Green Forest, Red Earth, Blue Sea is a pocket epic—all the elements of that genre without all the bother of a thousand pages. It has grand scope (over one hundred years of action across the entire landscape of North Carolina, from the Smoky Mountains to the islands off the seacoast); good guys and gals named Iris and Sam and Mattie and Big John, and very bad guys named Jagger and Dred; and even sly allusions to the epics that have come before, from The Odyssey to Native American, Norse and Christian myths.
One might even argue that the novel is three epics in one, each in the 80- to 120-page range, except that Jim Gulledge deftly ties the three stories together even over these vast swaths of time and space. One of those connections is withheld until the end of Part One and is revealed compactly—not in a mere seven words but in seven letters! I submit that anyone with a healthy emotional makeup cannot read those few characters without a chill on the nape or a lump in the throat.
Moreover, each of the three parts could be considered a Bildungsroman, with particular focus on the sexual development of young men. Any man can identify with a boy’s struggle to hide his arousal by a beautiful woman and with the seeming omniscience of these women, as when the hero of “Green Forest,” Josiah Buckland, tries to hide his response to the sexual aura of his future lover Vancie by draping his shirt loosely over his mid-section. Upon her departure, Vancie—the novel’s Rose to Josiah’s Jack Dawson—calls back over her shoulder, “You can tuck in your shirt now.”
There is plenty of such humor in the novel, and, though Gulledge is prone to overwriting at times—especially in his use of similes—one will also find much affecting, even lyrical prose, as when Josiah’s grandson Isaiah, just emerging from his WWII-induced muteness and mental incapacity, “reached deeply within the shrouded depths of his past and mined a single word from the darkness.” Elsewhere, Gulledge conveys a young agnostic’s discomfiture when he finds himself in “a nest of Jesus freaks.” There are fine aphorisms: from the narrator, expounding on the effect of technological development on the green forest, the red earth, and the towns hugging the blue sea: “Silence was replaced by noise, the individual by the collective, and the bond between human and earth by the tyranny of efficiency and the bottom line”; and from the novel’s many wise characters, as when in “Blue Sea,” Iris defends her boyfriend’s boorish mistreatment of his young nephew: “Hate and hurt look a lot alike.”
In his author’s note, Gulledge calls his book “a love letter” to North Carolina. Readers will understand that this isn’t a sloppy love that ignores the state’s racial history, fleets of insects, and oppressive humidity but a genuine, encompassing love for the land and the creatures, from the lowly menhaden ground into fertilizer that supported the economy of Beaufort and other coastal towns to the red-tailed hawks, gulls, ospreys, and hummingbirds that teem in the book’s skies. And, of course, there are the people. You will recognize these people, but you will read on to get to know them better.