More Hell, Stories Tilled and Driftless is a compendium of rural stories from multiple perspectives, each carrying a layered experience of what it means to be human, challenge stereotypes and grieve loved ones, or not so loved. The book oozes with palpable midwest dread, as I like to call it, nods to Iowa City and the Quad Cities tossed in. There are some books that, while they may look like short helpings, actually pack seconds and thirds right on top (this specific book made me lose time).
I had the distinct pleasure of getting the chance to hear al-Sirgany read a few of these stories aloud at his book event at my indie bookstore, The Atlas Collective in Moline, IL. From the moment he began to read “Gracie’s Story,” I welcomed a settling breath in myself, but also noticed the settling of the audience as he really dug deep. Adam storytells with a rich lyrical quality- spoken and written. This trait is rare, and seeing this style in a short collection of fiction was wildly refreshing.
This book is divided into 3 collections, all similar and woven, yet starkly diverse in the way the stories are told. In the piece “Long Weekend” early on in the book, Adam quickly had me sat. This piece is one that feels like a life lived, a full circle, as referenced once “...it was a circle his words turned on.” Sirgany found a way to paint this heavily personal and nostalgic piece in words that feel and look like an Iowa dusk, or how he describes it, “...the sky is a contusion. Cloud’s striate horizon so that the sun, somewhere above, spreads from a perse into violets and pinks.” It truly stopped me in my tracks.
Many stories in the middle collection entitled “Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics,” had me thinking of the sad millennial girl I was and how many memories I repressed, packed up in a box and chucked into the attic. Within those boxes resides my creative self, which I recently began to pry open again in my thirties. The opening piece, “A Real Drag Princess” holds a quote spoken by Jason, a musician and drifter of sorts, that made me strum my guitar for the first time in years that night. “He believed-still believes-making music, really making music, whatever the circumstances, is the hardest thing a person can do.” We must never lose sight of the wonder we once had, no matter how dark it once was and currently is.
Between openly cackling, shedding a couple tears and taking a moment to journal, Sirgany delivers stories that almost feel sticky, sinking their fingers into you and holding on for holy hell (punny!). In the last section entitled “Heritage,” the mention of “pretzel Jell-O salad” sent me back to my Busia's kitchen- the flavors, voices and that musty Catholic church I was raised in. Adam serves up the sacredness of a family home, the midwest layers of life, dust and nonsense (which could also be life depending on how you look at it). He held up the threads of my own midwest tapestry like a mirror- the thin thread that holds the whole background together, arguably the most important threads of them all. Thank you Adam, for this profound gift. 5/5
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
At the end of every darkened bar in the drearisome midwest, sits a softly determined man who’s always been there, three drinks in. He knows everyone who’s ever passed through, including you if you’ve had the pleasure, and he stores their voices up high and dry, for kindness and safekeeping. Over time they get to chattering, as neighbors are ought to do, ‘til he’s a one-man oral history of America out of time and luck. And whenever he finally leaves, he’ll scatter them as he goes. Some to the wayside. Some to the road. Some to the spiriting prairie wind.
Somewhere between my Midwestern memories and Breece Pancake, Adam's stories feel wholly familiar and utterly genuine. His driftless middle is loosely tied together by cold comfort, leaving the reader fully invested in the next story. Thoroughly enjoyed the nostalgia and this new voice!