I was awakened from a sound sleep for a few mornings last month by the yapping of a small dog and the piercing shouts of his owner to "Be Quiet!", which, of course also woke up FrankieBernard, who bounded down the stairs to bay at the front door. One morning, quite annoyed and angry, I quickly dressed and stormed out the door with FrankieB straining on his leash to accost the disturbers of my peace. "Hey!" I yelled. "Can't you keep your dog quiet?!?! You've been waking me up every morning with his shrill yapping and your shouting!"

The man turned toward me with a blank, confused look on his face. At first, he said nothing, and stared at me while my dog and his began to play. Then he began an endless tirade about his life, his dog, and his last "unfriendly" neighborhood where, he said, he was unfairly maligned and misunderstood. It was too much for me to absorb so early at 7:00 in the morning, but, being polite, I listened while FrankieB and Ringo romped. Finally, after twenty minutes, I politely excused myself and dragged FrankieB back to our front door. The man and his dog followed, droning on and on about everything and nothing.

It dawned on me that there was something strange, something "not quite right" about this young man and his barking canine. Suddenly frightened, I rushed FrankieB and myself inside the house and locked the door behind us—leaving the man and his dog still standing on my sidewalk. I did not hear the yapping dog or his owner after that.

A week or so later, a concerned neighbor told me the "gentleman" was thought to be schizophrenic, and that he and his mother had since moved away.

When, how do you know, if you're a trusting and friendly soul like me, that someone just "isn't quite right"? Oh, okay, yes, I've met one or two, maybe three or more people in my time that I was—still am—convinced was/are a little "off", wacky, crazy—borderline personalities; neurotics; paranoid, controlling psychotics; true ego-maniacs. But never one as strange as the person I met that morning while walking his dog. Needless to say, it shook the living beetle juice out of me. Egad! And I thought this was a truly safe neighborhood. Now, I am not so sure. I have, of late, become very, very cautious when meeting anybody new.  

In the novel Goodbye Goldilocks¹ by Judith Arthy—an Australian actress² who was well-known in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s on the British stage and in many BBC television mystery dramas and serials—the main character, Helen Charters, is a fifteen year-old Australian school girl who is obsessed with a martyred saint and, because of her, with becoming a Roman Catholic nun. At first, the reader is enticed, endeared by her zealousness, taken in and captured by her seemingly "winning" personality. We empathize with the total absence of her estranged father, who lives with his mistress in London. When her mother, Lillian, decides that Helen's avid vocation is blatantly against her own wishes and plans for her daughter—she violently hates the nuns almost as much as he hates her husband—she asks Richard Charter to take Helen to live with him. Helen is wrenched out of her beloved school, away from her beloved nuns, and is whisked away by him—first to Singapore, then to London, where she encounters Eleanor, Richard's mistress. Helen is withdrawn, aloof, and turns inwardly into herself—only drawn out by the gift of a white dress and a white kitten and thoughts of living for the summer on the isle of Ibiza.

Is she or is she not, as we are lead to believe in the beginning of the story, normal? Going through the typical stages of mid-to late stages of being a teen-ager? Or is she, like the young man I met, strange, different, a little bit more than "off"? Her father thinks she is merely "going through a phase of adjustment"—of him back in her life, and of her new surroundings. His mistress, jealous of the young intruder into what was once a mutually comforting and convenient "twosome", thinks Helen is "different"; something is "not quite right", if not downright wrong, about the girl. And then there is the older, male house-guest who "fancies" Helen, who, in turn, is strongly drawn by and to the young painter who starts to paint her portrait. And, thus, we are sucked into the quagmire of this intriguingly riveting psychological novel.

My newly-acquired first edition of Goodbye Goldilocks, is, I have since discovered, a rather rare publication. In fact, there is no "image" available to add to the graphical display of my Current Picks. So, if you wish to buy a copy, please click one of the text links. I found my copy in a box of "cast-offs" given to me by a dear neighbor who was re-organizing her own library. Just about everyone on my block, by the way, are avid readers and have their own substantial collections of books; even the children. Sorting through the twenty or so discards, I was instantly intrigued by the cover of this slim, 143-page volume and began to immediately read it. I was so captivated by the story and the flowing, lyrically descriptive writing, that I read it in one spine-tingling Wednesday evening—after, of course, that day's final match strokes of the French Open had been played.

I am surprised that Arthy's book, one of four, including a children's book, was not well-received or prominently reviewed when it was first released in 1984. One misguided commenter from Publisher's Weekly—the only review that I can find so far—said that the premise was good, but that it "missed the mark". Au contraire, mon ami! Goodbye Goldilocks is true to form. The title reflects its themes—Helen had long, flowing flaxen locks, just like the fairy tale character, and she views her father as "Poppa Bear”. Certain things to her are either too big, too small, or just right. Unlike, albeit, our strangely inwardly-drawn main protagonist, who searches in the forests of her own life and subconscious for sustenance and refuge; and, in many respects, deliverance from the misunderstandings of others, as well as herself. While it may not have been as well received as it should have been in the late 1980s, it is, given the turmoil in the Philadelphia Diocese over wayward clergy and the current scrutiny of the relevance and impact of the Roman Catholic Church on our personal lives, of vital importance today.

What caused Helen to be who she became? Was she that way before entering the convent school with its strict and narrow-minded nuns or was she molded into it while there?

This is a haunting and amusingly poignant novel; one that I suggest you all read. If nothing else, to be stunned by its surprise denouement ending. It is surely one that I will read again. If nothing else, to remind me that I should leave yapping dogs and their noisy owners alone.
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¹ © 1984 by Judith Arthy. First Edition, November 8, 1984. Angus & Robertson Publishers (UK), Ltd, London, England.
² Here is a link to her Wikipedia listing: Judith Arthy. An Internet search uncovers a treasure-trove of clips and videos of some of her television shows.