Tim from Lowell, MA

The challenges involved in coming of age know no age, and while many narratives have explored that theme, few explore its disparate nature as deftly as The Running Waves. Though only one of the novel’s two protagonists explicitly states his desire to “...{squeeze} out another summer on the Cape...”, the sanctuary from maturity offered by Silver Shores is shared by the majority of the novel’s characters. The two Murphys crafted such a sanctuary that is at once tremendously appealing and tremendously authentic. In Silver Shores one finds not only the continuing party that drifts from beach to backyard to house to bar but also the conspicuous differences in class that underscore every seaside town. At the same time, the novel depicts accurately the constant dichotomy between the external world that lies everywhere on the other side of “the Bridge” and the constancy of past in present that the Shores’ ‘running waves’ provide. And there’s plenty of really funny banter, too.

Consequently, the novel is in every way a summer book. This is not to say that it’s a mere beach read; Dermot and Colin both shoulder a burden far more grave than light romance or mystery. The Running Waves is a summer book because it captures expertly each of that season’s manic phases: the limitless opportunities of June, the apparent endlessness of July, the desperate abrupt finality of August. Every summer is fated for memory, and the memories of Matt and Paul that haunt this novel’s characters remind them as well as the reader that summers of all ages end. Dermot and Colin remind us that no means of escape, neither alcohol, nor drugs, nor sex, not even bedwetting, can vanquish another autumn.

All is not lost, however. While the painful tragedy that defines the protagonists remind us of summer’s metaphor of mortality (best expressed by the helplessly distant adults in the book), the novel is a wonderful testament to the bonds of family, specifically brotherhood. I was at times frustrated with the apparent inattention to Dermot as Colin’s exploits unfolded, and vice versa, but I came to recognize this structural imbalance as indicative of the growing but baseless rift between the brothers. In being defined differently by the same event, they work well as foils. Dermot’s extroverted behavior veils his heartbroken narcissism, while Colin’s substance-abuse fueled narcissism veils his abiding altruism. His redemption is not neat, but it’s richly deserved. He can hide from everything but his own inherent benevolence.

One might complain about the numerous allusions to pop music, but these songs and their lyrics make perfect sense. After all, these are adolescents, and, as such, they’re more likely to adhere to dictums gleaned from liner notes than to ones heard at the dinner table. Their philosophies and their actions are informed by these songs; why shouldn’t they be included in the novel?

Read The Running Waves. Every adolescent, so every reader, has hid in summer from some past or some future. One might hear in the summer wind Gatsby amidst “...the foghorn sounding in the distance...” where “...the Silver Shores Lighthouse stood tall, the gray haze blocking the intermittent light that chased the melancholia.” Dermot and Colin remind us of when summer was not just a few weekends but one weekend. And, like every weekend, like ever party, like every summer, you don’t want it to end.