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432 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 13, 2019


The author has not always taken such reactions positively. In June 2017, a mild criticism on Twitter about Hillbilly Elegy's limited potential as an instructional text from southern historian Karen L. Cox generated a sharp response from Vance himself: "Congratualtions on your appointment as the spokesperson for academia," he replied. Another user then congratualated him on his appointment as the "spokesperson for Appalachia." In response to this exchange, Cox, currently at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, and Emily Senefeld, a PhD candidate at the University of Virginia, started #therealappalachiasyllabus [on twitter].....Did the editor think that a casual reader would be interested in this or find it entertaining? I don't know, personally little moments like these made the book far less appealing.
I want to tell the story of a literary tradition filled with Johnnies who love to fool. This is a literary tradition that radically challenges national progress narratives bound up in classed forms of consumption, aesthetics, and material use. Anthropologist Kathleen Stewart theorizes West Virginia's coal towns as "a space on the other side of the road," a concept influenced by the bricoleur. She argues that space and the lived cultural poetics occurring therein can interrupt the expected and naturalized, thereby functioning as "back talk" to homogenizing nationalist myths. For the story of America can't help but turn in on itself, desiring at times"cut details, sensate memories, remainders and excess excluded from its own abbreviated account." If space and narrative are inextricable, then literary representations of Appalachia are "spaces in which signs grow luminous." Appalachia's literature is full of cut details and remainders-geographical, cultural, material, formal, and rhetorical-that can be read as gaps in the seamless rhetoric of progress. As characters like Johnnie resist adherence to dominant cultural and material norms, they simultaneously reject Appalachia's construction as a deficient national ward. As literary critics, our work produces knowledge. We are recyclers who love to fool with things repurposed, reused, and reassembled. These assemblages have the potential to counteract objectifying histories of Appalachian literature. From specific subject positions, critics pursue various investments by imagining the formal and political possiblities that American literary study offers.Even if I agree with what the essayists are saying, huge chunks of this work could have been edited away to make it much more palatable to casual readers who may be looking for criticism of Vance. The crossover of the person who enjoys a narrative like "Hillbilly Elegy" and the section I just quoted has to be small. As it is right now, it just seems like a vehicle for a few Appalachian academics to pat themselves on the back.
My new schoolmates query if my mother were also my sister. To be "Appalachia" was to be from somewhere else, to be a punchline.....You think there can't possibly be anything triggering about eploring a digital archive in class until your professor laughs, "Why would anyone want to read a novel set in Kentucky?" You come in from delivering a conference paper on an Appalachian poet and tell a fellow graduate student about it. Her response stings like a fresh switch across a bare bottom: "Oh, I didn't know you study incest." It is easy to begin feeling spiteful about incessant "what" and "why" questions. These are questions no one asks the Shakespeare, Emerson, or Faulkner scholar.Alot of essayists make the point to say that they eventually decided to fully accept their otherness, their family and their region, and have been able to make a successful life there as proof that Appalachia is not entirely populated by violent drug addicts.