil portraits of dead aristocrats between 10-foot-high bookshelves stacked with worm-eaten volumes. A desk the size of a rowboat traversed the room, behind which General Manuel Bonilla sat in a rumpled suit and a grave deadpan presence, looking small against his oversized surroundings. He stood up with purpose, tugging his vest straight. There was exhaustion in his eyes. It was no small thing to overthrow a government with New York and Washington nipping at your heels. “General Christmas, Señor Molony, and me, all in the same room,” Manuel said with good English and a rare smile. “Have a seat, have a seat. Brandy? Gin?” Guy signaled no. After a moment Lee muttered, “Brandy'll do, General.” Bonilla pulled a triplet of cigars from a valise draped over a chair next to the bar. Lee signaled yes, noticing the slightest tremor in the general’s hand. After a moment's hesitation, Guy said, “What the hell. It's not every night a fellow finds hisself in such esteemed company.” Bonilla struck a thick wooden match against the desk blotter and offered its flame to Guy before turning to Lee, who had already lit his own. “Gentlemen,” Bonilla began. “In this moment we mark the true beginning of our operation. The Benefactor waits in Mississippi with all we need. We fight together, we win together, we—” Lee interrupted. “Right now we drink together. Drink and see about losing them Secret Service boys, who ain’t much of a secret. Now Captain Molony, get yourself a glass, double-time. You look like you need a little medicine.” He stood with a wide stance and his hands clasped behind his back with a practiced military bearing, drawing on his cigar as he carefully observed Guy pour a finger of bourbon, as if this action were their way out. Manuel offered a toast. “To the good men of the Secret Service, sent by the United States on behalf of United Fruit, Minor Keith, and all the others who have what will be ours. We know you are but an instrument of greater wills, and we wish you well on this holy night.” Glasses clinked, and Lee added, “Now, how do we get them gone?”

A Ripe Republic A literary-historical novel by Ethan Joselow 1. Story Statement: For the story writ large: To come out on top or become nothing. There are three protagonists. Here’s a statement for each: Lee Christmas: To reclaim all he lost and to go home an important man. Manuel Bonilla: To redeem his country from its cycle of ruin. Sam Zemurray: To take his place among the captains of industry despite the odds. 2. Antagonist: Due to the split nature of the narrative, there are a few key antagonists. The central antagonist is Minor Keith, a railroad tycoon with a heavy stake in the banana business, who became semi-royalty in Costa Rica, and has designs on Honduras. He employs Lee on the railroads, belittling him at every opportunity, calling him out on his earlier failures in wrecking his train, calling him "good enough." To Manuel, he sees a fifth-rate leader of a tenth-rate country with no power of his own. To Sam, he simply sees someone to run out of business. Keith is the embodiment of Manifest Destiny-- the idea that there are those who are simply superior, and are therefore "destined" to dominate everyone else. All three men fight against this idea for their own reasons, and Keith serves as the idea's human embodiment. Winfield Christmas (Lee): The ghost of Lee’s father, who appears in his dreams. Winfield once owned a large tract in antebellum Louisiana only to be dispossessed during the Civil War, and end up scraping by in a rundown sawmill town. Winfield is a constant reminder of all Lee lost but never had. He is cruel and intensely depressing figure—a drunkard with nothing but a bad attitude, but nonetheless Lee’s father, to whom Lee feels an instinctive respect. Lee is forever running from Winfield in his psyche, trying to correct the seeming injustices in both Winfield’s and Lee’s lives, trying to do something more than become a pattern of behavior himself. Policarpo Bonilla (Manuel): A powerful and handsome young deputy in the Honduran congress who dreams of his country becoming fully integrated in a hemispheric economy, where all his citizens are educated and productive. It emerges that Policarpo mentioned Manuel Bonilla’s mixed race in arguing that he was the right suitor for a governor’s daughter, whom Manuel was enamored with. Over time, he becomes president of Honduras, with Manuel as his vice president. Manuel grows ever more resentful about Policarpo’s politics and foppish disposition, driven by his personal disliking. Through this antagonism, Manuel comes to believe that only he can fix the country’s problems—but only at the cost of his own moral center. Philander Knox (Sam): Once an aide to President McKinley in his Central American exploits, Philander Knox grows to become an important man in American politics, eventually serving as Secretary of State under a few presidents. Philander Knox represents the old blue-blooded families and interests that dominate America—people like J.P. Morgan, and Andrew Preston, one of the founders of the banana trade in Central America. He is himself a cold pragmatist with a natural dislike for the “inferior races,” and an understanding of the world as simply a matter of “finance and coercion.” He attempts to wipe out Sam out of a mix of personal contempt and as a threat to what he sees the dominant economic players he sees as pure representations of American interests. Sam must keep Philander off his tail until he can become powerful enough himself to be under Philander’s protection— by bankrolling a coup d’etat. 3. Titles: A Ripe Republic: How three outsiders won it all and lost themselves Greenback Paradise: The seizure of an overripe kingdom If You Can Keep It: A fable of power, prosperity, and holding on for all it’s worth 4. Comps: Hernan Diaz’s TRUST: A split narrative encompassing a broad swath of time and place, following several protagonists as they navigate the worlds of finance and power. It is an idea-driven narrative that interrogates how capitalism distorts morality. Christina Henriquez’s THE GREAT DIVIDE: The story of the construction of the Panama Canal; a massive engineering project in Central America, driven by powerful American interests. THE GREAT DIVIDE’s characters intersect with high relational stakes, exploring ambition, displacement, and the moral cost of progress. 5. Hook Line: Lost in the Gilded Age, three outsiders—an exiled railroad man, a disillusioned soldier, and a hungry immigrant—collide in Central America, where their dreams ripen to rot. -or- At the turn of the Twentieth Century, three outsiders—an exiled railroad man, a disillusioned soldier, and a hungry immigrant confront a Gilded Age tycoon with religious conviction that Central America is his. Faced with the impossible, they turn to the improbable, and win. -or- If you can’t join them, beat them. A Ripe Republic is the tale of three outsiders who win an empire and lose themselves in the bargain. 6. Inner Conflict: Overall, the inner conflicts in A Ripe Republic follow the good old Freudian id vs. superego framework: Do you go with your urges, or with the higher-level ideas you believe to be right? Each protagonist goes through multiple cycles of this, and in the end, it seems, the id wins, with varying degrees of regret and reflection depending on the protagonist. Lee’s conflict is simplest. Do I drink, gamble, and wreck things, or do I settle down, do what I need to do in a disciplined way, and achieve my actual goal of a nice house with kids running around? The hard part for Lee is that he is rewarded for the “wreck things” aspect of his personality, becoming very powerful in the process. This is what actually works in his life, and it is the source of much of his pride. The ghost of his father is a reminder of both sides. On one hand, he rages against it. On the other, he wants to right his family’s wrongs. He is given numerous off-ramps, both in New Orleans with his increasingly powerful friends, and with the well-to-do families he marries into in Honduras. Each time, his urges win out. In the end, he finds himself in the very same place as his father—dispossessed, drunk, and with dwindling fortunes. He never escapes his conflict. Hypothetical scenario (Lee): Lee’s friend Remy tells him to relax, that things will be fine once he gains political office. Remy keeps making offers of real prosperity and notoriety, but Lee rejects it each time. Lee repeats again and again in his interactions with Remy and elsewhere that he is his “own man.” It is both a point of pride, and a way out of becoming subordinate to something, even if it’s a sure thing. It’s always easier to be one’s “own man” when this means drinking and gambling. Manuel’s conflict is most cerebral. Do I seek power because I care about the people, or do I let my resentment and cynicism drive my ambition? At his purest, he is very concerned with the well-being of the average Honduran. He struggles with the high-minded ideas of the progressives, but is in his own way more of a radical than a conservative. Over time, witnessing the endless battles for power in his country forever dictated by shady American interests, he becomes more and more certain that nothing will change, despite his wish that it would. His cynical side is pushed harder by his resentment for his antagonist, wherein what he really wants above any political ideal is to dominate everything. His idealist side is pushed by his encounters with people, and the absence of such encounters by his peers. In the end, Manuel sees his own life running short, and comes to believe that there is no way out of the endless cycle of coups; that the only goal is to come out on top. Dying as president is his life’s last aspiration, and he will cut any deals to make sure that is how it ends. Hypothetical scenario (Manuel): There are two intensive dialogues between Manuel and Policarpo Bonilla. In the first, it is a friendly discussion on what matters more— big investment in the country, or listening to people and understanding what they themselves want. Later in the book Manuel meets Policarpo, who is now locked in a jail cell on Manuel’s orders. He lectures Policarpo on the true nature of power, and how people like Policarpo never get it. For Manuel in that moment, the true nature of power is that he is president, and his nemesis is in a cell. Sam is driven by an unending restlessness to do more, to grow, to be better. He cares about his family, who have been kind and caring towards him, but he loses sight of how to meet their own needs. He senses his own inadequacies, and tries to make reparations in his own way—sending money to them, but it’s not what they want. Throughout his story, Sam finds any sort of intimacy difficult-to-impossible. In situations where intimacy or “the personal” is called for, he always reverts back to what is safe for him-- business. In later chapters it emerges that this is rooted in a childhood trauma. In certain moments it seems that Sam wants to slow down, to take in the sights, but his restlessness seems to be nipping at his heels no matter the situation. Hypothetical Scenario (Sam): Towards the end of the book, now hugely successful but essentially orphaned and alone in the world, Sam tries to make small talk with one of his employees, Rachel. She is a few years younger, smart, attractive, from the same background as Sam—an obvious choice to ask out. He tries to talk to her about anything other than business, but finds that he simply can’t. He’s not capable, and there are other more “important” things, like the latest message from Central America that came in off the wire. 7. Setting: There are more than a dozen locales in A Ripe Republic. I’ll keep it open-ended. 1. New Orleans: This is home for Lee, the place of business for Sam, and the place for bringing together a conspiracy to Manuel. Cook’s bar is Lee’s home, or perhaps a default state for him. It is rundown, its air is heavy, its patrons are seedy, and the music is supplied by a piano whose major notes were “made minor by neglect.” The docks are where Sam spends most of his time, arranging for shipments, dealing with business matters. Most of the energy of the docks focuses on the process of loading and unloading cargo. The difficult jobs of the stevedores who toil at all hours. The shouts in various languages, the writing in chalk on barrels and boxes. A crescendo of the book takes place in a bordello, where Lee, Sam, and Manuel all meet face-to-face to launch their takeover of Honduras. The bordello is stately but gaudy as it should be. The house was the small mansion of some antebellum family, and has all the trappings of it, even if disused. Lee takes special note of a brass doorknocker that on close inspection depicts a Roman orgy. 2. Honduras: The country is green, hilly, stormy, and peppered with small towns and cities that are mostly oriented towards the extraction of things like bananas from the earth. The coast is windswept and forlorn; a place that was important in the days of the Spanish, but had been forgotten as the capital moved inland to Tegucigalpa. It is where Manuel feels most at home, patrolling along the rocks and crags of the scrubland. Lee’s experience there is in his homebase of Puerto Córtez, which is a rough town driven in large part by the predilections of the expatriate ne’er-do-wells who work for the railroads and plantations. He lives behind a cantina and spends his days either working, or drinking and gambling. Trujillo is where Manuel feels most comfortable, with the decaying fortress of Santa Barbara, where he likes to spend time alone when not on patrol. It is where he hoped to settle down as a landed caudillo with noble intentions. The lowlands of Honduras are forest, banana groves, swamp, and rail lines. The highlands are where Tegucigalpa is, with its faster pace, trappings of high society, and removal from the populace. Sam never goes there. Lee goes there only as a brutish military/police leader. Manuel goes there because that is where power is, though he never really likes it.