Former Lakewood resident (LHS Class of 1983 graduate) Erin O’Brien followed the first rule of effective writing in producing her first full-length novel, “Harvey & Eck,” by sticking to a subject of which she had great knowledge ― pregnancy.  Only a woman who had been through the trials of pregnancy could so poignantly and humorously depict the roller coaster of emotions that catapults a woman through the physical, psychological and spiritual transformation that pregnancy elicits in a human being.

But “Harvey & Eck” ― as all good novels do ― contains a complication that drives the plot forward, which the writer sums up succinctly as, “Man.  Woman.  Pregnant.  Man.”

Written in the style of the 1970 classic, “84 Charing Cross Road,” “Harvey & Eck” is a story constructed entirely from a collection of letters between a distraught 33-year-old woman ― who upon discovering she is pregnant is promptly dumped by her illicit lover ― and an anonymous pen pal whose name she pulls randomly from the phone book.

Harvest Moon ― her chosen pen name which she quickly shortens to Harvey ― couldn’t have chosen a better foil for her agonized epistles about being summarily dumped by her lover, the challenges of her ensuing pregnancy, and her strained relationship with the “Hub” to whom she can confide nothing of her predicament, and who is sickeningly delighted that they are with child.

The name she pulls is Timothy Ecklenburg, a 50-year-old librarian.  Eck's life is carefully ordered and predictable, as far removed from the chaos of Harvey’s current predicament as she could imagine.

But that is of course what Harvey wants...

“Tonight,” she writes, “I need you, a real live flesh-and-blood human male, one who can’t hurt me.  One who doesn’t know me and probably wouldn’t want to anyway… I’m a little too old for crying to a teddy bear.  And I’ve got to tell this to someone.  But I can’t tell it to anyone.  Anyone but you, that is.”

There is a twist to this letter-writing marathon.  Eck can read the letters from Harvey, but as she does not provide return information, the letters he writes end up in his meticulous filing system.

Two plot lines weave through the year-long letter-writing campaign that ensues, the fairly predictable metamorphosis of Harvey ’s life as a beer-drinking, motorcycle-riding, female electrician into a mother, and the less predictable transformation that takes place in Eck.

Harvey’s letters spark something in Eck that sends him outside his carefully crafted routines, to his wry discomfort.  For instance, the day he abandons his usual lunch of tuna fish and a newspaper (both consumed daily in the library cafeteria) to venture outside to the sidewalk vendor for an Italian Sausage Mammoth, Eck is delighted and frightened.  He hugely enjoys the sandwich, but ends up with a dyspeptic stomach for the rest of the day.

The Mammoth becomes a symbol of his tentative efforts to reach beyond the self-imposed walls of his emotional prison.

Learning from the letters that Harvey is venturing to the library in search of reading material, Eck nervously hides his nameplate in case she should identify him as the recipient of her letters...

"My word, as if failing to display my nameplate were not enough, now I am compelled to ogle young women like some libidinous deviant.  Pray my superiors take no action against such transgressions.  My new practice of purchasing an Italian Sausage Mammoth for Wednesday’s lunch in lieu of my more predictable tuna sandwich has prompted more than a few raised eyebrows… and now all of this.  These are not the only ripples in my what-used-to-be calm life, or what I might call my pre-Harvey life."

Although “Harvey & Eck” may not be the high art that delighted the readers of Helene Hanff’s “84 Charing Cross Road” three decades ago, readers will no doubt enjoy the humorous angst and transformation of both characters as the year proceeds.

The book is a fast read, and at a mere 200 pages, author Erin O'Brien (pictured) provides a tightly written framework with plenty of twists and turns to keep readers engrossed.