Go Along for the Ride

Backseat Saints
by Joshilyn Jackson
Published by Grand Central Publishing
3 Out of 5 Stars

To the outside world, Ro Grandee seems to have a good life: she's a beautiful woman married to a good looking and attentive husband from a well-respected family in Amarillo, Texas. However, after an airport gypsy tells Ro that she must kill her husband, we learn that Ro's picture perfect life is a facade that hides a marriage full of fear, violence, and abuse. Now, armed with only her pawpy's old gun, Ro plans her husband's murder, but will she be able to pull the trigger?

Backseat Saints begins with a bang and, unfortunately, ends with a whimper.

There's a lot to like here and, for the most part, I enjoyed the book. Joshilyn Jackson writes with wit and honesty about the South and its people (her dialogue is some of the best I've read), and to balance the darkness of spousal abuse with the humor of daily life is quite a feat.

What I appreciate the most about the book is that Ro never becomes a blank cipher for spousal abuse; many books of this nature focus on the violence and the abused remains a flat character with no real dimensions beyond the relationship to the abuse. Told from the first person point of view, Ro reveals the two halves of her personality. There's Ro Grandee, the lovely, submissive housewife, and then there's Rose Mae Lolley, the small town girl from Alabama who came to believe that love should be tempered by pain when her mother leaves and her father begins physically taking his anger out on Rose. Ro maintains her own personality (although secreted away in interior monologue that is Rose Mae Lolley's voice) despite being dominated by her husband, Thom. Her fear and her attraction to Thom become palpable and we see her foolishly clinging to hope in the good periods when he resolves to control his temper, and we see her anguish when he falls into familiar patterns. Like a meteorologist, Ro can predict the storm of his anger building but lacks the power to take shelter. While it's easy for those of us who have never been in an abusive relationship to become frustrated with her for her seeming refusal to leave him, Jackson does a good job of demonstrating how running is a luxury afforded to those with power. And Ro has been stripped of all power--financial, social, personal--by Thom, who has created a life that cages Ro in dependence upon him.

The novel, however, is problematic in two ways. The first is Ro's Catholicism, which seems surface at best and only to exist so that the novel could be given the title of Backseat Saints. The "saints" of the title are seldom brought into the narrative and never serve to move the plot forward. Entire chapters will pass and then a definite sense of "oops, haven't mentioned a saint in a while" crops up, a saint's name is dropped, and the narrative moves on--conspicuously saint-less.

The second issue is Ro's insistence on finding her ex-boyfriend from high school in the hopes that she can convince him to kill Thom. This plot line exists so Backseat Saints can dovetail with Jackson's novel, gods in Alabama (my personal favorite), which opens with Ro as a minor character appearing on the doorstep of Arlene Fleet's apartment in Chicago, demanding to know where her high school boyfriend is. The rest of gods is about Arlene making peace with a past she left behind in Alabama and Ro pretty much disappears as a character. I get that it was that particular character that inspired Jackson to write Saints, but instead of this segue feeling organic, it's been shoehorned in and makes for a strange, disjointed narrative. It also seems implausible that Ro would take such a risk, knowing the reaction her husband will have upon finding out she's been to Chicago without him. To have made Ro a character independent of gods would have tightened the narrative and cut some of the wasted length other reviewers have noted.

Despite these flaws, Backseat Saints has some lovely writing and I enjoyed the time spent with such complicated, flawed characters.  

Caught in the Middle

Between, Georgia
by Joshilyn Jackson
Published by Warner Books
3 Out of 5 Stars

An enjoyable, but overall predictable, quick read. I always enjoy Joshilyn Jackson's books, especially this one's take on the rivalries that crop up between Southern families that are only exacerbated by life in a small town. There are some humorous moments, a few twists, and likable characters. Particularly inventive is Jackson's use of a main character, Nonny, who literally finds herself "between" the Fretts and the Crabtrees (the ersatz Hatfields and McCoys of the story), as well as the character of Stacia, who raises Nonny as her own. Stacia, who suffers from Usher's Syndrome, was born deaf and progressively loses her eyesight, but that doesn't stop her from being outspoken and independent, as well as an artist and a caring mother. Liked it, but did not love it.

Southern Hospitality

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
by John Berendt
Published by Vintage
4 Out of 5 Stars

Murder, gullah, drag queens (these are a few of my favorite things . . .) There's probably not much I can say about this book that hasn't already been said, but that won't stop me. I saw the movie when it first came out and loved it, but just never got around to reading the book. I thought that the entire book would be about the murder trial of Jim Williams, the prominent Savannah antiques dealer accused of murdering Danny Hansford (with whom it was rumored he was having a sexual relationship). While a generous portion of the book is dedicated to the details of Williams's four trials, the book is much more than that. This is a collection of stories about the people and history of Savannah--some of it true, some of it embellished, and some of it flat-out fabricated. The characters are eccentric, but likable (particularly The Lady Chablis--the foul mouthed drag queen who has labeled herself "The Grand Empress of Savannah;" she's by far my favorite character, followed by Minerva, the fascinating practitioner of voodoo). And, while I knew he was probably a scoundrel, I also liked Jim Williams, who insisted on continuing to live in Savannah because "it pisses off all the right people." 

There was a lot of discussion at book club as to whether this should be classified as fiction or non-fiction. Here's my verdict: who cares? If the story is entertaining and well told, whether or not it's 100% factual shouldn't make a whit of difference to anyone who is looking to be entertained. 

It should also be said that the cover art for the book is perfect. The bird girl of Bonaventure Cemetery stands there like Savannah itself, prim and old-fashioned, holding out both good and evil--head cocked in curiosity to see from which bowl her citizens will take.

Huckleberry Finn's Old Man

Finn
by Jon Clinch
Published by Random House
3 Out of 5 Stars

Well, I'm not really sure what to say about Finn. I can't say that I loved it, nor can I say that I hated it. I wish that I had read Huckleberry Finn before reading the book so that I could make more comparisons between the two, and I would have known more about the story line that inspired Clinch. 

I admire that Clinch didn't try to imitate Mark Twain's writing style; to have done so would have robbed his portrayal of Finn (who I understand, even in Twain's work, is hinted at being a dark, morally bankrupt character) of authenticity. However, Finn is so bleak a character that I really couldn't get into his story. Had he taken more initiative, I might have cared more. Instead, Finn bullies his way through life, allowing himself to be carried along by events rather than attempt to influence those events. I think that is intentional as Finn is like the river that provides him with his identity and his livelihood--cutting its own path through the land, a path that is not always the best or most obvious. 

There are some intriguing twists--Finn's black sheep status in a wealthy family, the sadistic and racist Judge Finn (who is the true villain of the novel), the revelation that Huckleberry is a mulatto. While I can't praise the novel, I can admire the craft and care that went into its writing, and I don't think Mark Twain would have been the least bit offended. In fact, I suspect he would have been delighted with Clinch's original take on the story of Pap Finn.

Oh, I Wish I Weren't in the Land of (Make-Believe) Cotton

Salting Roses
by Lorelle Marinello
Published by William Morrow Paperbacks
1 Out of 5 Stars

Salting Roses purports to be a novel brimming with Southern charm. Oh, it's brimming alright. Ridiculously so. Welcome to the land of Southern stereotypes and Bible Belt cliches. This is right up there in Sweet Home Alabama territory and if Reese Witherspoon is looking for another romantic jaunt in a charming make-believe South, here it is. If you haven't guessed by now, I'm not the target audience for this novel, so maybe it's unfair for me to proceed from here. But like that's ever stopped me before.

As a baby, Gracie Lynne Calloway was left in a bucket on her uncle's doorstep with a note from her mother asking him to watch her for a spell. A spell soon turns into 25 years and Gracie, now an adult and nursing old emotional wounds from being labeled the town bastard of Shady Grove, Alabama, is in for a shock--she's not who she always thought she was. A stranger (who is literally tall, dark, and handsome, just in case we miss that he's our prospective love interest) brings her the news that she's actually the kidnapped daughter of the wealthy financier Conrad Hammond of Connecticut. She has been named the sole heir of $650 million dollars. What's a simple Southern girl with a love of baseball and a cushy job in the backroom of the local grocery store to do? Why, turn it down, of course! Because if she accepted it, there would be no plot complications and we wouldn't have this trite little novel. Gracie has been raised to distrust those born with a silver spoon firmly in mouth and fears the money will bring too many problems to her quiet and unexceptional life. Yeah, I'm not buying what they're selling here. $650 million dollars? Who wouldn't accept that? At least one could accept it and proceed to do a lot of philanthropic good (of course, I would just use it to wallow in pure hedonism, but different strokes for different folks).

There are several things that ruined the book for me:

A) These are all stock Southern characters that are presented as though they are supposed to be quirky. They're not. They don't even dance around the edges of eccentric. We've seen them a thousand times before in literature and in movies. If you're going to play up the quirk factor in Southern literature, go big or go home.

B) I'm not a fan of romance novels and had I known this was a romance in Southern fiction clothing, I would have ran the other way. However, even I know that in a good romance novel there has to be some will-they-won't-they tension. There's none here. We know as soon as Sam Fontana walks in the door and Gracie starts having dirty thoughts that he's the man she's been waiting for. And if you're pissed over a plot spoiler, be upset with the novel--it makes no pretense that it will turn out otherwise. There's not even the introduction of another prospective suitor to throw the seasoned romance reader off track.

C) Serious crimes against vocabulary in the overuse of the following words: sass, sassy, Yankee, princess, and sugah. Apparently,we're all sassy down South and we hates us a Yankee. Foghorn Leghorn has more character complexity.

D) A plot that gets more and more ridiculous as it goes on. If this had been reined in a bit and been a realistic portrayal of realistic people then something could have been salvaged. As it is, when I managed to suspend disbelief long enough to wrap my mind around one nugget of ludicrousness, here came a side order of absurdity.

I like Southern fiction when it's done well. If you're looking for good Southern/regional chick lit, might I suggest The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, The Help by Kathryn Stockett, or Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani. If you're looking for authentic Southern lit, read Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell, True Grit by Charles Portis, Ava's Man or All Over But the Shoutin' by Rick Bragg, or anything Larry Brown. They're all preferable to Gracie and her whining about being a $650 million dollar princess. Now, I'm gonna go put me some sugah in a glass of iced tea and sass some poor unsuspecting soul. I hope it's a Yankee.

Liked, But Didn't Love

The Help
by Kathryn Stockett
Published by Amy Einhorn Books
3 Out of 5 Stars

**A few mild spoilers**


I liked this book. I really did. But here's the problem: I wanted to LOVE it. And, maybe, if I had read it before all of the hype, I would have. As it stands, I can only say that it was entertaining, but unexceptional.

Set in Mississippi circa the 1960's, the story focuses on three women: Skeeter, a white woman from a wealthy family who dreams of becoming a writer; Abileen, an intelligent black maid (with a closet love of reading and writing) who happens to work for one of Skeeter's friends; and Minny, a spitfire who has trouble keeping her mouth in check around the white women for whom she works, putting her at odds with another of Skeeter's friends. The narrative is told, in alternating points of view, by these three women who begin meeting in secret to write an anonymous book about what it's like to work as a black maid in Mississippi. 

The book is funny, never veering too far off into heart-warming territory, and captures the dividing lines between race and class in the South. The characters are likable and the message is clear, but not overly didactic. And yet, there were a few things that bugged me enough to keep me from giving it a 4 star:

A) Other than a half-hearted stab at dialect, there's little to differentiate the voices of these three women. They have radically different backgrounds and personalities, but these differences seem "told" rather than "shown" in a truly distinctive voice for each character. 

B) The character of Skeeter goes through a transformation toward the end of the book and becomes a hippie. The catalyst: hearing Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changing and buying a mini-skirt. That seemed a sloppy and shorthand way of communicating a radical shift in values and perspectives. As a result, I just couldn't buy what Stockett was selling in terms of Skeeter.

C) What happened to the naked guy that Celia beat the holy living shit out of? The police never found him, despite the fact that he was last seen running through the woods with an unhinged jaw and what was apparently quite an impressive member in his hand. Bizarre.

D) Despite the fact that all of this took place during a particularly race-charged time period when blacks were beaten, lynched, etc. for crossing racial barriers, you never really feel like these women are in palpable danger. Even toward the end, things work out a little too neatly for them. Stockett pulled her punches, though she is to be commended for writing about the violence done to others during that time period. 

Final analysis: I liked it, I would recommend it, and I would read another of her books. 

With No Particular Place to Go

Drive Like Hell

by Dallas Hudgens

Published by Scribner

3 Out of 5 Stars

Luke's lust for driving was inspired by late night rides in his father's '66 Chevelle Super Sport. During the wee A.M. hours somewhere on the back roads of a small town in Georgia, his father, Lyndell, would take his then 10 year old son along as he drank, smoked, engaged in some light B & E, imparted questionable nuggets of wisdom about life and women, and taught him to drive like hell. At 16 years old, Luke Fulmer now has only one thing on his mind: getting his driver's license so he can be like dear old dad. As a result, Luke's driving days are numbered when he's caught in a stolen car (he "borrowed" it from his neighbor) with marijuana, an air pistol, and contraband during an ill-fated attempt to get retribution against his mother's lowlife ex-boyfriend for stealing their RCA television. Now Luke has a suspended license and six months to prove to the judge that he can get his act together before he can drive again.

Drive Like Hell is an okay book with some strong points. It's well-written and very clearly rooted in a particular time and place (although sometimes desperately so; the characters take every opportunity to mention as many television shows, movies and songs as possible). However, one of the strongest points--realistic characters, is also the reason why I did not enjoy the book more. The novel is about the type of people for whom I have no sympathy. This family doesn't live on the brink of poverty: they have jobs, they have a house, they have vehicles, they have television, they apparently have plenty of money for booze, cigarettes, marijuana and food. There's no indication of any "want" here. It's almost as if Hudgens didn't want us to dislike this group of rednecks and so pulls his punches in terms of emotional neglect or criminal activity: mom's a beautiful slut with a heart of gold, but she cares; dad is a shiftless drunk, but he cares; big brother is a small time drug dealer, but he cares. These are the type of people who create drama to simply alleviate the boredom of small town Southern life and instead of channeling all of that energy into something productive, they purposely screw things up the very minute life seems to be headed in an okay direction. They're scared of success. They're scared of doing better. They've mistaken being ever-so-slightly on the wrong side of the law as "having character." In other words, this isn't the Dolly clan from Daniel Woodrell's superior Winter's Bone.

In Winter's Bone, we have a family who is shaped and created by poverty, whose meanness of spirit and unapologetic grit in the face of adversity is not chosen, but tools necessary for survival. We feel pity for them because life dealt them a shit hand in a shit place and has given them a shit chance of ever doing better. To hang onto even a shred of dignity, as the teenage Ree Dolly does, is a miracle in such circumstances. Compared to the Dollys, the Fulmers of Drive Like Hell seem like a whiny ass bunch of rednecks who just need to get off the damn porch because life for them just isn't that bad. Heck, it's not even that boring where they live--why, in the course of 300+ pages, young Luke has met Jack Nicklaus at a Waffle House, smoked marijuana in Paul Newman's car while Newman stays at the local Holiday Inn, and met a football legend.

Yes, these types of people exist, but I'm not sure why we needed a story about them. By the end, no one is transformed, no one rises above, we have a bildungsroman that is severely short on the "bildung" as young Luke seems to have learned very little about life by the novel's ambiguous end (he's even late for the court date at which his license might be reinstated). He doesn't realize he wants to be the catcher in the rye--he doesn't have an epiphany of any kind that's worth two bits. We can be pretty sure that young Luke will be out there driving like hell as soon as possible. So why did we ever go along for the ride?

Foote Explores a Very Different Civil War

Love in a Dry Season

by Shelby Foote

Published by Vintage

4 Out of 5 Stars

I read this book under duress: it was the monthly selection for my local book club and I did not look forward to the experience. The back of the novel compares Shelby Foote to William Faulkner, which immediately inspired within me the following thought: "Oh, crap." For I hates me some Faulkner. However, I've come to realize that, more often than not, a novel being described as "Faulknerian" is really just shorthand for the following: Southern; quirky, dark characters with unhealthy libertine appetites; and a tragic ending--and these are all things with which I'm okay. It doesn't always mean a rampant disregard for punctuation or that a boy falls in love with a cow. Foote's novel has a somewhat stock plot in Southern literature: Yankee comes to the South, tries to make inroads to the gentility and old money, and is destroyed in the process. However, it's the dysfunctional and well drawn characters that make the novel such an enjoyable read.

Set in the 1920's, the novel has as its setting a South that is still torn between the traditions of the past and the modernization of the future. This is represented by the two women of the novel: Amy Barcroft, symbolic of the new money of industry and the loosening of Bible Belt morals, and Amanda Barcroft, symbolic of the straight-laced world of old money and respectability. Both women are disconnected from the "Old Miss" of Southern myth and lack a defined role in society. Harley Drew, a Northern banker who longs to live the life of high society, becomes involved with both women. Throw in Jeff, a blind voyeur ("For what could be more pitiful than a voyeur in the dark?") and Amy's violently jealous husband, and it's just a matter of time before the crap hits the fan with particularly cringe-worthy and entertaining results.

Just About Perfect

Cold Mountain

by Charles Frazier

Published by Grove Press

5 Out of 5 Stars

Cold Mountain is quite possibly the most beautiful book I've ever read. It's not for the faint of heart, however, as it's time consuming and requires a great deal of patience.  Frazier takes his time with his descriptions of the landscape and the people as Inman, a soldier broken in spirit by the futility and waste of the Civil War, decides to walk home to Ada and his beloved Cold Mountain. That is not to say that Frazier wastes the reader's time or goes off on unnecessary tangents (although for those who like quick narratives, it may seem that way), but he is in no hurry to rush the novel to its conclusion. To have done so would have stripped the novel of its power as it examines the lives of both Inman, who fears he has lost his humanity, and Ada, a Southern belle woefully unprepared to exist in the harsh mountain landscape of Cold Mountain when she finds herself all alone. What may seem like lengthy transcendentalist-like descriptions of nature actually serve to reveal the inner life of each character and enrich the narrative.

Of the two alternating narratives, I found Inman's the most compelling. His is a Dante-like journey through the "Inferno" of the American South (comparisons could also be made to Homer's The Odyssey). While he time and again encounters people wallowing in depravity and sin in a seemingly lawless world, he also encounters along this hellish journey acts of selflessness and kindness that serve as balm to his soul when he's on the cusp of losing all hope. Ironically, those offering the greatest kindnesses are those who are the most excluded from society (slaves and women). Inman is a man who is capable of violence, but only when necessary. After killing indiscriminately in war, he's determined to do no harm unless it's absolutely unavoidable. It may be because of the violence that is still latent within him that Inman struggles so with the world and his place in it.

Of the reviews I've read, most readers disliked the novel's ending. Without giving away any spoilers, I'll only state that I thought the ending was the only possible one offered in a world consumed by war.