Book Review: Haint Country: Dark Folktales from the Hills and Hollers

 By Matthew Sparks (editor), Olivia Sizemore (illustrator)

• Pub Date: 2024

• Genre: Folktales

• Where I bought this book: Joseph-Beth Bookstore, Lexington, during the Kentucky Book Fair 

• Why I bought this book: The authors talked me into it  

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     Just so you know: A haint is sort of like a ghost, likely someone or something that appears where the distance between the supernatural world and our world is thin, meaning spirits sometimes cross over. A booger is cryptid, an animal or person that has grown out of proportion on the other side. Stained earth is a place where something evil happened, and the spirits are restless. High strangeness is just something weird that happened and cannot be easily explained. 

    Haint Country is the Appalachian dialect terms for where all these things occur.

    If you pick up this book -- and you should -- you must read the forward and introduction to these tales. It'll teach you a thing or two and make them a lot more believable to you all.

    I swear to god and hope to die if I'm lyin'.

    Moving on, you'll find this an eclectic collection of tales told mostly in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky, the heart of Appalachian Kentucky, mostly from Lee, Owsley, Clay, Leslie, Perry, and Harlan counties. They have been handed down from family to family, friend to friend, some outright invented, and some recalled to explain a curious sight or occurrence.

      The tales are written -- or told to others over time -- by various authors, some of who are credited with more than one. 

    They have been told after dark on overnight fishing trips, in a school yard to explain why no one goes down that creepy corridor, or to a spouse to excuse lateness or a lack of pants.*

    Some are to remember the victims of the mining disasters that occurred regularly in Kentucky history and still haunt entire communities. Others explain the strange feelings one gets when passing a forgotten cemetery or jailhouse. 

    But some are just old tales told around the campfire when the stars come out and the night gets dark and spooky. The drawbacks with these are they sound like the least likely explanation for a simple event, like why a house brunt down, but the tellers insist that every word is true and verified by anyone with a lick of sense. This is mostly a problem in the second part of the book, when the good ol' boys think of something they saw on television.**

    The tales in the first part of the book seem more like those told and retold as a potentially plausible, maybe if you squint real hard, explanation. Or something told after a bunch of people got together to recollect why the old barn burnt down, and try to outdo each other with wild explanations after too much moonshine.

    The longest story concerns the spooking of a house in Breathitt County, most likely by Mary Jane Fox, who apparently didn't like the changes made -- or the fact that her husband killed her when they lived in the previous house on the site. 

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* See Paw Hensley and the Naked Haint Woman of Squabble Creek, attributed to Hensley Sparks, "a walking, talking tall tale, born and raised in Clay County, Kentucky."

** See The Legend of The John Asher's UFO, (an episode of X-Files, no less) "dedicated to the memory of Patrick Smith, who was also a witness to the events" in the late 1990s or early 2000s.

Book Review: Blackberries, Blackberries

 By Crystal Wilkinson

• Pub Date: 2000

• Where I bought this book: Roebling Books, Covington, Ky. 

• Why I bought this book: For the cover art -- and the title

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    Short stories comprise many a genre, providing an outlet for stylish writing, whether it be a character study, a self-narrative, a moment in time, or a profile of home.

    The writing may be descriptive or stark. The story may be complete or part of a larger whole. But at their best, short stories allow writers to explore a small slice of life, of time, or of place.

    The best ones are concise, and telling.

    This collection takes all the options, to the benefit of the reader. The tales are brief, most less than 10 pages, some just two or three. But the stories they tell.

    Wilkinson grew up in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, poor and Black, surrounded by family and community. She watched and listened. She learned to read people and reflect on their nature. She did it for survival, for the times to come, and for the hereafter. She captured their words and their messages. 

      Writing in the vernacular is hard, and often writers fail miserably. But Wilkinson nails it in ways hard to express. Indeed, the English language has few words to describe dialect that aren't degrading or dismissive, an subtle acknowledgement those who make such linguistic decisions look askance at such speaking or writing.

    But Wilkinson pulls it off, and it adds texture and character to her writing. Take for example, her story, Women's Secrets, in which a grandmother, Big Mama, cautions her daughter, Mama, who is young and looking for love wherever she may find it. Mama's daughter, our narrator, pays attention when Big Mama speaks.

I seen that Adams boy sniffing 'round here at your skirts but he ain't no count. Him nor his brothers. His daddy weren't no count neither. What he gonna give a family, girl? Ain't never gonna be nothing. Ain't got no learning. Ain't gonna never have no land. Gambling and carrying like sin.

    Later, in the same story, Big Mama gets more down home, unleashing her tongue and giving Mama a big heap of learnin.

"Chile, mens these times just ain't like your daddy." Big Mama takes a big loud breath and starts in on Mama again. "Ain't nare one of 'em no more than breath and britches, specially them Adams boys. Watch my words now girl, I'm telling you. Ain't good for not a damn. God in heaven forgive me but ain't good for not a damn. Breath and britches all they are."

      The stories are personal, and depend much on the relationships between women, particularly mothers and daughters. Their stories, literally, are about life and death. One, Waiting on the Reaper shows Wilkinson at her best, telling the tale of an old woman waiting to die, which she could have learned only by listening to a old woman waiting to die. 

    "I'm ready now," she said. "Ain't got too much time. Gonna see Lonnie and my little girlfriend that drowned in a well when I was ten."

TWIB: 13th Ed.

     So, I visited the Book Loft in Columbus today -- and while the two-hour drive took closer to four hours because of a massive delay on Interstate 71 (I have no idea why; traffic just stopped for an hour) -- it was an enjoyable experience. A late lunch with my daughter at Fourth & State, a vegan cafe downtown, and then on to add to The TBR Stack.

The latest haul, ready to be read

    

        The Light Pirate, by Lily Brooks-Dalton: I have no idea what it's about, but my first daughter told me to "but it and read it next." Also, the title is fantastic, and the author's first book, Good Morning, Midnight, was a good read (and another compelling title).

    Babel, by R.F. Kuang: I have seen this title all over the place. So I grabbed it in the store, and after reading the description -- about languages, learning, and imperialism -- I could not put it back.

    How It Went, by Wendell Berry: When Kentucky's greatest living author -- and perhaps its finest living person -- puts out a new volume of stories about Port William, Ky., you just have to give it a go. Berry, after all, taught this Kentucky immigrant everything I've learned about the state.

    The Other Black Girl, by Zakiya Dalila Harris: What it's like when two Black woman work in the same office, as told by a Black woman. I think I'll learn something from this.

    Tread of Angels, by Rebecca Roanhorse: Read this description from the book flap: "High in the remote mountains, the town of Goetia is booming as prospectors from near and far come to mine the powerful new element Divinity. Divinity  is the remains of the body of the rebel Abaddon, who fell to Earth during Heaven's War, and it powers the world's most inventive and innovative technologies, ushering in a new age of progress. However, only the descendants of those who rebelled, called the Fallen, possess the ability to see the rich lodes of the precious element. That makes them a necessary evil among the good and righteous people called the Elect, and Goetia a town segregated by ancestry and class."  Yep, me too.

    Galatea, by Madeline Miller: It's short, but it's the first book in a while from Miller, the goddess of reinterpreting the perspectives of the Greek legends.

Book Review: The Book Woman's Daughter

 

•  Author: Kim Michele Richardson

• Where I bought this book: Roebling Books, Covington., Ky.

• Why I bought this book: It is a sequel to a book I greatly enjoyed

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    I always a fear a sequel will never match up to the original, especially when the original is a unique tale is by a relatively unknown author. That fear is heightened when it seems the second book may be forced, simply to ride on the coattails of the first book.

 

    But with The Book Woman's Daughter, none of those fears is realized. Indeed, it is possible to say the sequel to The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek is a stronger, better book that its predecessor. 

    This one has better, more memorable supporting characters, tension in the overall plot, and a powerfully young female mainstay who can carry the story while showing fear, grief, foolishness, and wonder at the world.

    The first Book Woman introduced us to the Eastern Kentucky mountains, its traditions -- good and bad -- and its people, including the Blue People of Kentucky. It also told us about the Pack Horse Library Project, a WPA program during World War II to have women on horseback delivery reading material in the hills of  Appalachia. 

    It turned out to be one of my favorite reads in a while.

    The sequel returns us to Troublesome Creek, and the story of the Blue People. 

    This time, it's the book woman's 16-year-old daughter, Honey Lovett, who's in trouble. Her parents are going to prison for breaking the state's anti-miscegenation laws (her mother, who is blue, married a white man. They had been warned.) Honey risks being sent to the state orphan home -- basically, a children's prison. She'll be forced to perform hard labor.

    In a sense, the way the town, and the legal and medical systems, treat Honey and her family is a stand-in for the discrimination often faced by people who are different from the majority, or from the way things have always been done. At one point, Honey cries when she realizes her parents are in prison because they love each other, and wonders why people think they should have a say in such affairs of the heart.

    But Honey isn't the only one with problems. Her soon to be friend, Pearl, 19-year-old woman who is hired as a fire watcher in the forest, is being pursued and harassed by the family of the man who thinks he should have gotten the job. A woman on her book route, Guyla Belle, is being beaten by her husband. Another woman on her route, Bonnie, a young widow who is one of the few female coal miners, is sexually assaulted daily by her co-workers. 

    There are a few good men in her town. Her lawyer, who is looking out for her. Her doctor, who helps her stay in touch with her parents. And Francis, a young shopkeeper who fancies and respects her.

    There's also the books she delivers, which save a few people, delight others, and teach everyone who reads them.

    But it's the women who stick together, watch out for, and help each others

    It's a wonderful tale of a hard, sometimes nasty and unfair life. But it also shows how women cope, survive, bond, and fight for their rights and dignity. They are the community.

Book Review: A Parchment of Leaves

 

• Author: Silas House

• Where I bought this book: The 2021 Kentucky Book Fair, Lexington

• Why I bought this book: House is the new Wendell Berry

*********

   

    This novel is a stunning work of art -- the story, the characters, and the connection of place to person is a phenomenal achievement.

    House, an Eastern Kentucky native, knows the language of Appalachia and how to use it subtly, nobly, and to its best effect. He knows -- indeed, he is -- the characters, and you can feel their pain and their joys through his writing. 

    And he understands that connections that tie the characters to the story through the expressive use of  language.

    House can teach everyone a thing or two about Eastern Kentucky -- about its stalwart people, its sometimes sad but always provocative history, and its rich culture. 

     In Parchment, House tells a feminist story in the voices and actions of its women. The main character and voice is Vine, whom we meet as a young Cherokee tending to her garden along Redbud Camp, a small community in a hollow of the Eastern Kentucky mountains. Other strong women whose voice we hear are Esme, Vine's mother-in-law and the matriarch of the Sullivan family, and Serena, a midwife and iconoclast who forges her own trails in the sometime judgmental Appalachian communities where they live.

    They find strength in each other, in the strong family ties, and in the isolation in Appalachia. Individuality is necessary to survive, although it is often frowned upon.

    The Native Americans, such as Vine and her immeniate family, survived the slaughter and forced removal duirng the Trail of Tears by hiding out in Eastern Kentucky, where they were later joined by the Scots-Irish settlers. By the time of this novel, set in the early 20th Century, the groups formed an uneasy alliance.

     Esme's son, Saul, woes and weds Vine, bringing her back to the Sullivan homestead in a neighboring hollow, God's Creek. She must deal with his brother Aaron, who has his own desires for Vine, and on Esme's sometimes suspicious nature toward her. She also seeks to find her place in the new community, while keeping her inate goodness for all.

    It's a tall order, but House is an extraordinary writer who reaches high and achieves the stars.

Book Review: Same Sun Here

• Authors: Silas House and Neela Vaswani

• Where I bought this book: The 2021 Kentucky Book Fair, Lexington

• Why I bought this book: Silas House signed it.

    *********    

    

    Two strong writers have put together a pleasant read from the fictional correspondence between dissimilar yet emotionally connected youngsters.

    House's River Justice is a 12-year-old boy, the son of a coal miner in Eastern Kentucky. Meena Joshi is a 12-year-old immigrant from India, living in New York City's Chinatown. As part of a school assignment, Meena randomly selects River to be her pen-pal, and the pair begin to explore each other, their backgrounds, their lives, and their thoughts about their places in the world.

    It's a compelling read that shows the best of today's younger generation -- thoughtful, mindful, and caring. They discover they have many things in common, and while Meena's young childhood in India gives her some insight into River's rural Kentucky life, he is forever asking questions about New York's urban lifestyle and Meena's role in it.

    This is a book written like it is by young adults, for young adults.

    House writes River's letters. His language is remarkable. He uses the Eastern Kentucky dialect subtly, easily capturing the rhythms and tones of his home. He gives River his distinctive Appalachian inflections -- yes, you can hear him speaking.

    Vaswani is House's equal in presenting Meena's outgoing yet thoughtful pre-teen voice. Like any 12-year-old girl, she has to ability to change tone within seconds. One sentence she write as foot-stomping angry, and the next returns as the calm, compassionate friend.

    As they learn about each other, they find their worlds are being threatened. Meena sees her neighborhood changing and casting aside some who have lived in their rent-controled apartments their entire lives. The cause is the landlord's desire to increase their rent or force them out and sell the apartment for a high profit. To make the apartments unliveable for the current residents, they withhold servuves or refuse to perform routine maintenance. 

    Likewise, River sees his beloved mountains and woods being destroyed to bring out more coal. The coal barons are literally stripping away the mountaintops to get to the coal seams, in the process dumping toxic waste wherever they can -- usually in the rivers and streams.

    The difference is the landlords are deliberately being cruel, while the coal barons don't care.

    Both youths explain what is going one and how they and their communities are fighting it as best they can. So at its best it's a hopeful story, one befitting the authors who are telling it in the voices of the youths who are living it.

Book Review: Not Even Immortality Lasts Forever

Not Even Immortality Lasts Forever: Mostly True Stories, by Ed McClanahan

• Where I bought this book: Kentucky Book Festival, Lexington
• Why I bought this book: McClanahan is Kentucky's best unknown writer

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    I first fell in love with McClanahan's writing soon after I moved to the commonwealth some 40 years ago, and a colleague suggested -- nay, insisted -- that I read The Natural Man, McClanahan's first novel.. 

    I did. I was hooked.

    McClanahan has led an extraorinary 20th Century life. Born in Brooksville, the seat of rural Bracken County, he was a part of the pre-war generation -- too young for World War II, and smart enough and pacifist enough to avoid the Korean War. McClanahan is a contemporary of the legendary Kentucky poet and author, Wendell Berry, along with Pulitzer-prize winner Larry McMurtry and beat/hippie author Ken Kesey. He ran with the Merry Pranksters. He was an author, professor, and lecturer under the moniker, "Captain Kentucky." Along with Mason, Berry, James Baker Hall, and Gurney Norman, McClanahan was part of the group called the "Fab Five" of Kentucky literature.

    In Not Even ..., McClanahan pens a ragtag collection of tales stretching from his boyhood days to his current elderly strolls around Lexington. The result is funny, yet touching, a feeling that you are listening to an old man in the latter years of his life lightheartedly recalling his earlier days of glory. He explores his relationship as the hippie, ne'er-do-well son of an upright, businessman-father who brokers little nonsense and was unusually proud of the cut of his nose.

The nose, my father firmly believed, is composed of certain pliable matter that one can mold and shape over time like a lump of gristly modeing clay, if -- if --one develops the proper habits of life and sticks to them assiduously. Such as: When said olfactory apparatus itches, son, do not scratch same by rubbing it with the heel of your hand as if you want to smear the gaddamn thing all over your counternance. Rather, delicately grasp it between the thumb and forefinger, just below the bridge -- thus; yes; just so -- and gently pull forward and down, thereby addressing the offending itch while simultaneously helping the nose to become all that it can be, which is to say a nose not unlike the paternal beezer itself.

    Some of the stories may be true -- one he claims to have video proof he found on the Internet. Others, like the one above, he admits, might be a teensy bit exagerrated.  There are those he says are true to the best of his recollections. A few, perhaps, might just well be, perhaps, merely allegorical. 

    It's a memoir in the best sense of the term -- self effacing, forgoing sentimentality if he chooses, grumbling about memory loss if it provides a convenient escape hatch.

    It's short, and sweet, and funny as hell. Go read it.

Book Review: Clay's Quilt

Clay's Quilt, by Silas House 

    If you want to know Kentucky, you have to live Kentucky.

    But for those born and live outside the commonwealth, know that it has spawned an extraordinary group of native writers. One of these is Silas House, born in Corbin, the heart of Laurel County, and reared in nearby Lily, a town of some 3,000 people. House was schooled at Eastern Kentucky University, and Lousiville's Spalding University. He currently teaches at Berea College.

    So he has a taste for the soul of the state, an ear for its finely turned music and  language, and an eye for the dignity and exuberance of its people.

    That talent is on firm display in Clay's Quilt, the first of three books that showcases the coal country and mountains of Southeastern Kentucky. The trilogy is not a series, although it is related in charcters and story lines.

    In House's debut novel, Clay Sizemore is a good-ol'-boy but a righteous one. He has a job in the coal mines, a hankering for country music, and a rowdy best friend. But he's a youth adrift and uncertain about his future. He yearns to know more about his mother, who died when he was a toddler. But his loyalty to his family, and his sense of place, gives him something to grasp and aspire to. But he struggles to find more.

    The writing in this tale is superb. You can hear the Eastern Kentucky accents in the voices and the setting. House is a master of storytelling, and the book reveals its secrets in every chapter.

    The setting explores the creeks and hollers of the mountains, and the breadth of Eastern Kentucky culture. It's all there: the diverse and beautiful music, the sometimes smothering nature of its religiosity, its joys of home and community, its random, often brutal violence.

    House tells it all without fear or favor. It's his culture, so he knows its strengths and lives with its scars.

    It's a portrait that only an honest and loving native son can paint.

This Year in Books: 2019 Edition

My Best Books of 2019

I like to begin the year reading a favorite story about one of the greatest baseball players of all time. Roberto Clemente died New Year's Eve 1972 when he boarded a plane to take supplies to Nicaragua, which had been recently devastated by an earthquake. The plane crashed, killing the 38-year-old Clemente, the pilot, and three others.

Fifteen years later, writer W.P. Kinsella, working off the idea that Clemente's body had never been found, wrote "Searching for January," in which a tourist sees Clemente coming ashore in 1987. In a touch of magical realism, they discuss what happened and what might have been.

Ready for breakfast and the yearly reading of Kinsella's work.

OK, that's a long intro/aside to my first Year in Review blog post, featuring the best books I have read this year. According to my Goodreads profile, I read a book a week, which, according to one estimate I have seen, means I read about 50 pages a day. Sounds about right.

Anyway, of those, I have selected eight as my books of the year. Why eight, you ask? Why not, I respond.

So here were go.

The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek, by Kim Michele Robinson. This novel, about a WPA project that paid women to ride mules into the hollers of Eastern Kentucky, became one of my favorite of all time. The writing is extraordinary, vivid, and sensitive. Richardson reaches perfection in her use of dialect -- just the right amount to give flavor to the speech of the people, but never too much. In addition to her keen ear, Richardson has a keen heart and mind in creating and letting her characters live their lives. Full review.

The Bees, by Laline Paull. Paull gives us a hive of honeybees that are feminist, pro-labor, and loyal, and presents them to tell a story of love, hope, and commitment. It's a book not about bees, but about us. It's about how we are locked into a caste at birth and struggle mightily to escape. Full review.

Washington Black, by Esi Edugyan. With powerful and explosive writing, Edugyan tells the tale of George Washington Black, who begins life as a field slave on a plantation in Barbados in the 19th Century. From that beginning, she follows Wash through the United States, Canada, and England, as he tries to escape slavery and live the life of a freeman. But melancholy and a haunted, hunted existence follows him. Full review.

The Testaments, by Margaret Atwood. This is today's story of what happens in the years of The Handmaid's Tale and its government of Gilead. It is told in various voices, from a top aunt in the organization to members of the resistance. They include children, who only know Gilead after the revolution, as they are taught little about the previous life. It's an inspiring tale from a top-notch writer. Full review.

Elevation, by Stephen King. This is an unusually short Stephen King book, but it's also the ultimate Stephen King book. It has great characters in a great story that's well written, with a little supernatural sprinkled in. It's a short novel packed with intensity and issues. Full review.

Unsheltered, by Barbara Kingsolver. Kingsolver melds past and present into a sentimental yet unsparing tale, exploring how our present determines our future and influences interpretations of the past. In her literate prose, with a gift for the narrative of empathy and understanding, Kingsolver touches on what moves us all -- our family, our homes, our beliefs, and our hopes for the futures. Full review

Night Boat to Tangier, by Kevin Barry. In the long, extraordinary history of great Irish writers, Barry is finding himself among the elite. Night Boat tells about  two old Irish drug dealers and wanderers, who have made it good, then lost most of it. As they wait in a Spanish port for one character's daughter, Barry tells their story in writing that is ravishingly beautiful. He makes every word count, and causes you to use your five senses to take it all in. Full review.

Music Love Drugs War, by Geraldine Quigley. Quigley introduces us to a group of young friends and acquaintances in Derry, Northern Ireland, at the start of the 1980s. Most of them are in their late teens and on the cusp of adulthood, but unsure of their futures. They live in a city where jobs are scarce, the violence can be thick, and the hope can be slim. Their pleasures lie in drugs, music, and each other. Their fears and realities lie in the violent struggle that has engulfed Ireland for 400 years. Full review.

Book Review: Troublesome Creek

The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek, by Kim Michele Richardson

About halfway through this intense, thoughtful novel, I had the thought that it may be one of the best books I have ever read.

Then it got better.

So, before I go any further, let me urge you to go out and buy this book. Or borrow it from your local library. Just go read it.

The book explores two issues, one that I was familiar with, and the second I was unaware of but happy to learn about. The book's protagonist, Cussy Mary Carter, is one of the Blue Fugates of Kentucky, mountain people who because of a rare blood condition and much inbreeding, had blue skin.To help survive in the rugged environment of Eastern Kentucky, Cussy joins the Pack Horse Library project, a WPA program that delivered books to the isolated people in the area. (I had heard about the Fugates: I was unaware of the Pack Horse project.)

Martin Fugate moved from France to the Troublesome Creek area of Hazard County, Ky., around 1800. Against all odds, he married a Kentucky woman who carried the same rare recessive gene as he did -- one that lacked a critical enzyme in the blood, causing it to have a chocolate-brown color, which in turn made the skin appear blue. Because of their isolation, members of the family married and had children with each other. This resulted in the recessive gene occurring more frequently, resulting in the condition later identified as methemoglobinemia. (I tried to find a photo of a family member online, but none seemed legitimate. They were either falsely colored, exploitative, or not a member of the Fugate clan.)

President Franklin Roosevelt created the The Pack Horse project as part of the Works Project Administration in 1935. It was meant to bring books to the schools and isolated cabins in Appalachia. It hired mostly women, and a few men, to walk or ride horses or mules across the rugged land. The people receiving the books were grateful for both the visitors and reading material, which they otherwise would do without.

But I digress. Back to the book.

Cussy Mary lives in a two-room cabin in an  almost inaccessible holler near Troublesome Creek. Her only human companion is her father, a coal miner suffering from black-lung disease, who is eager to marry her off before he dies. He is active in the efforts to organize the miners, a dangerous position to take in Hazard County in the 1930s. Cussy is a blue woman, perhaps the last of her kind. She is sometimes called Bluet, because her color resembles a wildflower that grows near her home in the Appalachian mountains.

As fictional characters, Cussy and her father are used to give a primer on the poverty in the Eastern Kentucky mountains, and the effect it has on the people of the area. It shows the devastating impact mining coal has had on the beauty and health of the natural surroundings, and on the community.

It shows the barriers Cussy must face because of her color, her gender, and her isolation. For instance, in one anecdote, she is forced to obey the hastily hung "no coloreds" sign in the restroom of the library room where she picks up the books and magazines for the people along her Pack Horse route. Richardson captures how the books she delivers show how Cussy's world, and the world of her neighbors, is sometimes beyond their ken.

"'Aeroplanes and trains,' I said to Angeline. ... 'The world's getting so big, Bluet. Makes a feller feel too small,' Angeline barely whispered. 'It's growing too fast. Right when you're looking smack at it, but you hain't really seeing it neither. Hain't natural.' She tilted her head down toward the dirt, plugging her toes into the earth as if to root herself from being carried off."

The writing is extraordinary, as the above illustrates. It's vivid and sensitive, filled with descriptive phrases. Richardson reaches perfection in her use of dialect -- just the right amount to give flavor to the speech of the people, but not too much that it appears mocking, is annoying, or hard to understand. Richardson has a keen ear.

She also has a keen heart and mind, pulling us in to watch her characters live their lives, allowing us to feel empathy and a certain kinship, even though their circumstance are far different in time and place to our own. 

This week in Books 6th Ed.

TBR's Stephen King
bookcase

So, I finally persuaded my daughter to give Stephen King a shot. She doesn't like horror. I kept telling her King is much more than a horror writer

We have shared books since she was in her late teens. When she comes home now, we often go straight to my library, where I offer some suggestions, and she can browse for more. At times, she'll recommend a book for me. It works for us.

She's a runner (a good one, I might add; a Boston qualifier). So I gave her Elevation, telling her it had a running story arc that was well done. It's one of King's shorter works, so it's a quick read. Here is my review.

She liked, it. No, she loved it. I am happy, although not surprised. It is a good read.

The best description of King is that he puts regular people in abnormal situations. I think King's strength as as writer is simple: He writes well, has great characters, and tells a helluva story. What more could you want? Despite his reputation, he's not solely a writer of horror, which I've always seen as bloody, slasher stuff. Instead, he's a writer of the supernatural -- the paranormal, if you will.

Anyway, now I have to decide what King work to suggest next. Perhaps one of his earlier works -- perhaps Dead Zone, which could be appropriate in the current political climate? Or perhaps a later work, Sleeping Beauties, which he co-wrote with his son, Owen King? It hits the high points of a King book, and I credit Owen King with taking out some of King's flaws, particularly his weakness in crafting a credible ending.

As for the TBR stack: It's getting bigger after a trip to a local bookstore this past week. I found three books that weren't even on the horizon:

The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek tells the fictionalized tale of the first travelling library in Kentucky (my home), and how one of the (real-to-life) blue people of Kentucky was its librarian. They Said it Couldn't be Done is about a time I remember well from growing up in New York City in the summer and fall of '69, when man landed on the moon and the Mets won the World Series. Fifty years later, I cannot read enough about the latter. And Washington Black continues my excursion into books by and about people of color. This one tells the story of an 11-year-old field slave who becomes his master's brother's servant, and their ever-changing relationship. It was nominated in 2018 for the Man Booker prize, always a great place to find a good read.