Upper Granville, Vermont, is home to long-time residents known as Chucks and recently arrived suburbon refugees known as Flatlanders, and state senate candidate Darwin Hunter manages to amuse and disgust both groups with his campaign policy of "total disclosure"
The King of Vermont is possibly the truest physical incarnation I have ever seen of the cliche phrase "you can't judge a book by its cover". The novel came with a charmingly wacky cover illustration, its jacket littered with blurbs promising that Morris's story-telling would provoke a few good rib-cracking laughs.
I was disappointed.
While Morris attempts to produce a dry, subtle humour to accompany his gruff characters and harsh Vermont backdrop, I found myself left with the overall impression that he was simply trying too hard. It did not help that the writing was tainted by an abundance of thick, wordy descriptiveness and that the storyline was diluted to the point of near nonexistence. While The King of Vermont may boast a synopsis describing an average Joe being accidentally swept into a political race, the story does not actually take much time to concern itself with these goings-on. Instead, the anticipated plot line is forced to yield to pages upon pages of irksomely unrelated anecdotes and uninteresting and unnecessary side plots that ultimately lead nowhere.