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American Salvage
A lush and rowdy collection of stories set in a rural Michigan landscape, where wildlife, jobs, and ways of life are vanishing.
7 pages, Audiobook
First published March 10, 2009
102 people are currently reading
3585 people want to read
About the author
Bonnie Jo Campbell
24 books673 followersBonnie Jo Campbell is the author of the National Book Award finalist American Salvage, Women & Other Animals, and the novels Q Road and Once Upon a River. She is the winner of a Pushcart Prize, the AWP Award for Short Fiction, and Southern Review’s 2008 Eudora Welty Prize for “The Inventor, 1972,” which is included in American Salvage. Her work has appeared in Southern Review, Kenyon Review, and Ontario Review. She lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan, where she studies kobudo, the art of Okinawan weapons, and hangs out with her two donkeys, Jack and Don Quixote.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 448 reviews
April 28, 2022
El mundo, mejor dicho, una abrumadora gran parte del mundo lleva sufriendo los efectos de las crisis desde que se tiene memoria sin que ello parezca importarles nada al reducido y restringido grupo de afortunados que cada crisis lo son aún más. Y aunque ello redunde en grandes obras literarias como esta que muchas de esas personas disfrutarán de forma tan irónica, quiero mandar un saludo especialmente afectuoso a todos aquellos que ni siquiera sabrán de la existencia de estas grandes obras ni les importará una mierda nada de lo que en ellas se diga, por mucho que esta autora los conozca, los comprenda y sepa retratarlos como solo unos pocos pueden.
Permitidme hacer extensible este emocionado recuerdo a todas las víctimas de este mundo en el que no todos parecen tener cabida, en el que muchos solo alcanzan a la solución rápida y fácil del alcohol o la droga, un mundo que te colma de deseos sin las herramientas para satisfacerlos, en el que muchos ni siquiera son capaces de reclamar o exigir cambios porque hasta ellos aceptan las condiciones o son incapaces de vislumbrar que otras sean posibles, a los que aceptan como normal y hasta merecida su angustia, su podredumbre, su derrota.
En las mentes de todos están o deberían estar todas esas mujeres que abandonan a sus hijos, que humillan al único hombre que les ha querido, que son capaces de todo por conseguir la próxima dosis; todos los que no saben cómo encontrar un trabajo y después mantenerlo; los que por circunstancias diversas o por propia responsabilidad no disponen de una vivienda digna a la que volver después del duro trabajo o de la última borrachera; los jóvenes que no pueden ni saben encauzar sus vidas y a quienes luchan con sus mejores e inútiles esfuerzos por hacer realidad sus sueños, por sencillos que estos sean.
Y no podemos olvidarnos de esas niñas inconscientes de aquello que les hicieron y que sin embargo intuyen, de aquellos a los que sus familias no pueden seguir en su deprimente destino, de los que pese a todo intentan con todas sus fuerzas huir de sí mismos, de los que no saben decidirse, de los que se deciden por la peor opción, de los que no tienen ni la más mínima oportunidad de elección
Por todos ellos, quiero invitaros a la lectura de estos maravillosos y, pese a todo, hermosos relatos que, sin falsos sentimentalismos, sin moralinas paternalistas, sin restarles ni un ápice de su responsabilidad, pero sin añadirles ninguna que no merezcan, ponen el foco en esas zonas oscuras de la sociedad a las que casi nadie presta atención. Invito a todos a que combatan su conformismo y su desaliento porque todo ello no tiene por qué ser normal ni irremediable, y os apremio a recuperar la confianza en vosotros mismos y en vuestras posibilidades para hacer realidad vuestros mejores deseos.
October 23, 2021
Truly brilliant stories. A couple of duds for me early on but my inability to appreciate how special Bonnie Jo Campbell’s writing is was due to my having read a completely different writing style prior to picking this book out of my TBR pile.
Some of these tales are so haunting they follow you around like ghosts for a day or two.
Highest Recommendation.
Some of these tales are so haunting they follow you around like ghosts for a day or two.
Highest Recommendation.
April 14, 2013
This review has been revised and can be found at Expendable Mudge Muses Aloud.
June 27, 2021
"- Eres demasiado negativa, demasiado cínica.- le había dicho su marido (ahora exmarido)-. Y no me quieres como antes. Por eso he tenido que buscarme otra mujer.
Los hombres no entendían que no podías dejarte llevar por la pasión cuando había tanta gente que necesitaba tu atención, cuando había tanto trabajo por hacer". (Mundo De Gas)"
Desguace Americano es una colección de 14 relatos de Bonnie Jo Campbell que fue finalista del National Book Award en 2009. Las historias de Bonnie Jo Campbell están normalmente ambientadas en la zona rural de Michigan donde ella pasó su infancia y nos ayudan a conocer una zona de los Estados Unidos que normalmente no suele aparecer en el cine o en la literatura en general, salvo excepciones. Porque los personajes de Bonnie Jo Campbell aunque viven en pleno siglo XXI, algunos no han salido nunca de su pueblo o zona, donde muchas casas no tienen ni electricidad todavía, donde muchos de sus personajes se abastecen y viven de la caza, y donde la mujer tiene que aprender a sobrevivir dando codazos porque de lo contrario se la comerían viva. El escape a través del alcohol, las drogas y el unirse a las pseudomilicias conforman casi las únicas vías de escape de muchos de sus personajes.
Los personajes de Bonnie Jo Campbell se camuflan con el paisaje salvaje de lagos aparentemente apacibles y bosques inmensos y donde los animales juegan un papel casi tan importante como las personas que conviven con ellos porque les sirven de subsistencia. Adictos a la meta, suicidas desesperanzados, niños casi abandonados, víctimas de la violencia de género, etc, conforman todo u paisaje de personajes donde la ruina personal a veces parece imposible de recomponer; sin embargo en sus relatos la prosa de Bonnie Jo Campbell es clara y luminosa, va al grano y hay momento realmente poéticos que de alguna forma hacen vislumbrar un viso de esperanza a muchas de estas historias. Descubrí a esta autora con Erase Un Río, una novela que me pareció maravillosa y desde entonces caí rendida. Con Desguace Americano se ha vuelto a confirmar mi enamoramiento con las historias de Bonnie Jo Campbell.
A continuación unas breves reflexiones en torno a los cuentos:
1. La Intrusa: Una maravilla de cuento, de sólo 5 páginassss, de esos que dejan huella. No cuento nada, hay que leerlo.
2. El Guardés: En este cuento Jerry se obsesiona con una serpiente que sorprende cerca de su casa, quizás la serpiente sea el simbolo que haga disparar la fragilidad de su matrimonio con su mujer con la que no tiene absolutamente nada en común. Este relato fluye de tal forma que lo terminas en un suspiro. Jerry es un personaje de estos puros en conexión con la naturaleza.
3. Mundo de Gas: Un día en la vida de Susan, encargada del local de Pur-Gas. Un cuento corto y conciso y sin embargo sorprende la cantidad de información que nos cuela aquí Bonnie Jo Campbell sobre un estilo de vida, sobre el entorno en el que vive Susan. Otro cuento 10.
4. El Inventor, 1972: Otro de esos cuentos perfectos en su atmósfera y en el trazo de sus personajes. Cuando el cuento comienza hay una niebla casi onírica y el cazador emerge entre ella para visualizarse a la chica de trece años que acaba de ser atropellada. A partir de ahí la autora construye la vida de ambos en flashbacks para a continuación detenerse en el presente. El personaje del cazador deja marca.
5. Las Soluciones Al Problema De Brian: Este relato, tal como dice el título, abarca toda una lista de acciones que el mismo Brian se hace para si mismo para solucionar el desastre de su vida junto a a una novia adicta a las metanfetaminas. La desesperación, y una vida sin salida, convierten este cuento en una historia a flor de piel, y la prosa de Bonnie Jo Campbell la conecta de primera mano con el lector.
6. La Quemadura: En esta historia el protagonista de este cuento, no solo lleva una vida díficil y casi sin salida, sino que además cuando empieza el cuento, de un pequeño incidente, las cosas se le van complicando y complicando, hasta que llegado un punto, se ve incapaz de distinguir entre la realidad y lo imaginado.
7. Reunión Familiar: El cuento origen por el cual luego surgiría esa maravillosa novela que más tarde escribiría esta autora, Erase Un Río. La historia de una chica de catorce años que tras un incidente traumático se refugia en el silencio y en la naturaleza, es un prodigio de cómo se puede comprimir todo un mundo de sensaciones y emociones en apenas unas páginas. Genial.
8. Vida Invernal: Uno de mis cuentos favoritos de esta colección. No nos presenta unos personajes tan al límite, como los demás, pero si que vuelve a explorar la soledad y el conformismo de porqué agarrarse como un clavo ardiendo a matrimonios sin salida o trabajos mal pagados. El final es maravilloso por todo lo que deja intuír.
9. Belle Vuelve A Casa: En este cuento Bonnie Jo Campbell disecciona la relación de pareja entre Thomssen y Belle, ella adicta a las metanfetaminas. Es un cuento donde Thomssen que lleva toda su vida adorando a Belle, no es capaz de gestionar las continuas separaciones, y vuelve una y otra vez a buscarla. Un cuento que contiene mucha violencia pero a la vez está lleno de vida real.
10. En Caída: Jonás vuelve del psiquiátrico después de un intento de suicidio, y busca a la única mujer que le tendió la mano en su momento; un relato donde la desolación y la desesperación se dan la mano, aunque también hay momentos de auténtica humanidad.
"Con la pistola dolería mucho menos que como lo hiciste tú y se habrían ahorrado todo el dinero en cuidarte después."
11. El Desguace Americano de King Cole: Este relato es puro country/rural noir, uno de esos cuentos dónde la desesperación del adicto le lleva a cometer un crimen a tontas y a locas. El taltento de la autora por capturar el "menos es más", sin sentimentalismos, es uno de los detalles que más me fascinan de su prosa, siempre.
12. Aviso de Tormenta: Este cuento se sale un poco de la tónica general de perdedores al límite. Aqui tras un accidente de barca, Doug se ve incapacitado en una cama. Una noche de tormenta completamente solo en casa es consciente de hasta qué punto necesita a los demás.
13. Carburante para el Milenio: Hal Little es uno de esos personajes que cree que el fin del mundo va a llegar la medianoche del último día de diciembre. Para él, el año 2000 va a traer el apocalipsis, pero él va a estar preparado con sus armas y su carburante almacenado.
"No se daban cuenta de que Satán podía andar entre la gente normal bajo la forma de un inspector de construcción o una ardilla juguetona."
14. Olor a Verraco: Jill ha dejado su vida de confort para casarse con Ernie, un granjero y ambos se las ven y las desean para mantener la granja a flote. Es un relato dónde la autora logra transmitir a la perfección la fisicidad de la dura vida en el campo.
"Se le ocurrió a Susan que los hombres siempre estaban a la espera de algún tipo de cataclismo, ya fuera el amor, la guerra o un asteroide gigantesco. (...) Los hombres solo querían centrarse en un gran tema y dejaban que las mujeres se encargaran de solucionar los miles de problemas menores restantes."
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2021...
Los hombres no entendían que no podías dejarte llevar por la pasión cuando había tanta gente que necesitaba tu atención, cuando había tanto trabajo por hacer". (Mundo De Gas)"
Desguace Americano es una colección de 14 relatos de Bonnie Jo Campbell que fue finalista del National Book Award en 2009. Las historias de Bonnie Jo Campbell están normalmente ambientadas en la zona rural de Michigan donde ella pasó su infancia y nos ayudan a conocer una zona de los Estados Unidos que normalmente no suele aparecer en el cine o en la literatura en general, salvo excepciones. Porque los personajes de Bonnie Jo Campbell aunque viven en pleno siglo XXI, algunos no han salido nunca de su pueblo o zona, donde muchas casas no tienen ni electricidad todavía, donde muchos de sus personajes se abastecen y viven de la caza, y donde la mujer tiene que aprender a sobrevivir dando codazos porque de lo contrario se la comerían viva. El escape a través del alcohol, las drogas y el unirse a las pseudomilicias conforman casi las únicas vías de escape de muchos de sus personajes.
Los personajes de Bonnie Jo Campbell se camuflan con el paisaje salvaje de lagos aparentemente apacibles y bosques inmensos y donde los animales juegan un papel casi tan importante como las personas que conviven con ellos porque les sirven de subsistencia. Adictos a la meta, suicidas desesperanzados, niños casi abandonados, víctimas de la violencia de género, etc, conforman todo u paisaje de personajes donde la ruina personal a veces parece imposible de recomponer; sin embargo en sus relatos la prosa de Bonnie Jo Campbell es clara y luminosa, va al grano y hay momento realmente poéticos que de alguna forma hacen vislumbrar un viso de esperanza a muchas de estas historias. Descubrí a esta autora con Erase Un Río, una novela que me pareció maravillosa y desde entonces caí rendida. Con Desguace Americano se ha vuelto a confirmar mi enamoramiento con las historias de Bonnie Jo Campbell.
A continuación unas breves reflexiones en torno a los cuentos:
1. La Intrusa: Una maravilla de cuento, de sólo 5 páginassss, de esos que dejan huella. No cuento nada, hay que leerlo.
2. El Guardés: En este cuento Jerry se obsesiona con una serpiente que sorprende cerca de su casa, quizás la serpiente sea el simbolo que haga disparar la fragilidad de su matrimonio con su mujer con la que no tiene absolutamente nada en común. Este relato fluye de tal forma que lo terminas en un suspiro. Jerry es un personaje de estos puros en conexión con la naturaleza.
3. Mundo de Gas: Un día en la vida de Susan, encargada del local de Pur-Gas. Un cuento corto y conciso y sin embargo sorprende la cantidad de información que nos cuela aquí Bonnie Jo Campbell sobre un estilo de vida, sobre el entorno en el que vive Susan. Otro cuento 10.
4. El Inventor, 1972: Otro de esos cuentos perfectos en su atmósfera y en el trazo de sus personajes. Cuando el cuento comienza hay una niebla casi onírica y el cazador emerge entre ella para visualizarse a la chica de trece años que acaba de ser atropellada. A partir de ahí la autora construye la vida de ambos en flashbacks para a continuación detenerse en el presente. El personaje del cazador deja marca.
5. Las Soluciones Al Problema De Brian: Este relato, tal como dice el título, abarca toda una lista de acciones que el mismo Brian se hace para si mismo para solucionar el desastre de su vida junto a a una novia adicta a las metanfetaminas. La desesperación, y una vida sin salida, convierten este cuento en una historia a flor de piel, y la prosa de Bonnie Jo Campbell la conecta de primera mano con el lector.
6. La Quemadura: En esta historia el protagonista de este cuento, no solo lleva una vida díficil y casi sin salida, sino que además cuando empieza el cuento, de un pequeño incidente, las cosas se le van complicando y complicando, hasta que llegado un punto, se ve incapaz de distinguir entre la realidad y lo imaginado.
7. Reunión Familiar: El cuento origen por el cual luego surgiría esa maravillosa novela que más tarde escribiría esta autora, Erase Un Río. La historia de una chica de catorce años que tras un incidente traumático se refugia en el silencio y en la naturaleza, es un prodigio de cómo se puede comprimir todo un mundo de sensaciones y emociones en apenas unas páginas. Genial.
8. Vida Invernal: Uno de mis cuentos favoritos de esta colección. No nos presenta unos personajes tan al límite, como los demás, pero si que vuelve a explorar la soledad y el conformismo de porqué agarrarse como un clavo ardiendo a matrimonios sin salida o trabajos mal pagados. El final es maravilloso por todo lo que deja intuír.
9. Belle Vuelve A Casa: En este cuento Bonnie Jo Campbell disecciona la relación de pareja entre Thomssen y Belle, ella adicta a las metanfetaminas. Es un cuento donde Thomssen que lleva toda su vida adorando a Belle, no es capaz de gestionar las continuas separaciones, y vuelve una y otra vez a buscarla. Un cuento que contiene mucha violencia pero a la vez está lleno de vida real.
10. En Caída: Jonás vuelve del psiquiátrico después de un intento de suicidio, y busca a la única mujer que le tendió la mano en su momento; un relato donde la desolación y la desesperación se dan la mano, aunque también hay momentos de auténtica humanidad.
"Con la pistola dolería mucho menos que como lo hiciste tú y se habrían ahorrado todo el dinero en cuidarte después."
11. El Desguace Americano de King Cole: Este relato es puro country/rural noir, uno de esos cuentos dónde la desesperación del adicto le lleva a cometer un crimen a tontas y a locas. El taltento de la autora por capturar el "menos es más", sin sentimentalismos, es uno de los detalles que más me fascinan de su prosa, siempre.
12. Aviso de Tormenta: Este cuento se sale un poco de la tónica general de perdedores al límite. Aqui tras un accidente de barca, Doug se ve incapacitado en una cama. Una noche de tormenta completamente solo en casa es consciente de hasta qué punto necesita a los demás.
13. Carburante para el Milenio: Hal Little es uno de esos personajes que cree que el fin del mundo va a llegar la medianoche del último día de diciembre. Para él, el año 2000 va a traer el apocalipsis, pero él va a estar preparado con sus armas y su carburante almacenado.
"No se daban cuenta de que Satán podía andar entre la gente normal bajo la forma de un inspector de construcción o una ardilla juguetona."
14. Olor a Verraco: Jill ha dejado su vida de confort para casarse con Ernie, un granjero y ambos se las ven y las desean para mantener la granja a flote. Es un relato dónde la autora logra transmitir a la perfección la fisicidad de la dura vida en el campo.
"Se le ocurrió a Susan que los hombres siempre estaban a la espera de algún tipo de cataclismo, ya fuera el amor, la guerra o un asteroide gigantesco. (...) Los hombres solo querían centrarse en un gran tema y dejaban que las mujeres se encargaran de solucionar los miles de problemas menores restantes."
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2021...
January 11, 2014
American Salvage is a book of short stories that should remind you what a good life you have. If it doesn’t, you’ve got problems!
I bought this book because it was a 2009 National Book Award finalist and is set in my home state of Michigan. Occasionally I like to remember that I spent the first thirty years of my life in southeastern Michigan, married and had two sons born there. My Dad still lives there at the age of ninety-three. I had this book sent to him first so he could read it. He told me it was depressing. Now that I have read it, I know that it was never his type. I put too much stock in its award nominee status, I guess.
On the other hand, I love this book. It is wonderfully weird, filled with people whom I will most likely never encounter but am certain actually exist. I do not fully understand how these mostly sad, seemingly so improbable stories make me smile. But they do. Maybe you can explain it to me!
It must be the co-existence of such disparate thoughts that is so wonderful to me. I picked up a couple of books in a row that were sort of duds so I really needed this one! For me, it is at least the magic of short stories that is partially at work here. Sometimes I just have to indulge the sick-o part of my personality.
What does somebody else say about the author, Bonnie Jo Campbell?
American Salvage is a book of short stories that I am glad to have read and that is easy to award four stars.
Trisha knew perfectly well Stuart’s wife was a meth addict, not a crack whore – it bothered her that she’d gotten that insult wrong in the heat of the moment.
I bought this book because it was a 2009 National Book Award finalist and is set in my home state of Michigan. Occasionally I like to remember that I spent the first thirty years of my life in southeastern Michigan, married and had two sons born there. My Dad still lives there at the age of ninety-three. I had this book sent to him first so he could read it. He told me it was depressing. Now that I have read it, I know that it was never his type. I put too much stock in its award nominee status, I guess.
On the other hand, I love this book. It is wonderfully weird, filled with people whom I will most likely never encounter but am certain actually exist. I do not fully understand how these mostly sad, seemingly so improbable stories make me smile. But they do. Maybe you can explain it to me!
Looking into her face now reminded him that people were in pain a lot of the time, reminded him that he would never leave his wife no matter what, never would create more pain that way. He adjusted his glasses and continued reading about the organic heavy-mulch system. The photos and instructions assured him that spring would come, that he would prepare the soil, that the sun would nourish what he planted.
It must be the co-existence of such disparate thoughts that is so wonderful to me. I picked up a couple of books in a row that were sort of duds so I really needed this one! For me, it is at least the magic of short stories that is partially at work here. Sometimes I just have to indulge the sick-o part of my personality.
What does somebody else say about the author, Bonnie Jo Campbell?
As deep-dark as Joyce Carol Oates and as black-humored as Flannery O’Connor, Campbell adds down-in-the-dirt setting (economically depressed Kalamazoo County, Michigan), characters (the desperate, deranged, drug-addled, and physically debilitated), and her own brand of realism (broke-down cars, homes, and farms with few prospects in sight) to a collection that tells poignant, painful truths about American life.
Source: http://therumpus.net/2009/11/salvage-...
American Salvage is a book of short stories that I am glad to have read and that is easy to award four stars.
July 30, 2025
La primera vez que vi un coche ardiendo fue en la cuneta de una carretera secundaria cerca del pueblo en el que pasaba los veranos. Yo tendría siete años. El motor escupía fuego como si estuviera harto del mundo y las llamas dibujaban sombras contra un campo de hierbajos muertos. No había nadie cerca. Solo un silencio espeso. Si me preguntan cómo suena Desguace americano, diría que como ese silencio. Como un país que ha dejado de pedir ayuda y solo quiere que lo dejen en paz.
¿Hasta qué punto puede aguantar el cuerpo humano antes de romperse del todo?
No hablo solo de huesos partidos o de pulmones encharcados de metanfetamina. Hablo de lo que no sale en las radiografías: de esa voluntad de vivir cuando lo único que queda en pie es el óxido, el miedo y una escopeta cargada apoyada en el porche. Desguace americano no es un libro, es un mapa de carreteras deshechas, un recorrido por las ruinas del sueño americano contado por quien conoce cada bache porque lo ha pisado sin zapatos.
Y quien ha hecho eso sabe perfectamente lo que duele. Bonnie Jo Campbell se mete en el barro —literal y figuradamente— para darnos catorce cuentos ambientados en una Michigan rural y devastada por la pobreza, las drogas y la violencia. Pero cuidado: esto no es una colección de estampitas miserabilistas. Aquí hay cuerpos dañados, mentes al borde del abismo, y una autora que escribe con la puntería de quien ha vivido lo que cuenta o, como mínimo, ha sabido mirar donde otros apartan la vista.
Y para contar todo eso sin caer en el morbo fácil, hace falta una prosa que sepa sostener la herida sin exhibirla. La de Campbell tiene algo de amenaza contenida. Es un estilo que parece austero, pero que de pronto te lanza una imagen tan poderosa que te deja noqueado. No hay artificio, pero sí hay voz. Y vaya voz: la de alguien que ha aprendido que la belleza, si aparece, es por accidente, como una flor que crece entre chatarra. Campbell alterna relatos más narrativos con otros casi impresionistas, como si jugara a empujar al lector por distintas formas de caer. Los narradores —mayoritariamente en tercera persona, aunque con una intimidad desgarradora— se sitúan siempre muy cerca del personaje, rozando su piel, sus decisiones, sus errores.
Esa cercanía con los personajes no es decorativa: es lo que sostiene la tensión moral y emocional de cada cuento. Y qué personajes. Dios, qué personajes. Un chico que se pasea con una pistola en el pantalón porque le han enseñado que la vida duele menos si puedes apuntar a alguien. Una mujer que tiene que elegir entre su seguridad y sus caballos. Otra, adicta al crack, que vende su sangre para poder comprar comida enlatada. Un bebé en pañales gateando entre jeringuillas. Un padre quitándole el seguro a una pistola frente a su hija. Una mujer robando gasolina con una pajita de plástico. Hombres que han perdido más de lo que pueden nombrar y aún así siguen funcionando, como un motor que echa humo pero arranca, mientras su vida se descompone con la misma lógica con la que desmonta el carburador de una camioneta vieja. Y luego están las niñas, las que crecen sabiendo que si nadie te cuida, tendrás que hacerlo tú, aunque eso signifique dormir con un cuchillo bajo la almohada. No, no son escenas de una serie de HBO. Son historias reales. Y Bonnie Jo Campbell las escribe con la precisión de alguien que no puede permitirse el lujo de mentir.
En Desguace americano, la literatura no consuela. Acribilla. Porque, más que una colección de cuentos, este libro es una advertencia. Una plegaria sin dios. Un manual de supervivencia para quien no tiene seguro médico, ni coche, ni casa… ni plan B. No hay aquí giros dramáticos ni redenciones milagrosas. Lo que hay es barro, óxido, sangre menstrual, hambre y miedo. Pero también una obstinación feroz por mantenerse en pie, aunque sea apoyándose en la chatarra.
Pero para entenderlo de verdad, hay que meterse en la arena de cada historia. Echemos un vistazo a algunos de los cuentos que componen esta colección. Hay algo de Flannery O’Connor aquí, pero sin el barniz religioso. Algo de Raymond Carver, pero más sucio, más corporal. Incluso se podría mencionar a Lucia Berlin , si en lugar de en Alaska hubiera nacido en una caravana oxidada del Medio Oeste. Aunque lo esencial es esto: Bonnie Jo Campbell no necesita parecerse a nadie. Tiene su propio filo. Y si no, juzga por ti mismo:
La intrusa
Llegas con tu familia a la cabaña del lago, con tus toallas limpias y tu idea de vacaciones, y lo que te encuentras es un laboratorio de metanfetamina. Literal. Bienvenido al corazón podrido del sueño americano. El contraste entre la adolescente de papá y mamá y la chica que ha estado escondida allí, escapando de todo, es brutal. Campbell clava el final como quien mete el dedo en una herida abierta: lo que parece una amenaza abstracta —el sexo, la calle, los otros— se vuelve carne y peligro cuando atraviesa la puerta del hogar bienintencionado. Nadie sale ileso.
El guardés
Jerry quiere una vida tranquila con su esposa, un jardincito decente y no molestar a nadie. Pero cuando tu casa se llena de abejas, y acabas tirando miel por el triturador de basura, lo de la vida tranquila se complica. Este cuento es un milagro silencioso: en medio de tanta ruina humana, aparece alguien que simplemente quiere querer bien. Un oasis tierno en un desierto de desesperación. Y no por ello menos trágico.
Mundo de gas
Susan observa cómo los hombres se preparan para el fin del mundo. El cambio de milenio, el año 2000, les sirve como excusa para jugar a ser héroes. Acumulan combustible, armas, testosterona. Ella, que ha lidiado con los pequeños apocalipsis diarios de la vida —facturas, hijos, soledad—, sabe que lo verdaderamente catastrófico no es lo que viene, sino lo que siempre está. Campbell escribe esto con un filo suave: sin gritos, sin panfletos, pero con una ironía que acaba haciendo mella.
El inventor, 1972
Una niña de trece años vuela por los aires tras ser atropellada por un Chevrolet ‘El Camino’ oxidado. A partir de ahí, Campbell alterna la perspectiva de la niña con la del conductor —un cazador—, en un relato lleno de lo que no se dice. Hay culpa, dolor, conexiones que no sabías que existían, y una tensión tan contenida que parece que el texto respira entre líneas. La niebla del amanecer no es solo un paisaje: es el estado emocional de todos los personajes.
Las soluciones al problema de Bryan
Una lista. Literalmente. Bryan tiene a su mujer enganchada al cristal, un bebé en casa, y la cabeza a punto de estallar. Las soluciones que enumera van desde lo pragmático hasta lo demencial. Pero, ¿alguna de las opciones es particularmente mejor que las otras…? Ninguna funciona. Todas duelen. Es como si Campbell te dijera: a veces no hay salida buena, solo elecciones malas con consecuencias peores. El tono es casi clínico, pero debajo hay una desesperación que quema.
La quemadura
Si la vida de este tipo ya era un desastre, prenderse fuego sin querer mientras vuelve a casa solo le pone la guinda al pastel. El tipo es tan terco que prefiere chamuscarse a pedir ayuda. Hasta que, claro, no queda otra que tocar la puerta de las vecinas lesbianas —esas a las que probablemente miraba con recelo— y tragarse el orgullo junto con el humo. Un relato que parece una comedia absurda, pero que es, en el fondo, una tragedia sobre la fragilidad masculina.
Reunión familiar
Marylou caza como si la vida le fuera en ello. Tiene una puntería letal y un olfato fino para lo turbio. Cuando desobedece a su padre y cruza el río para asistir a una reunión familiar, lo que encuentra es una escena que rompe cualquier idea de pertenencia. Desde lo alto de un árbol, ve algo que no se puede olvidar. Aquí no hay familia feliz: hay secretos que se pudren en silencio, generación tras generación.
Bell vuelve a casa
¿Quién no ha cometido la estupidez de volver a buscar a alguien que ya te ha roto por dentro unas cuantas veces? Pues eso hace Thomssen, un tipo grandote, alcohólico y con la sensibilidad de un perro apaleado, cuando decide traer de vuelta a Belle, su amor de toda la vida. Belle —una mujer atrapada en la espiral de la metanfetamina, tan frágil como cruel— le advierte que no lo haga, que acabará peor que antes. Pero ya sabemos cómo funciona esto: cuando uno necesita salvar a alguien para no enfrentarse a su propio derrumbe, se agarra a la ruina ajena como a una tabla de salvación. El relato es áspero, directo, y Bonnie Jo Campbell no tiene piedad con nadie: ni con el lector, ni con sus personajes. Aquí no hay ternura disfrazada de decadencia romántica. Hay un pozo. Y dos personas cayendo dentro, con los nudillos rotos de tanto intentar sujetarse mutuamente.
El desguace americano de King Cole
Slocum golpea a Cole con una tubería y lo roba. Fin. O casi. Porque Campbell no se queda en la superficie del crimen. Aquí importa más el “por qué” que el “qué”: la miseria, la droga, el hambre de algo que ni ellos mismos podrían nombrar. Y en medio del acto brutal, un atisbo de humanidad. Porque incluso los que parecen irrecuperables guardan, a veces, una última chispa.
Aviso de tormenta
Doug está postrado tras un accidente, solo en casa, y una tormenta se avecina. Lo que en otro relato sería tensión climática aquí es pura metáfora: cuando no puedes levantarte de la cama, todo depende de quién venga (o no) a socorrerte. Es un relato más introspectivo, más contenido, donde Campbell se permite indagar en la necesidad, la dependencia y la fragilidad desde otro ángulo. Una calma extraña entre tanto desastre.
Carburante para el Milenio
Hal Little es el tipo que todos conocemos: el que cree que el mundo se acaba mañana y se prepara como si fuera un Mad Max de provincias. Acumula gasolina, armas y paranoia. Lo que no acumula es sentido común. Campbell retrata con sarcasmo a estos profetas del caos que, ante la incertidumbre, eligen la violencia antes que la reflexión. Un retrato ácido de la América que vive en modo supervivencia... incluso cuando no hay guerra. ¿Te suena?
Olor a verano
Jill deja su vida cómoda para meterse de lleno en el barro —literal— junto a Ernie, su marido granjero. Cuando decide comprar un verraco para revivir el negocio de cría de cerdos, se topa con una situación grotesca y la crudeza más física del campo: sangre, frustración, y una vida que no admite romanticismos. Es un cuento sobre la carne, el cuerpo, lo animal. Pero también sobre el amor como acto de resistencia desesperada.
Y así son todos: ásperos, viscerales, impredecibles. Cada relato es una bofetada distinta, con su propia temperatura y su propia rabia. Algunos sangran lentamente, otros explotan como un bidón de gasolina mal cerrado. Pero todos, sin excepción, te obligan a mirar de frente. Porque lo que une a esta colección no es una temática común ni una fórmula narrativa, sino algo más crudo: la sensación de que estás leyendo vidas que podrían haber sido olvidadas y que Campbell se empeña en rescatar del silencio.
Esa es, quizá, la verdadera hazaña del libro: no el retrato de una América hundida, sino la capacidad de sostener la mirada sin caer en el morbo ni en el sermón. Los temas que atraviesan el libro son brutales pero honestos: pobreza estructural, violencia doméstica, el colapso del sistema sanitario, adicciones que no son metáforas sino modos de vida. Pero también hay otra cosa, menos evidente: una mirada compasiva sin sentimentalismo. Campbell no juzga a sus personajes. Les deja espacio. Les da voz. Y esa voz, aunque rota, suena con toda su fuerza.
Pero eso no significa que estemos ante algo totalmente inédito. Se puede rastrear un linaje literario detrás de Desguace americano, con raíces en la narrativa de los márgenes y la desesperación. Tal vez lo primero que viene a la mente es Knockemstiff de Donald Ray Pollock, que tiene la misma sordidez pero menos piedad. O Hijo de Jesús de Denis Johnson, aunque ahí hay más lirismo y menos grasa. Pero Desguace americano tiene algo que las otras no: una mirada femenina que no dulcifica nada, pero tampoco permite que el sufrimiento sea pornografía emocional.
Y ahi está la diferencia. Lo que Campbell ha hecho aquí es desmontar el mito de la América profunda sin necesidad de discursos. Ha puesto las manos en el motor, ha sacado las piezas oxidadas y nos las ha enseñado una a una. No para que las juzguemos. Para que entendamos de qué está hecho el ruido que oímos cuando intentamos arrancar algo que ya está muerto.
Me pasé medio libro preguntándome si de verdad hacía falta leer esto. Si no era suficiente con saber que hay gente viviendo así, muriendo así. Luego entendí que no es lo mismo saberlo que escucharlo. Y que la literatura, cuando de verdad importa, no es un espejo ni una denuncia: es un callejón donde alguien te agarra del cuello y te obliga a mirar. Desguace americano hace exactamente eso.
Y uno termina el libro con la sensación de haber pasado unos días metido en un taller mugriento, con olor a grasa, sangre y cerveza rancia, escuchando las vidas de gente que nadie escucha. No hay moraleja, no hay redención, no hay épica. Solo humanidad —dolorosa, contradictoria, ineludible— en su forma más cruda. Bonnie Jo Campbell no pretende conmoverte. No. Ella escribe para que mires. Para que no apartes la vista. En su libro no hay héroes, pero tampoco hay cinismo. Hay algo mucho más difícil de sostener: una ternura incómoda, como cuando abrazas a alguien que no sabes si te va a morder o a romper a llorar. Y esa incomodidad, esa honestidad, es lo que hace que estas historias se te queden clavadas bajo la piel, como una astilla que no ves pero que no deja de escocer.
¿Hasta qué punto puede aguantar el cuerpo humano antes de romperse del todo?
No hablo solo de huesos partidos o de pulmones encharcados de metanfetamina. Hablo de lo que no sale en las radiografías: de esa voluntad de vivir cuando lo único que queda en pie es el óxido, el miedo y una escopeta cargada apoyada en el porche. Desguace americano no es un libro, es un mapa de carreteras deshechas, un recorrido por las ruinas del sueño americano contado por quien conoce cada bache porque lo ha pisado sin zapatos.
Y quien ha hecho eso sabe perfectamente lo que duele. Bonnie Jo Campbell se mete en el barro —literal y figuradamente— para darnos catorce cuentos ambientados en una Michigan rural y devastada por la pobreza, las drogas y la violencia. Pero cuidado: esto no es una colección de estampitas miserabilistas. Aquí hay cuerpos dañados, mentes al borde del abismo, y una autora que escribe con la puntería de quien ha vivido lo que cuenta o, como mínimo, ha sabido mirar donde otros apartan la vista.
Y para contar todo eso sin caer en el morbo fácil, hace falta una prosa que sepa sostener la herida sin exhibirla. La de Campbell tiene algo de amenaza contenida. Es un estilo que parece austero, pero que de pronto te lanza una imagen tan poderosa que te deja noqueado. No hay artificio, pero sí hay voz. Y vaya voz: la de alguien que ha aprendido que la belleza, si aparece, es por accidente, como una flor que crece entre chatarra. Campbell alterna relatos más narrativos con otros casi impresionistas, como si jugara a empujar al lector por distintas formas de caer. Los narradores —mayoritariamente en tercera persona, aunque con una intimidad desgarradora— se sitúan siempre muy cerca del personaje, rozando su piel, sus decisiones, sus errores.
Esa cercanía con los personajes no es decorativa: es lo que sostiene la tensión moral y emocional de cada cuento. Y qué personajes. Dios, qué personajes. Un chico que se pasea con una pistola en el pantalón porque le han enseñado que la vida duele menos si puedes apuntar a alguien. Una mujer que tiene que elegir entre su seguridad y sus caballos. Otra, adicta al crack, que vende su sangre para poder comprar comida enlatada. Un bebé en pañales gateando entre jeringuillas. Un padre quitándole el seguro a una pistola frente a su hija. Una mujer robando gasolina con una pajita de plástico. Hombres que han perdido más de lo que pueden nombrar y aún así siguen funcionando, como un motor que echa humo pero arranca, mientras su vida se descompone con la misma lógica con la que desmonta el carburador de una camioneta vieja. Y luego están las niñas, las que crecen sabiendo que si nadie te cuida, tendrás que hacerlo tú, aunque eso signifique dormir con un cuchillo bajo la almohada. No, no son escenas de una serie de HBO. Son historias reales. Y Bonnie Jo Campbell las escribe con la precisión de alguien que no puede permitirse el lujo de mentir.
En Desguace americano, la literatura no consuela. Acribilla. Porque, más que una colección de cuentos, este libro es una advertencia. Una plegaria sin dios. Un manual de supervivencia para quien no tiene seguro médico, ni coche, ni casa… ni plan B. No hay aquí giros dramáticos ni redenciones milagrosas. Lo que hay es barro, óxido, sangre menstrual, hambre y miedo. Pero también una obstinación feroz por mantenerse en pie, aunque sea apoyándose en la chatarra.
Pero para entenderlo de verdad, hay que meterse en la arena de cada historia. Echemos un vistazo a algunos de los cuentos que componen esta colección. Hay algo de Flannery O’Connor aquí, pero sin el barniz religioso. Algo de Raymond Carver, pero más sucio, más corporal. Incluso se podría mencionar a Lucia Berlin , si en lugar de en Alaska hubiera nacido en una caravana oxidada del Medio Oeste. Aunque lo esencial es esto: Bonnie Jo Campbell no necesita parecerse a nadie. Tiene su propio filo. Y si no, juzga por ti mismo:
La intrusa
Llegas con tu familia a la cabaña del lago, con tus toallas limpias y tu idea de vacaciones, y lo que te encuentras es un laboratorio de metanfetamina. Literal. Bienvenido al corazón podrido del sueño americano. El contraste entre la adolescente de papá y mamá y la chica que ha estado escondida allí, escapando de todo, es brutal. Campbell clava el final como quien mete el dedo en una herida abierta: lo que parece una amenaza abstracta —el sexo, la calle, los otros— se vuelve carne y peligro cuando atraviesa la puerta del hogar bienintencionado. Nadie sale ileso.
El guardés
Jerry quiere una vida tranquila con su esposa, un jardincito decente y no molestar a nadie. Pero cuando tu casa se llena de abejas, y acabas tirando miel por el triturador de basura, lo de la vida tranquila se complica. Este cuento es un milagro silencioso: en medio de tanta ruina humana, aparece alguien que simplemente quiere querer bien. Un oasis tierno en un desierto de desesperación. Y no por ello menos trágico.
Mundo de gas
Susan observa cómo los hombres se preparan para el fin del mundo. El cambio de milenio, el año 2000, les sirve como excusa para jugar a ser héroes. Acumulan combustible, armas, testosterona. Ella, que ha lidiado con los pequeños apocalipsis diarios de la vida —facturas, hijos, soledad—, sabe que lo verdaderamente catastrófico no es lo que viene, sino lo que siempre está. Campbell escribe esto con un filo suave: sin gritos, sin panfletos, pero con una ironía que acaba haciendo mella.
El inventor, 1972
Una niña de trece años vuela por los aires tras ser atropellada por un Chevrolet ‘El Camino’ oxidado. A partir de ahí, Campbell alterna la perspectiva de la niña con la del conductor —un cazador—, en un relato lleno de lo que no se dice. Hay culpa, dolor, conexiones que no sabías que existían, y una tensión tan contenida que parece que el texto respira entre líneas. La niebla del amanecer no es solo un paisaje: es el estado emocional de todos los personajes.
Las soluciones al problema de Bryan
Una lista. Literalmente. Bryan tiene a su mujer enganchada al cristal, un bebé en casa, y la cabeza a punto de estallar. Las soluciones que enumera van desde lo pragmático hasta lo demencial. Pero, ¿alguna de las opciones es particularmente mejor que las otras…? Ninguna funciona. Todas duelen. Es como si Campbell te dijera: a veces no hay salida buena, solo elecciones malas con consecuencias peores. El tono es casi clínico, pero debajo hay una desesperación que quema.
La quemadura
Si la vida de este tipo ya era un desastre, prenderse fuego sin querer mientras vuelve a casa solo le pone la guinda al pastel. El tipo es tan terco que prefiere chamuscarse a pedir ayuda. Hasta que, claro, no queda otra que tocar la puerta de las vecinas lesbianas —esas a las que probablemente miraba con recelo— y tragarse el orgullo junto con el humo. Un relato que parece una comedia absurda, pero que es, en el fondo, una tragedia sobre la fragilidad masculina.
Reunión familiar
Marylou caza como si la vida le fuera en ello. Tiene una puntería letal y un olfato fino para lo turbio. Cuando desobedece a su padre y cruza el río para asistir a una reunión familiar, lo que encuentra es una escena que rompe cualquier idea de pertenencia. Desde lo alto de un árbol, ve algo que no se puede olvidar. Aquí no hay familia feliz: hay secretos que se pudren en silencio, generación tras generación.
Bell vuelve a casa
¿Quién no ha cometido la estupidez de volver a buscar a alguien que ya te ha roto por dentro unas cuantas veces? Pues eso hace Thomssen, un tipo grandote, alcohólico y con la sensibilidad de un perro apaleado, cuando decide traer de vuelta a Belle, su amor de toda la vida. Belle —una mujer atrapada en la espiral de la metanfetamina, tan frágil como cruel— le advierte que no lo haga, que acabará peor que antes. Pero ya sabemos cómo funciona esto: cuando uno necesita salvar a alguien para no enfrentarse a su propio derrumbe, se agarra a la ruina ajena como a una tabla de salvación. El relato es áspero, directo, y Bonnie Jo Campbell no tiene piedad con nadie: ni con el lector, ni con sus personajes. Aquí no hay ternura disfrazada de decadencia romántica. Hay un pozo. Y dos personas cayendo dentro, con los nudillos rotos de tanto intentar sujetarse mutuamente.
El desguace americano de King Cole
Slocum golpea a Cole con una tubería y lo roba. Fin. O casi. Porque Campbell no se queda en la superficie del crimen. Aquí importa más el “por qué” que el “qué”: la miseria, la droga, el hambre de algo que ni ellos mismos podrían nombrar. Y en medio del acto brutal, un atisbo de humanidad. Porque incluso los que parecen irrecuperables guardan, a veces, una última chispa.
Aviso de tormenta
Doug está postrado tras un accidente, solo en casa, y una tormenta se avecina. Lo que en otro relato sería tensión climática aquí es pura metáfora: cuando no puedes levantarte de la cama, todo depende de quién venga (o no) a socorrerte. Es un relato más introspectivo, más contenido, donde Campbell se permite indagar en la necesidad, la dependencia y la fragilidad desde otro ángulo. Una calma extraña entre tanto desastre.
Carburante para el Milenio
Hal Little es el tipo que todos conocemos: el que cree que el mundo se acaba mañana y se prepara como si fuera un Mad Max de provincias. Acumula gasolina, armas y paranoia. Lo que no acumula es sentido común. Campbell retrata con sarcasmo a estos profetas del caos que, ante la incertidumbre, eligen la violencia antes que la reflexión. Un retrato ácido de la América que vive en modo supervivencia... incluso cuando no hay guerra. ¿Te suena?
Olor a verano
Jill deja su vida cómoda para meterse de lleno en el barro —literal— junto a Ernie, su marido granjero. Cuando decide comprar un verraco para revivir el negocio de cría de cerdos, se topa con una situación grotesca y la crudeza más física del campo: sangre, frustración, y una vida que no admite romanticismos. Es un cuento sobre la carne, el cuerpo, lo animal. Pero también sobre el amor como acto de resistencia desesperada.
Y así son todos: ásperos, viscerales, impredecibles. Cada relato es una bofetada distinta, con su propia temperatura y su propia rabia. Algunos sangran lentamente, otros explotan como un bidón de gasolina mal cerrado. Pero todos, sin excepción, te obligan a mirar de frente. Porque lo que une a esta colección no es una temática común ni una fórmula narrativa, sino algo más crudo: la sensación de que estás leyendo vidas que podrían haber sido olvidadas y que Campbell se empeña en rescatar del silencio.
Esa es, quizá, la verdadera hazaña del libro: no el retrato de una América hundida, sino la capacidad de sostener la mirada sin caer en el morbo ni en el sermón. Los temas que atraviesan el libro son brutales pero honestos: pobreza estructural, violencia doméstica, el colapso del sistema sanitario, adicciones que no son metáforas sino modos de vida. Pero también hay otra cosa, menos evidente: una mirada compasiva sin sentimentalismo. Campbell no juzga a sus personajes. Les deja espacio. Les da voz. Y esa voz, aunque rota, suena con toda su fuerza.
Pero eso no significa que estemos ante algo totalmente inédito. Se puede rastrear un linaje literario detrás de Desguace americano, con raíces en la narrativa de los márgenes y la desesperación. Tal vez lo primero que viene a la mente es Knockemstiff de Donald Ray Pollock, que tiene la misma sordidez pero menos piedad. O Hijo de Jesús de Denis Johnson, aunque ahí hay más lirismo y menos grasa. Pero Desguace americano tiene algo que las otras no: una mirada femenina que no dulcifica nada, pero tampoco permite que el sufrimiento sea pornografía emocional.
Y ahi está la diferencia. Lo que Campbell ha hecho aquí es desmontar el mito de la América profunda sin necesidad de discursos. Ha puesto las manos en el motor, ha sacado las piezas oxidadas y nos las ha enseñado una a una. No para que las juzguemos. Para que entendamos de qué está hecho el ruido que oímos cuando intentamos arrancar algo que ya está muerto.
Me pasé medio libro preguntándome si de verdad hacía falta leer esto. Si no era suficiente con saber que hay gente viviendo así, muriendo así. Luego entendí que no es lo mismo saberlo que escucharlo. Y que la literatura, cuando de verdad importa, no es un espejo ni una denuncia: es un callejón donde alguien te agarra del cuello y te obliga a mirar. Desguace americano hace exactamente eso.
Y uno termina el libro con la sensación de haber pasado unos días metido en un taller mugriento, con olor a grasa, sangre y cerveza rancia, escuchando las vidas de gente que nadie escucha. No hay moraleja, no hay redención, no hay épica. Solo humanidad —dolorosa, contradictoria, ineludible— en su forma más cruda. Bonnie Jo Campbell no pretende conmoverte. No. Ella escribe para que mires. Para que no apartes la vista. En su libro no hay héroes, pero tampoco hay cinismo. Hay algo mucho más difícil de sostener: una ternura incómoda, como cuando abrazas a alguien que no sabes si te va a morder o a romper a llorar. Y esa incomodidad, esa honestidad, es lo que hace que estas historias se te queden clavadas bajo la piel, como una astilla que no ves pero que no deja de escocer.
November 1, 2011
Welcome to down-and-out small-town America: the dreamers, the unemployed, the hunters, the meth addicts, the damaged, the rape survivors, the prematurely old.
It’s not a pretty picture yet conversely, the prose shines beautifully in these 14 finely-tuned short stories. In a sentence – or a phrase—Bonnie Jo Campbell captures the thought process of a character and brings him or her to life.
Take, for example, Family Reunion, a dark story about an adept girl – a hunter-- who is raped by her drunken uncle and has been rendered mute, as she dresses down a deer: “She hates that first slice that turns the deer from a creature into meat.” Or take a dysfunctional couple – Belle, a meth addict who cannot be saved and Thomssen, the man who tries to save her by offering her shelter in his home: “She would take what easy comfort she could, but she would not look for the roll of plastic or the staple gun, never in a million years would she fix the plastic over the broken window to keep the snow and cold from rushing in after her.”
Some of the prose is deceptively simple, as in The Solutions to Brian’s Problem. Here’s Solution #2: Wait until Connie comes back from the “store,” distract her with the baby and then cut her meth with Drano, so that when she shoots it up, she dies. And some is downright elegiac: “The universe seemed darker than he realized, and larger, which made each thing in it, including him, smaller.”
In these stories set in the declining Rust Belt economy, people do what they need to in order to survive. In King Cole’s American Salvage, an ex-con beats an auto salvage yard owner to inches of death, and then presents his girlfriend with a wad of blood-spattered cash so she can score some meth. The grotesqueries, violence, and addictions of small-town life are captured in ways that cause the reader to gasp with recognition…even if he or she has never set foot in rural towns like these.
These are raw, energetic, unsettling tales, vividly depicted, masterfully told. Bonnie Jo Campbell has earned her place among the very best of story tellers. Readers of American Salvage might also want to check out Donald Ray Pollock’s Knockemstiff, which mines some of the same territory in a fresh way.
It’s not a pretty picture yet conversely, the prose shines beautifully in these 14 finely-tuned short stories. In a sentence – or a phrase—Bonnie Jo Campbell captures the thought process of a character and brings him or her to life.
Take, for example, Family Reunion, a dark story about an adept girl – a hunter-- who is raped by her drunken uncle and has been rendered mute, as she dresses down a deer: “She hates that first slice that turns the deer from a creature into meat.” Or take a dysfunctional couple – Belle, a meth addict who cannot be saved and Thomssen, the man who tries to save her by offering her shelter in his home: “She would take what easy comfort she could, but she would not look for the roll of plastic or the staple gun, never in a million years would she fix the plastic over the broken window to keep the snow and cold from rushing in after her.”
Some of the prose is deceptively simple, as in The Solutions to Brian’s Problem. Here’s Solution #2: Wait until Connie comes back from the “store,” distract her with the baby and then cut her meth with Drano, so that when she shoots it up, she dies. And some is downright elegiac: “The universe seemed darker than he realized, and larger, which made each thing in it, including him, smaller.”
In these stories set in the declining Rust Belt economy, people do what they need to in order to survive. In King Cole’s American Salvage, an ex-con beats an auto salvage yard owner to inches of death, and then presents his girlfriend with a wad of blood-spattered cash so she can score some meth. The grotesqueries, violence, and addictions of small-town life are captured in ways that cause the reader to gasp with recognition…even if he or she has never set foot in rural towns like these.
These are raw, energetic, unsettling tales, vividly depicted, masterfully told. Bonnie Jo Campbell has earned her place among the very best of story tellers. Readers of American Salvage might also want to check out Donald Ray Pollock’s Knockemstiff, which mines some of the same territory in a fresh way.
December 17, 2015
This book was recommended to me heartily, nay STRENUOUSLY, by my friend Sam, who I reconnected with this summer after a very long absence. He lives in Kalamazoo, and raved about Bonnie Jo Campbell's books as being the birth of "Southwest Michigan Noir." He basically gave me an ultimatum: if I get through the four-page introductory story, "The Trespasser," there was no way I would put it down until I was finished.
He's not wrong. "The Trespasser" is an unholy, psychedelic, heartbreaking, amazingly observed piece of short fiction. As a family opens the door to their cottage, they see, little by little, that someone has recently used the cabin to cook crystal meth. Campbell's slow treatment of the remnants left behind, especially as observed by the daughter, are chilling and brutal but also funny and strange. She uses a close reading of the objects in the room and how they're arranged to subtly explore the mindset of a person in the throes of meth addiction. It's the type of story that announces a wholly new point of view, and a decidedly unflinching and tough one, too.
"The Yard Man" is the longest piece in the collection, and one of the most tender. Jerry, the yard man of the title, wants to provide a good life for his wife, who he looks at just a bit too long, with a type of wonder that seems to be saying, "why did you deign to marry me?" Unfortunately, her idea of what constitutes a good life is different from his. He tries to adjust, but he's got a bit of fuck-up in his blood, and things keep going wrong despite his best intentions. He sits on the bed of his truck and talks the old days with a friend of his father's, not wishing so much for a simpler life as an easier one. That's a thin distinction...Jerry's less interested in going back to the old days (though there was a lot to recommend them) as to a place where every single one of his plans doesn't end up with bees living in his walls and oozing honey up through the garbage disposal. In a book dominated by grisly acts and grisly people, "The Yard Man" is a rare oasis of gentleness and compassion.
"World of Gas" is the first of several stories to deal with a recurring concept, that of stockpiling for Y2K. Campbell's choice of societal breakdown is interesting -- she's working with the past, but a fairly immediate past, already showing the signs of the final dissolution of the rust belt that's only been exacerbated in the past 15 years. We see the panic through the eyes of Susan, who runs the propane company World of Gas, endlessly chiding her paranoid male compatriots for stockpiling too much propane against an event that likely won't happen. Her thoughts go toward the reasons some people need apocalypse to be ever-near: "It occurred to Susan that men were always waiting for something cataclysmic -- love or war or a giant asteroid. Every man wanted to be a hot-headed Bruce Willis character, fighting against the vile foreign enemy while despising the domestic bureaucracy. Men wanted to focus on just one big thing, leaving the thousands of smaller messes for the women around to clean up."
"The Inventor, 1972" won Campbell a Eudory Welty Award, and it feels like the kind of story you might be assigned to read in an especially hip English class in the present day. It has that energy that surrounds the best short stories, which can be picked apart analytically, or just read and treasured on their own merits. A man driving to his hunting blind accidentally clips a 13 year-old girl with his car. While he runs to find a house where he call an ambulance, he imagines a future world, one containing inventions and machines that could be use to help the sick and the injured, rather than the usual arsenal of death devices that pass for invention. It's a world that we're no closer to now than we were in 1972. An underlying theme of these stories, one pervasive in all of Campbell's work, is the betrayal of the working-class over the course of decades, the realization that hard work at a factory or family farm or machine shop no longer guarantees a good life. Of our erstwhile inventor, we read, "He had intended to work at the foundry forever (his burns were a pact the foundry made with him), but they disassembled an dissected the equipment with torches and sold it as scrap iron in a world unprepared to reshape those materials into advanced medical machinery."
"The Solution to Brian's Problem" is written as a numbered list of choices that could be made, none of them particularly better than the other, to get out of an unwinnable situation, that of being the husband to a crystal meth addict currently at home with your baby. It's at this point that the relentless grim atmosphere of this book really takes hold, and you know you're in for some bad times.
"The Burn" is like an especially unfunny version of the Buster Keaton routine where the bumbling guy knocks over a mop, puts his foot in a bucket, and topples out of the second floor window. Here, a sad-sack on his way home manages to blow through a stop sign, get pulled over, and set himself on fire, trying to put himself out without giving the cop grounds to shoot him for making sudden movements. His own natural stubbornness prevents him from reaching out, and the cavalcade of bad decisions continues to mount until the only thing left is to do the unthinkable: ask for help. From the lesbian couple upstairs.
"Family Reunion" is about Marylou, a young girl with a marksman's eye and an unquenchable taste for hunting. She's felled more deer than are legally allowed by a factor of three. Her father, Mr. Strong, but known only as Strong to the community, warns her not to go across the river to the family reunion happening on the other shore. She goes as far as she can, climbing a tree to see what's what, and intercepts a horrible act that's about to ruin another life. Let's just say that nobody's inviting them to any more family reunions for a while.
"Winter Life" is about several couples, including Trisha, who can't sleep and calls her old boyfriend even though she's married. She can't quite settle into a comfortable pattern, whether monogamy or butting out of other people's business. Despite the small number of characters, I had trouble keeping track of who's who here (sometimes, this is harder with very short stories, where we don't have as much time to separate everyone by name), which made the climactic moment less effective than it might be. That's on me, though. I should probably re-read it.
"Bringing Belle Home" documents a violently dysfunctional and long-term relationship between Thompssen, a burly ol' boy with meaty fists and a soft heart, and Belle, an addict who lived next door to him as a child, who he has pursued through marriage and dissolution despite her repeated warnings that she's only going to bring him misery. Lots of fighting at the bar, and some ugly accusations thrown. Like a Cassavetes movie but with less yuks.
"Falling" is grimmer still, in which a fellow returns from the hospital having tried to commit suicide, only to ask an old friend for a place to crash, even though he's already burned down his friend's barn once cooking meth. The Christian thing to do is to give until it hurts, even to those who show no sign of treating you better the second time, and it's that moment that Campbell creates, a person lending a hand knowing more disaster awaits.
"King Cole's American Salvage" is the most overtly Noir of the lot, a murder plot involving the hard-ass owner of the salvage lot and a young man who feels he stiffed him for the car he sold for parts, because King Cole is unabashedly biased against Japanese and German cars. All the Noir tropes are here: attempted murder in the snow, money blowing into the woods, a pile of loot dropped in the lap of the complicit dame, the price for continued affection.
By this point, the atrocities and misfortunes have piled up so high, I expected the next story to lead with, "The last two possessions Harvey owned in this world were a crowbar and a bag of meth."
As the collection begins to take a parabola shape, we get "Storm Warning," which seems to mirror "The Burn" in its depiction of a stubborn man with increasingly poor decision-making skills, incapacitated and unable to ask for help. Instead of a burn, it's a boating accident this time, and instead asking help of his father or lesbian neighbors, it's his too-good-for-him girlfriend, who wants to be there for him, but is rebuffed for the crime of being too nice. Campbell is excellent at conveying the reactions of people receiving unconditional kindness after only being kicked in this life. It doesn't always come with tears of relief and an unforced "thank you."
"Fuel for the Millennium" again returns to fuel and Y2K, this time from the perspective of one of the preppers who believes it is real. He's not living with sickening self-righteousness, the stereotyped "I can't wait 'til disaster strikes, then you'll all regret not believing me!", but a man haunted by the seeming indifference of his brethren. The last sentence is heartbreaking.
The collection ends with a story called "Boar Taint." Oh man, are you expecting something uplifting to come out of a story called "Boar Taint"?? Turns out, the title can go two ways, neither of them appetizing. It comes back to the desperation of the small-town farmer or business owner, trying to make it with dwindling options and an increasingly larger piece of the pie taken by factory farms and large corporations remaking the towns. Jill has recently married Ernie, and his trying to keep his family farm afloat at all costs. She thinks buying this hog for sale, advertised on a card on the bulletin board of the local laundromat, could re-start their farm with pig breeding. Instead, she stumbles upon a combination of a John Waters movie filtered through the banjo-playing kid from Deliverance, though again lacking the yuks of either. The hog is looking mighty poorly, but she's not just going to go back without it, is she? At the end, we get a glimmer of, if not hope, at least the willingness to keep trying.
As I said, this is not an easy collection to read. But it's also not cruel. Campbell shows us some pretty seamy realities, but it's not just a cavalcade of geeks biting the heads off chickens. In the tradition of Chekhov's "Peasants" or Flannery O'Connor's most depraved creations, Campbell's lost souls are good-hearted people making do in near-impossible situations, losing against a stacked house. They are the fictive embodiments of Catherine Aird's dictum, "If you can't be a good example, you'll just have to be a horrible warning."
A tremendous collection. Very highly recommended.
He's not wrong. "The Trespasser" is an unholy, psychedelic, heartbreaking, amazingly observed piece of short fiction. As a family opens the door to their cottage, they see, little by little, that someone has recently used the cabin to cook crystal meth. Campbell's slow treatment of the remnants left behind, especially as observed by the daughter, are chilling and brutal but also funny and strange. She uses a close reading of the objects in the room and how they're arranged to subtly explore the mindset of a person in the throes of meth addiction. It's the type of story that announces a wholly new point of view, and a decidedly unflinching and tough one, too.
"The Yard Man" is the longest piece in the collection, and one of the most tender. Jerry, the yard man of the title, wants to provide a good life for his wife, who he looks at just a bit too long, with a type of wonder that seems to be saying, "why did you deign to marry me?" Unfortunately, her idea of what constitutes a good life is different from his. He tries to adjust, but he's got a bit of fuck-up in his blood, and things keep going wrong despite his best intentions. He sits on the bed of his truck and talks the old days with a friend of his father's, not wishing so much for a simpler life as an easier one. That's a thin distinction...Jerry's less interested in going back to the old days (though there was a lot to recommend them) as to a place where every single one of his plans doesn't end up with bees living in his walls and oozing honey up through the garbage disposal. In a book dominated by grisly acts and grisly people, "The Yard Man" is a rare oasis of gentleness and compassion.
"World of Gas" is the first of several stories to deal with a recurring concept, that of stockpiling for Y2K. Campbell's choice of societal breakdown is interesting -- she's working with the past, but a fairly immediate past, already showing the signs of the final dissolution of the rust belt that's only been exacerbated in the past 15 years. We see the panic through the eyes of Susan, who runs the propane company World of Gas, endlessly chiding her paranoid male compatriots for stockpiling too much propane against an event that likely won't happen. Her thoughts go toward the reasons some people need apocalypse to be ever-near: "It occurred to Susan that men were always waiting for something cataclysmic -- love or war or a giant asteroid. Every man wanted to be a hot-headed Bruce Willis character, fighting against the vile foreign enemy while despising the domestic bureaucracy. Men wanted to focus on just one big thing, leaving the thousands of smaller messes for the women around to clean up."
"The Inventor, 1972" won Campbell a Eudory Welty Award, and it feels like the kind of story you might be assigned to read in an especially hip English class in the present day. It has that energy that surrounds the best short stories, which can be picked apart analytically, or just read and treasured on their own merits. A man driving to his hunting blind accidentally clips a 13 year-old girl with his car. While he runs to find a house where he call an ambulance, he imagines a future world, one containing inventions and machines that could be use to help the sick and the injured, rather than the usual arsenal of death devices that pass for invention. It's a world that we're no closer to now than we were in 1972. An underlying theme of these stories, one pervasive in all of Campbell's work, is the betrayal of the working-class over the course of decades, the realization that hard work at a factory or family farm or machine shop no longer guarantees a good life. Of our erstwhile inventor, we read, "He had intended to work at the foundry forever (his burns were a pact the foundry made with him), but they disassembled an dissected the equipment with torches and sold it as scrap iron in a world unprepared to reshape those materials into advanced medical machinery."
"The Solution to Brian's Problem" is written as a numbered list of choices that could be made, none of them particularly better than the other, to get out of an unwinnable situation, that of being the husband to a crystal meth addict currently at home with your baby. It's at this point that the relentless grim atmosphere of this book really takes hold, and you know you're in for some bad times.
"The Burn" is like an especially unfunny version of the Buster Keaton routine where the bumbling guy knocks over a mop, puts his foot in a bucket, and topples out of the second floor window. Here, a sad-sack on his way home manages to blow through a stop sign, get pulled over, and set himself on fire, trying to put himself out without giving the cop grounds to shoot him for making sudden movements. His own natural stubbornness prevents him from reaching out, and the cavalcade of bad decisions continues to mount until the only thing left is to do the unthinkable: ask for help. From the lesbian couple upstairs.
"Family Reunion" is about Marylou, a young girl with a marksman's eye and an unquenchable taste for hunting. She's felled more deer than are legally allowed by a factor of three. Her father, Mr. Strong, but known only as Strong to the community, warns her not to go across the river to the family reunion happening on the other shore. She goes as far as she can, climbing a tree to see what's what, and intercepts a horrible act that's about to ruin another life. Let's just say that nobody's inviting them to any more family reunions for a while.
"Winter Life" is about several couples, including Trisha, who can't sleep and calls her old boyfriend even though she's married. She can't quite settle into a comfortable pattern, whether monogamy or butting out of other people's business. Despite the small number of characters, I had trouble keeping track of who's who here (sometimes, this is harder with very short stories, where we don't have as much time to separate everyone by name), which made the climactic moment less effective than it might be. That's on me, though. I should probably re-read it.
"Bringing Belle Home" documents a violently dysfunctional and long-term relationship between Thompssen, a burly ol' boy with meaty fists and a soft heart, and Belle, an addict who lived next door to him as a child, who he has pursued through marriage and dissolution despite her repeated warnings that she's only going to bring him misery. Lots of fighting at the bar, and some ugly accusations thrown. Like a Cassavetes movie but with less yuks.
"Falling" is grimmer still, in which a fellow returns from the hospital having tried to commit suicide, only to ask an old friend for a place to crash, even though he's already burned down his friend's barn once cooking meth. The Christian thing to do is to give until it hurts, even to those who show no sign of treating you better the second time, and it's that moment that Campbell creates, a person lending a hand knowing more disaster awaits.
"King Cole's American Salvage" is the most overtly Noir of the lot, a murder plot involving the hard-ass owner of the salvage lot and a young man who feels he stiffed him for the car he sold for parts, because King Cole is unabashedly biased against Japanese and German cars. All the Noir tropes are here: attempted murder in the snow, money blowing into the woods, a pile of loot dropped in the lap of the complicit dame, the price for continued affection.
By this point, the atrocities and misfortunes have piled up so high, I expected the next story to lead with, "The last two possessions Harvey owned in this world were a crowbar and a bag of meth."
As the collection begins to take a parabola shape, we get "Storm Warning," which seems to mirror "The Burn" in its depiction of a stubborn man with increasingly poor decision-making skills, incapacitated and unable to ask for help. Instead of a burn, it's a boating accident this time, and instead asking help of his father or lesbian neighbors, it's his too-good-for-him girlfriend, who wants to be there for him, but is rebuffed for the crime of being too nice. Campbell is excellent at conveying the reactions of people receiving unconditional kindness after only being kicked in this life. It doesn't always come with tears of relief and an unforced "thank you."
"Fuel for the Millennium" again returns to fuel and Y2K, this time from the perspective of one of the preppers who believes it is real. He's not living with sickening self-righteousness, the stereotyped "I can't wait 'til disaster strikes, then you'll all regret not believing me!", but a man haunted by the seeming indifference of his brethren. The last sentence is heartbreaking.
The collection ends with a story called "Boar Taint." Oh man, are you expecting something uplifting to come out of a story called "Boar Taint"?? Turns out, the title can go two ways, neither of them appetizing. It comes back to the desperation of the small-town farmer or business owner, trying to make it with dwindling options and an increasingly larger piece of the pie taken by factory farms and large corporations remaking the towns. Jill has recently married Ernie, and his trying to keep his family farm afloat at all costs. She thinks buying this hog for sale, advertised on a card on the bulletin board of the local laundromat, could re-start their farm with pig breeding. Instead, she stumbles upon a combination of a John Waters movie filtered through the banjo-playing kid from Deliverance, though again lacking the yuks of either. The hog is looking mighty poorly, but she's not just going to go back without it, is she? At the end, we get a glimmer of, if not hope, at least the willingness to keep trying.
As I said, this is not an easy collection to read. But it's also not cruel. Campbell shows us some pretty seamy realities, but it's not just a cavalcade of geeks biting the heads off chickens. In the tradition of Chekhov's "Peasants" or Flannery O'Connor's most depraved creations, Campbell's lost souls are good-hearted people making do in near-impossible situations, losing against a stacked house. They are the fictive embodiments of Catherine Aird's dictum, "If you can't be a good example, you'll just have to be a horrible warning."
A tremendous collection. Very highly recommended.
April 10, 2010
In a lot of ways, Bonnie Jo Campbell reminded me of a Midwestern Flannery O'Connor. Like O'Connor, she carries a strong omniscient voice through most of her stories; she fixates on the working class and rural landscapes; she does not shy away from violence or grit (neither does she romanticize it); and she fuses the strange, the beautiful, the sacred, and the profane in short tales that bear the whiff of myth about them.
But let none of that imply that Campbell is not unique. She is.
I perked up to American Salvage because its stories span my native land in southwest Michigan (Campbell's native land, too). Who isn't interested in the stories others tell of the places they've lived and loved, places that created them? For a gal from small town Michigan, these tales--especially in fiction--are few and far between. Perhaps this contributed to how struck I was with Campbell's characters. The militia men, the hunters, the underemployed custodians, the farmers, the lonely-hearted bigots, the lovers of wilderness and gardens and animals, the protective parents, the dreamers, the meth addicts, the young teens with the old souls: it sounds hokey, but I know these people. I've never seen their stories told before with such truth, and I was really moved at how Campbell revealed them. They, every one of them, are worth salvaging.
I knew I'd love this book before I picked it up. And yet, as I devoured it over this last week, I still found myself surprised at how it felt, that love. And I'm surprised, frankly, that others who don't necessarily have a connection with the Midwest similarly fell in love with American Salvage. As a journalist accustomed to having my story ideas that have anything to do with the Midwest turned down for being too "local" for national publications (while New York/California stories are, of course, never too local for these same publications), I'm used to those who live elsewhere not being familiar with what is fantastic and powerful about this landscape. But in fact, Campbell's book--originally published by Wayne State University Press as part of its "Made in Michigan" series--ended up being a finalist for the National Book Award in Fiction, one of the most prestigious literary honors in the U.S. and one of the few small-press books so named.
From the National Book Foundation's citation:
"In American Salvage, Bonnie Jo Campbell picks through the ravages of a small-town America gutted by shifting demographics, new technology, and methamphetamine. Eschewing nostalgia or bitterness, she leads with her curiosity, using canny observation and sensuous prose to coax the reader into dark, strange, primordial territory. These short stories approach their subjects from an array of perspectives, but what they share is freshness, surprise, and a compulsion to plumb some absolute extremes of American existence."
The publicity has brought Campbell significantly more readers--every one deserved. These fourteen stories shake in the bones. Their telling is agile and nuanced; while concise, each story has a sort of lingering feel about it. One reads this book feeling as if we, like the characters peopling a post-industrial land, are on the edge--a way of life ended, or begun; the ground shaking beneath our feet; lives strained and transformed; the smallness and bigness of it all. This is no theory. This is experienced bodily -- certainly by the people of American Salvage and, through this potent and visceral book, by us readers too.
(Book Review originally published at www.isak.typepad.com)
But let none of that imply that Campbell is not unique. She is.
I perked up to American Salvage because its stories span my native land in southwest Michigan (Campbell's native land, too). Who isn't interested in the stories others tell of the places they've lived and loved, places that created them? For a gal from small town Michigan, these tales--especially in fiction--are few and far between. Perhaps this contributed to how struck I was with Campbell's characters. The militia men, the hunters, the underemployed custodians, the farmers, the lonely-hearted bigots, the lovers of wilderness and gardens and animals, the protective parents, the dreamers, the meth addicts, the young teens with the old souls: it sounds hokey, but I know these people. I've never seen their stories told before with such truth, and I was really moved at how Campbell revealed them. They, every one of them, are worth salvaging.
I knew I'd love this book before I picked it up. And yet, as I devoured it over this last week, I still found myself surprised at how it felt, that love. And I'm surprised, frankly, that others who don't necessarily have a connection with the Midwest similarly fell in love with American Salvage. As a journalist accustomed to having my story ideas that have anything to do with the Midwest turned down for being too "local" for national publications (while New York/California stories are, of course, never too local for these same publications), I'm used to those who live elsewhere not being familiar with what is fantastic and powerful about this landscape. But in fact, Campbell's book--originally published by Wayne State University Press as part of its "Made in Michigan" series--ended up being a finalist for the National Book Award in Fiction, one of the most prestigious literary honors in the U.S. and one of the few small-press books so named.
From the National Book Foundation's citation:
"In American Salvage, Bonnie Jo Campbell picks through the ravages of a small-town America gutted by shifting demographics, new technology, and methamphetamine. Eschewing nostalgia or bitterness, she leads with her curiosity, using canny observation and sensuous prose to coax the reader into dark, strange, primordial territory. These short stories approach their subjects from an array of perspectives, but what they share is freshness, surprise, and a compulsion to plumb some absolute extremes of American existence."
The publicity has brought Campbell significantly more readers--every one deserved. These fourteen stories shake in the bones. Their telling is agile and nuanced; while concise, each story has a sort of lingering feel about it. One reads this book feeling as if we, like the characters peopling a post-industrial land, are on the edge--a way of life ended, or begun; the ground shaking beneath our feet; lives strained and transformed; the smallness and bigness of it all. This is no theory. This is experienced bodily -- certainly by the people of American Salvage and, through this potent and visceral book, by us readers too.
(Book Review originally published at www.isak.typepad.com)
September 18, 2023
It is relevant to note, as I have before in GR, that I grew up in Michigan and my mother told me that after the first time she took me to NYC when I was three my only response to the question "what do you want to be when you grow up?" was "a New Yorker. I was a pretty self-actualized 3 year old. My parents refused to pay for an out of state college (which I totally understand, when I went to Michigan State tuition was $71.50 a credit hour) so I left MI after college graduation -- 3 days after to be precise. But still I feel an attachment to my home state for many reasons, despite never (ever!) again wanting to live there. MI has spectacular natural beauty (especially the west side of the state with Lake Michigan and Lake Superior showing off a whole lot of perfection) and also IMO a fascinating if brutal history, excellent spare ribs, Sander's hot fudge cream puffs, the stunning Diego Rivera murals at the Detroit Institute of Arts, and a really good zoo. Also, Michigan has a surprising number of really great writers to its credit. Most of those writers are from Michigan but some remained and others left and returned. Bonnie Jo Campbell is one of that last group. For a long time she was a Chicago writer from rural southwestern MI, but for reasons that honestly baffle me she returned to Michigan where she lives rather close to another writer who will be on my best of the year list this year, Diane Seuss. My bafflement at Campbell's return does not stem entirely from me projecting my feelings about living there. Mostly it is baffling because Campbell writes about living in rural southwestern Michigan, and it sounds really truly awful.
The people we meet in this brilliant collection are uniformly unhappy. Most everyone is an alcoholic or addicted to meth and/or is the intimate partner or child of an addict or alcoholic, Many experience relentless suicidal ideation. Almost all are poor, some living in shocking want. Everyone here struggles to maintain any meaningful relationships, and even if those exist all appear to feel profoundly lonely much of the time (the exception is the last story, Boar Taint, in which the MC just seems like a searcher in a difficult but satisfying life passage.) The loneliness is what broke me. This book is filled with really bad people, Michigan Militia wannabes, and a few good people who cannot seem to win against the onslaught of bad. With every character though, even the murders and rapists it is impossible to hate them.
There are touches of humor to be found here, but they are rare and more rueful than rollicking. Mostly though this is humbling and sad and so true. These are not caricatures of want at all, every character is fully drawn. When I first started this several months ago I noticed one of the top GR tags that had been applied to it was "Southern" and I laughed. I know geography education in America is terrible, but the only way Michigan is southern is if you live in Canada -- in fact, there are parts of Canada that are south of parts of Michigan. But then I realized that this reads a lot like Southern literature focused on poor White rural communities. I can hear in these stories writers like Carson McCullers, Erskine Caldwell, and even a hint or two of Faulkner. That is not to say that this is derivative, it is not, but stylistically this feels more a part of Southern lit than of Midwestern lit.
I am on a roll lately with good books after a bit of a slump -- this is going to be my top short story collection for sure, and I expect it will make the top 10 fiction choices. Campbell is a writer I have been meaning to read for years, and I think it is likely I will be moving Mothers Tell Your Daughters and Heart Like a River way up in the batting order after reading this one.
The people we meet in this brilliant collection are uniformly unhappy. Most everyone is an alcoholic or addicted to meth and/or is the intimate partner or child of an addict or alcoholic, Many experience relentless suicidal ideation. Almost all are poor, some living in shocking want. Everyone here struggles to maintain any meaningful relationships, and even if those exist all appear to feel profoundly lonely much of the time (the exception is the last story, Boar Taint, in which the MC just seems like a searcher in a difficult but satisfying life passage.) The loneliness is what broke me. This book is filled with really bad people, Michigan Militia wannabes, and a few good people who cannot seem to win against the onslaught of bad. With every character though, even the murders and rapists it is impossible to hate them.
There are touches of humor to be found here, but they are rare and more rueful than rollicking. Mostly though this is humbling and sad and so true. These are not caricatures of want at all, every character is fully drawn. When I first started this several months ago I noticed one of the top GR tags that had been applied to it was "Southern" and I laughed. I know geography education in America is terrible, but the only way Michigan is southern is if you live in Canada -- in fact, there are parts of Canada that are south of parts of Michigan. But then I realized that this reads a lot like Southern literature focused on poor White rural communities. I can hear in these stories writers like Carson McCullers, Erskine Caldwell, and even a hint or two of Faulkner. That is not to say that this is derivative, it is not, but stylistically this feels more a part of Southern lit than of Midwestern lit.
I am on a roll lately with good books after a bit of a slump -- this is going to be my top short story collection for sure, and I expect it will make the top 10 fiction choices. Campbell is a writer I have been meaning to read for years, and I think it is likely I will be moving Mothers Tell Your Daughters and Heart Like a River way up in the batting order after reading this one.
September 24, 2024
Los cuentos de la autora son duros y ásperos, una especie de Carver con personajes en situación de pobreza, ignorancia, drogas y dolor. Sobretodo eso, dolor tanto físico como emocional por lo que sucedió en el pasado o por lo que pasará en el futuro.
En pocas palabras se describe un ambiente miserable, con chatarra y basura por doquier. Los personajes no pueden escapar de su micro mundo, ya sea un parque de caravana o viviendas aisladas en medio del bosque. Las desdichas y bajezas humanas pudren la mente de quienes, sin recursos, sólo viven y pasan el tiempo sabiendo que por más que se esfuercen, nada va a mejorar.
La violencia y los rencores son la manera de relacionarse y nadie sale sin una mancha. Los desenlaces son correctos en el contexto del horror que se describe.
Hay Bonnie Jo Campbell para rato.
En pocas palabras se describe un ambiente miserable, con chatarra y basura por doquier. Los personajes no pueden escapar de su micro mundo, ya sea un parque de caravana o viviendas aisladas en medio del bosque. Las desdichas y bajezas humanas pudren la mente de quienes, sin recursos, sólo viven y pasan el tiempo sabiendo que por más que se esfuercen, nada va a mejorar.
La violencia y los rencores son la manera de relacionarse y nadie sale sin una mancha. Los desenlaces son correctos en el contexto del horror que se describe.
Hay Bonnie Jo Campbell para rato.
October 19, 2023
Bleak. Very good but very bleak.
March 3, 2017
One of those lovely, accomplished works that leaves you knowing you've been around these people, times and places; it literally took me 'til the last few pages to realize I was leaving a world that someone had written down, not "just there" like a spell, a dream, a visit.
So seamless you see more of what's down at the ends of certain roads. A new milestone-setter, believe this!
So seamless you see more of what's down at the ends of certain roads. A new milestone-setter, believe this!
September 27, 2023
Omg. I am too old for this.
What a gorgeously harrowing collection. Every one of them, from The Yard Man to Falling (an especially brutal tale, even though no actual brutality happens within the story)... and omg. The Solution to Brian's Problem was so bleak it left me gasping. All of them are written with a laserlike focus. And none of them are overdone - even Family Reunion, with its nod to Don Delillo (isn't his story the one with the snake head condom? I forget if it's his, though I'll never forget the story) - Ms Campbell takes her time getting you from A-Z in these characters' lives and their circumstances. Throughout the time I spent reading it (and I took my time so I wouldn't stroke out) I kept hearing Peter Gabriel's 'Don't Give Up' - and even though these stories are mostly of their time (a lot of Y2K ) the dates don't matter - these people do.
And that's weird for me, because I have no real connection to these people, except the Weird Life Choices I made that put me in a place much like the rural Michigan these characters inhabit. I now know (or know of) a lot of people who live these lives - I met my first meth-head right here in this teeny town (I was clueless - who knew that meth could crater your flesh? Yikes!)... conspiracy theorists with zero interest in facts... the list goes on - yet Ms Campbell imbues in them a humanity that makes you want to root for them, even as they live incomprehensible lives.
I completely and unabashedly recommend this collection of quotidian horror - but don't come crying to me if you have nightmares. I sure did (both the crying and the nightmares).
What a gorgeously harrowing collection. Every one of them, from The Yard Man to Falling (an especially brutal tale, even though no actual brutality happens within the story)... and omg. The Solution to Brian's Problem was so bleak it left me gasping. All of them are written with a laserlike focus. And none of them are overdone - even Family Reunion, with its nod to Don Delillo (isn't his story the one with the snake head condom? I forget if it's his, though I'll never forget the story) - Ms Campbell takes her time getting you from A-Z in these characters' lives and their circumstances. Throughout the time I spent reading it (and I took my time so I wouldn't stroke out) I kept hearing Peter Gabriel's 'Don't Give Up' - and even though these stories are mostly of their time (a lot of Y2K ) the dates don't matter - these people do.
And that's weird for me, because I have no real connection to these people, except the Weird Life Choices I made that put me in a place much like the rural Michigan these characters inhabit. I now know (or know of) a lot of people who live these lives - I met my first meth-head right here in this teeny town (I was clueless - who knew that meth could crater your flesh? Yikes!)... conspiracy theorists with zero interest in facts... the list goes on - yet Ms Campbell imbues in them a humanity that makes you want to root for them, even as they live incomprehensible lives.
I completely and unabashedly recommend this collection of quotidian horror - but don't come crying to me if you have nightmares. I sure did (both the crying and the nightmares).
March 22, 2012
(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)
I recently found myself with the opportunity to interview revered author Bonnie Jo Campbell for the CCLaP Podcast; and so before doing so, I thought it would be beneficial to read her two most popular books besides the one I've already read (2011's Once Upon a River, that is, considered by many to be a frontrunner for this year's Pulitzer). And indeed, it turned out to be quite important that I read her 1999 breakout novel Q Road before talking with her, because it turns out to be a clever sort of prequel/sequel to the Once Upon a River title we'll mainly be discussing; set on the cusp of the new millennium, it tells the story of the "last hurrah" of sorts for a rural farmland area just outside of Kalamazoo, Michigan before finally succumbing to the capitalist steamroller of exurban subdivisions, chain restaurants and pristine golf courses, an Altmanesque interrelated ensemble character piece in which one of the characters (teenage tomboy and child bride Rachel Crane) just happens to be the daughter of the main character of Once Upon a River (the even more hardcore tomboy Margo Crane), only with the newer novel set in the older 1970s and examining Margo's own teenage years as a tight-lipped, sharpshooting pregnant runaway.
And in fact you can look at all three of these books in much the same light (including the slim 2009 story collection American Salvage, the third title in this list); they are all episodic in nature, take a sympathetic and nonjudgemental look at the kinds of characters we would traditionally call dumb white trash, yet can frequently reach a level of poetic harshness and violence akin to a Sam Shepard play, stories that don't excuse the behavior of the meth addicts, racists and uneducated hillbillies that populate her universe but that don't dismiss such characters either, an attitude that I'm sure at least partly stems from Campbell's own background as a willful tomboy in this exact kind of rural Michigan environment (but more on that in the finished podcast episode, coming next week). Powerful and unflinching, yet beautiful and easily readable, it's no surprise after reading these three books that Campbell would have the kind of intensely passionate fanbase that she does, as well as racking up such academic tentpoles as a Pushcart Prize, Eudora Welty Prize, National Book Award nomination and National Book Critics Circle Award nomination; and I wholeheartedly recommend them all to a general audience.
Out of 10:
Q Road: 9.4
American Salvage: 9.0
I recently found myself with the opportunity to interview revered author Bonnie Jo Campbell for the CCLaP Podcast; and so before doing so, I thought it would be beneficial to read her two most popular books besides the one I've already read (2011's Once Upon a River, that is, considered by many to be a frontrunner for this year's Pulitzer). And indeed, it turned out to be quite important that I read her 1999 breakout novel Q Road before talking with her, because it turns out to be a clever sort of prequel/sequel to the Once Upon a River title we'll mainly be discussing; set on the cusp of the new millennium, it tells the story of the "last hurrah" of sorts for a rural farmland area just outside of Kalamazoo, Michigan before finally succumbing to the capitalist steamroller of exurban subdivisions, chain restaurants and pristine golf courses, an Altmanesque interrelated ensemble character piece in which one of the characters (teenage tomboy and child bride Rachel Crane) just happens to be the daughter of the main character of Once Upon a River (the even more hardcore tomboy Margo Crane), only with the newer novel set in the older 1970s and examining Margo's own teenage years as a tight-lipped, sharpshooting pregnant runaway.
And in fact you can look at all three of these books in much the same light (including the slim 2009 story collection American Salvage, the third title in this list); they are all episodic in nature, take a sympathetic and nonjudgemental look at the kinds of characters we would traditionally call dumb white trash, yet can frequently reach a level of poetic harshness and violence akin to a Sam Shepard play, stories that don't excuse the behavior of the meth addicts, racists and uneducated hillbillies that populate her universe but that don't dismiss such characters either, an attitude that I'm sure at least partly stems from Campbell's own background as a willful tomboy in this exact kind of rural Michigan environment (but more on that in the finished podcast episode, coming next week). Powerful and unflinching, yet beautiful and easily readable, it's no surprise after reading these three books that Campbell would have the kind of intensely passionate fanbase that she does, as well as racking up such academic tentpoles as a Pushcart Prize, Eudora Welty Prize, National Book Award nomination and National Book Critics Circle Award nomination; and I wholeheartedly recommend them all to a general audience.
Out of 10:
Q Road: 9.4
American Salvage: 9.0
August 12, 2021
Esta es la segunda vez que aparece Bonnie Jo Campbell en Denmeunpapelillo. Para los despistados, se trata de la autora de Érase un río: novela que me flipó.
«Desguace americano» es una colección de relatos que se devoran uno tras otro; no me ha parecido de esos que te piden «un descansito» llegado un momento.
Sin ser yo una apasionada de los cuentos, estos me han gustado mucho. Presentan historias llanas con personajes imperfectos y luchadores; luchadoras sobre todo. Vidas de pueblo, de religión y tradición, violencia y sumisión, de vicios y de honradez. Además, Bonnie demuestra que no es necesario que el personaje se esfume-evapore-transforme-trascienda-mimetice-desaparezca-deshaga al final del cuento para que mole. Menuda puta manía con eso, de verdad.
Por muy autóctono que sea el ambiente que envuelve a las historias que crea esta autora, es innegable que aunque seas de [por ejemplo] Cuenca y no hayas puesto un pie en Michigan en tu vida, reconocerás como cercanas muchas de las situaciones que plantea. Tampoco hace falta que hayas disparado ni despellejado un animal, basta con estar viva para que te llegue.
Me mola mucho cómo escribe y que meta el dedo en la llaga de la forma en que lo hace: unas veces entrando a matar y otras acercándose poco a poco, como formando círculos concéntricos. He afianzado mi gusto por la autora (como era de esperar) y no creo que tarde demasiado en empezar «Madres, avisad a vuestras hijas». Me está poniendo ojitos 😍 desde la pila de libros pendientes.
«—Mamá, la quiero —dijo Josh—. No lo entiendes.
Susan se dio cuenta de que en la cara de Josh, además de su incipiente vello facial, había varios pelos oscuros y rizados.
—Pues si la quieres, ¿por qué te arriesgas a dejarla preñada? —preguntó Susan—. ¿Por qué os arriesgáis a joderos la vida?
Susan también estaba pensando: si esta chica significa tanto para ti, ¿por qué no apagas la maldita televisión cuando estás en la cama con ella?»
Reseña completa en https://denmeunpapelillo.net/desguace...
«Desguace americano» es una colección de relatos que se devoran uno tras otro; no me ha parecido de esos que te piden «un descansito» llegado un momento.
Sin ser yo una apasionada de los cuentos, estos me han gustado mucho. Presentan historias llanas con personajes imperfectos y luchadores; luchadoras sobre todo. Vidas de pueblo, de religión y tradición, violencia y sumisión, de vicios y de honradez. Además, Bonnie demuestra que no es necesario que el personaje se esfume-evapore-transforme-trascienda-mimetice-desaparezca-deshaga al final del cuento para que mole. Menuda puta manía con eso, de verdad.
Por muy autóctono que sea el ambiente que envuelve a las historias que crea esta autora, es innegable que aunque seas de [por ejemplo] Cuenca y no hayas puesto un pie en Michigan en tu vida, reconocerás como cercanas muchas de las situaciones que plantea. Tampoco hace falta que hayas disparado ni despellejado un animal, basta con estar viva para que te llegue.
Me mola mucho cómo escribe y que meta el dedo en la llaga de la forma en que lo hace: unas veces entrando a matar y otras acercándose poco a poco, como formando círculos concéntricos. He afianzado mi gusto por la autora (como era de esperar) y no creo que tarde demasiado en empezar «Madres, avisad a vuestras hijas». Me está poniendo ojitos 😍 desde la pila de libros pendientes.
«—Mamá, la quiero —dijo Josh—. No lo entiendes.
Susan se dio cuenta de que en la cara de Josh, además de su incipiente vello facial, había varios pelos oscuros y rizados.
—Pues si la quieres, ¿por qué te arriesgas a dejarla preñada? —preguntó Susan—. ¿Por qué os arriesgáis a joderos la vida?
Susan también estaba pensando: si esta chica significa tanto para ti, ¿por qué no apagas la maldita televisión cuando estás en la cama con ella?»
Reseña completa en https://denmeunpapelillo.net/desguace...
November 18, 2009
This book should have been depressing. Truly awful things happen to and are done by the characters in these stories. And yet, there is an underlying feeling of hope. That of keeping on, no matter the circumstances. That it may never be perfect but it will be yours.
One of the strongest themes in all of the stories is that of dependence/independence. There is a desire to not be a burden or have someone else having a say in how his or her life is lived. Whatever this life is, these characters want it to be their own and even in the tiniest of ways, they all seem to lay claim to their lives. Even when it's a matter of doing nothing at all.
I also admired how well drawn settings are and how they connect so strongly with the characters themselves.
Well written and well worth the time spent.
One of the strongest themes in all of the stories is that of dependence/independence. There is a desire to not be a burden or have someone else having a say in how his or her life is lived. Whatever this life is, these characters want it to be their own and even in the tiniest of ways, they all seem to lay claim to their lives. Even when it's a matter of doing nothing at all.
I also admired how well drawn settings are and how they connect so strongly with the characters themselves.
Well written and well worth the time spent.
August 4, 2019
This is as good a set of short stories as I can recall reading. Set in rural Michigan the 14 stories share themes of pain and hardship for those residing in such landscapes in which harsh and beautiful nature seems to create emotional distances between people as much as physical ones, and where frequently, animals play a significant role, often outnumbering humans.
A good example is the title story, which may well be the strongest, Campbell captures the subject so convincingly, and from such innovative angles, that even for a regular reader of contemporary rural fiction like I am, there is a sense of the ache her characters feel.
A good example is the title story, which may well be the strongest, Campbell captures the subject so convincingly, and from such innovative angles, that even for a regular reader of contemporary rural fiction like I am, there is a sense of the ache her characters feel.
December 28, 2018
Va a ser de mis mejores lecturas de fin de año. No tengo la más mínima duda. Desgarrador y peculiar
June 7, 2011
I really want to give this collection 4.9 stars. I loved it and thought it really fantastic; almost all of the stories were close to perfect. I just couldn't do 5 because I have a problem with the endings--not what happens in the ending, but the ending line or word. The writing throughout was so beautiful, but ending a story with a flat word (like "she") just bugs me. I want that last word to really mean something. This is a picky thing, I know.
I was really impressed with Campbell and her ability to write these characters in an unsentimental way that did not fall back on stereotypes. These are not yokels or rubes (even though some reviews seem to think so). They are real people. They aren't always making good decisions, or doing things that make the reader comfortable, but that's what makes them so, so good. I can see why Alan Heathcock liked this collection because it reminds me of Volt in many ways (though, as a collection, I think this one might actually edge Volt out for me...).
I find it interesting that anytime a collection comes out that showcases the lives of working class or lower working class people who live in a rural environment, it's immediately called "dark" and the characters "hopeless". I think it really depends more on the reader than the stories. These stories were a little gritty, but dark? I don't know. To me, they were real stories told in a beautiful and interesting way. If I didn't know they were set in Michigan, I would swear they were Appalachian, much like the stories in Volt. Of course, most people who read the best Appalachian fiction talk about it's dark qualities and the hopeless people, too. Maybe this is saying more about me than about the story. Maybe Appalachians have a different idea of "dark" or "hope".
One thing I did find interesting was the fact that Campbell, a woman, chose to make most of her stories in this collection center around male protagonists. This isn't a criticism; just a comment. You don't see that so often.
My favorite stories in the collection were "Winter Life", "The Yard Man", "The Inventor, 1972", and, most especially, "Family Reunion".
I'm not sure I'll go back and read the first collection by Campbell because I'm sure this one is better and I'd just be disappointed, but I might check out her novels.
I was really impressed with Campbell and her ability to write these characters in an unsentimental way that did not fall back on stereotypes. These are not yokels or rubes (even though some reviews seem to think so). They are real people. They aren't always making good decisions, or doing things that make the reader comfortable, but that's what makes them so, so good. I can see why Alan Heathcock liked this collection because it reminds me of Volt in many ways (though, as a collection, I think this one might actually edge Volt out for me...).
I find it interesting that anytime a collection comes out that showcases the lives of working class or lower working class people who live in a rural environment, it's immediately called "dark" and the characters "hopeless". I think it really depends more on the reader than the stories. These stories were a little gritty, but dark? I don't know. To me, they were real stories told in a beautiful and interesting way. If I didn't know they were set in Michigan, I would swear they were Appalachian, much like the stories in Volt. Of course, most people who read the best Appalachian fiction talk about it's dark qualities and the hopeless people, too. Maybe this is saying more about me than about the story. Maybe Appalachians have a different idea of "dark" or "hope".
One thing I did find interesting was the fact that Campbell, a woman, chose to make most of her stories in this collection center around male protagonists. This isn't a criticism; just a comment. You don't see that so often.
My favorite stories in the collection were "Winter Life", "The Yard Man", "The Inventor, 1972", and, most especially, "Family Reunion".
I'm not sure I'll go back and read the first collection by Campbell because I'm sure this one is better and I'd just be disappointed, but I might check out her novels.
October 21, 2015
I suspect Bonnie Jo Campbell is a rare writer indeed. There are not many authors telling the stories of the working poor in the U.S. and every other one I know of is a man. So I felt myself quite lucky to stumble upon these stories told by a woman and definitely with a woman's voice and perspective which is not always the case even when reading a female author. There was definitely a feminist tint to some stories but it's not necessarily an overriding theme. Subjects that crop up often were Y2K and survivalism, meth and other addiction and being burned. That's right, there's not a pretty yarn among them. But at the same time I would describe the stories as bleak or hopeless, just reflective. They weren't overbearing or preachy but played out in a measured way the small miseries and large tragedies of the lives of people that most authors never give a second glance to. For me that makes the stories all the more fascinating and precious.
January 17, 2014
Every now and then a collection comes along, so cohesive and wrenching, that it demands attention. Many collections these days are considered "linked," forming a loose novel, but this collection is more solidly linked through subject matter. The characters here represent people I'd probably cross the street to avoid, not giving them a second thought, but Campbell has imbued each with an inner life that transcends their hardscrabble, in many cases off-the-grid lives. She has a sure hand in writing about people so marginalized they seem irredeemable, and yet, I found myself pulling for many of them.
August 9, 2018
Favoritos:
La intrusa
El inventor, 1972
Las soluciones al problema de Brian
Reunión familiar
Belle vuelve a casa
Aviso de tormenta
Olor a verraco
La intrusa
El inventor, 1972
Las soluciones al problema de Brian
Reunión familiar
Belle vuelve a casa
Aviso de tormenta
Olor a verraco
September 23, 2024
Un hombre que se obsesiona con una serpiente, un atropello, una mujer que va a comprar un verraco... las historias de este libro son de gente corriente, losers en su mayoría, de la américa profunda.
La clave está en cómo Campbell crea atmósferas, cómo construye la psicología de los personajes para, en cualquier momento, pum, soltar una frase que lo cambia todo. Qué manejo de la técnica narrativa y qué habilidad para dosificar la información. Ni le sobra ni le falta una coma.
Algunos relatos me han rondado por la cabeza varios días. De lo mejor del año sin duda.
La clave está en cómo Campbell crea atmósferas, cómo construye la psicología de los personajes para, en cualquier momento, pum, soltar una frase que lo cambia todo. Qué manejo de la técnica narrativa y qué habilidad para dosificar la información. Ni le sobra ni le falta una coma.
Algunos relatos me han rondado por la cabeza varios días. De lo mejor del año sin duda.
January 1, 2025
Una entretenida colección de relatos de realismo sucio.
June 22, 2010
Filled w/ the scraps of clunkers, salvage yards dot the landscape and lie dormant on the periphery of a city's landscape. Bonnie Jo Campbell picks through the lives of the poor, the tired, the weak, the abused and the abusers metaphorically to suggest those discarded from mainstream America, those lives that comprise the throw away society, populate more than place; they live in the very soul of Americana.
In "American Salvage" resides a duality of meaning, for a salvage yard is more than a place to discard wasted vehicles, it is a place teeming with hope for those searching for just the right "part," one man's trash becoming another's treasure. To salvage, to save. This theme resonates in the act of writing, picking through the junk to find redemption.
These stories set in the rustbelt of Michigan echo throughout the Midwest and except for the rare naming of place, Ann Arbor, for example, could just as easily be Ohio, or another place in the midwest.
With sparse language and silent voices, Campbell fillets her characters' lives to give salvation to the lost and a sense of purpose through the act of storytelling. This is a beautiful, elegiac collection.
In "American Salvage" resides a duality of meaning, for a salvage yard is more than a place to discard wasted vehicles, it is a place teeming with hope for those searching for just the right "part," one man's trash becoming another's treasure. To salvage, to save. This theme resonates in the act of writing, picking through the junk to find redemption.
These stories set in the rustbelt of Michigan echo throughout the Midwest and except for the rare naming of place, Ann Arbor, for example, could just as easily be Ohio, or another place in the midwest.
With sparse language and silent voices, Campbell fillets her characters' lives to give salvation to the lost and a sense of purpose through the act of storytelling. This is a beautiful, elegiac collection.
October 15, 2012
Perspective is speculative are best, ignored at worst and sometimes Authors loose individual characters perspective when writing short stories, as the main characters can blend into one general person, each displaying a different facet of the same personality, and therefore perspective.
Bonnie has achieved a fantastic result with the reader feeling the poor dirty desperation, the hopeless shattering of dreams, realisation and revenge, and plain old love lost. Sometimes the level of unrecognized desperation rolling out with the words has you cringing at worst case scenarios playing out in your mind but its kept real, so instead they roll over and take a couple more kicks from life.
One thing, this is itself a back handed complement, is that i wished some of the stories would continue a little bit longer because i enjoyed the company of the characters and didn't feel completely happy with the conclusion.
I have a soft spot for Contemporary Amercan Lit, and when I continually pick up these amazing books... Well i am just so happy right now.
Bonnie has achieved a fantastic result with the reader feeling the poor dirty desperation, the hopeless shattering of dreams, realisation and revenge, and plain old love lost. Sometimes the level of unrecognized desperation rolling out with the words has you cringing at worst case scenarios playing out in your mind but its kept real, so instead they roll over and take a couple more kicks from life.
One thing, this is itself a back handed complement, is that i wished some of the stories would continue a little bit longer because i enjoyed the company of the characters and didn't feel completely happy with the conclusion.
I have a soft spot for Contemporary Amercan Lit, and when I continually pick up these amazing books... Well i am just so happy right now.
December 19, 2009
Y'know how you don't really believe Denis Johnson's addict characters in Jesus' Son? I don't really believe a lot of Bonnie Jo Campbell's characters. I don't know why. They're three dimensional characters who feel like real people; I think it's the disconnect between the extremely functional, fluid word-to-word writing she does, the way sentences and paragraphs are laid out, and the characters themselves- their desperation. Y'know? I don't know. I wasn't so into this.
March 8, 2015
Sad tales of meth addicts and Y2K preppers and the people who love them by an amazingly talented writer.
Note to self: Disaster is coming. Must lay in stores of bottled water, toilet paper and everything Campbell has written...
Note to self: Disaster is coming. Must lay in stores of bottled water, toilet paper and everything Campbell has written...
July 13, 2025
Bonnie Jo Campbell’s American Salvage is full of people living close to the edge of poverty, addiction and isolation, but the stories don’t exactly feel hopeless. There’s clarity in her prose, and a kind of rough dignity in the way her characters navigate wreckage without asking for pity. These are survival snapshots with redemption arcs.
I’ll mention two stories of the stories that have stuck with me in particular. In “The Inventor, 1972”, a hunter hits a teenage boy with his truck on a foggy road. The story stays with the driver as he tries to help, even as he’s coming apart inside. It’s turns into a moment of accidental intimacy that displays an emotionally rich backstory.
“Family Reunion” is sharper and colder. A girl named Marylou, recently mute after being abused by her uncle, goes to a family gathering where he’s present. She says nothing, but the story builds to [redacted].
There’s a clear-eyed compassion here. The wreckage is worth sifting through.
I’ll mention two stories of the stories that have stuck with me in particular. In “The Inventor, 1972”, a hunter hits a teenage boy with his truck on a foggy road. The story stays with the driver as he tries to help, even as he’s coming apart inside. It’s turns into a moment of accidental intimacy that displays an emotionally rich backstory.
“Family Reunion” is sharper and colder. A girl named Marylou, recently mute after being abused by her uncle, goes to a family gathering where he’s present. She says nothing, but the story builds to [redacted].
There’s a clear-eyed compassion here. The wreckage is worth sifting through.
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