"Grandpa told me that a man who wears a cross can’t be trusted. Nor can a man who prays before one. He didn’t like crosses, my grandpa Shoemaker. What he liked was burning them."
"These self-righteous social justice warriors who think they have a monopoly on intelligence. They are the blindest of the blind, no different from Christians. That’s the ironic thing they’ll never admit. They’re just like Christians, with all their egalitarian moral bul***it. And just like Christianity, these liberal PC zealots have inserted themselves into policing private thought and speech. They want to shame us whites into submission, into guilty, passive little geldings who will just hand over the world without a shot fired. ... The Western world once had empires. And we p**sed them away. Bad times breed hard people. Hard people make good times. Good times breed soft people. Soft people lose everything. In two hundred years, we went from racial manifest destiny to slicing our own throats with leftist bul***it."
LADY CHEVY is a work of cool, cruel, beautiful ugliness that doubles as a valuable window into which those outside deepest, darkest Appalachia can see how those inside it can sound completely reasonable and completely Trumpy at the same time. It is completely authentic and completely of its moment, and deserves a readership as wide as its nonfiction analogue.
I especially enjoyed it for how it subverted character tropes. One of two point-of-view characters, teenager Amy Wirkler, is fat, isolated, marginalized, kin to a weak father, a mother who blithely justifies her open infidelity, an uncle who's kind, supportive, educated and full of racist, eugenicist filth. But she's no passive victim. When her best friend, a boy on whom she's long harbored an unrequited love, ropes her into an act of revenge that goes tragically sideways, Amy surprises both of them by uncovering a hidden steel core of cold determination to survive. One that threatens anyone who threatens to run afoul of her goal to get out of town, go to a good college, become a veterinarian and leave her dead-end life and dead-end Ohio town far behind. As she says once she realizes who she really is: "There’s a power I didn’t know I had, a black unfurling in my heart that terrifies me."
The other POV character, local cop Brett Hastings, is a Nietzsche-worshiping sociopath whose dark words and deeds are housed in a blandly handsome exterior. He's pretty sure Amy is behind the dark deeds in town that he himself isn't behind, but the suspense likes in what he'll do with that knowledge — or what he WON'T do with it. (One of the novel's trope-busting surprises is that a fellow cop who knows is exactly who did what to who is marginalized as a dismissible loudmouth idiot.) Hastings has his own ideas about justice, a mishmash of canonical philosophers and his own darkly ethical amorality, but they all come back to center on white male power.
Think about how you'd feel about dealing with a cop who thinks like this: “I started grad school. Like undergrad, it immediately struck me as a kind of kindergarten for the immature. It did not prepare a man for life. Not only did it assume the desirability of social justice, but it also necessarily assumed the existence of cosmic justice. It never touched reality at any point. It’s a fantasy world built on bad art, bad myths.” That, and "Whether they accept it or not, women respond to power, both subtle and overt expressions of force. It’s in their natures, their biological drives. I learned a long time ago that love isn’t real, and that I would have a very hard life if I expected cats to learn how to bark, and dogs to learn how to meow.”
While LADY CHEVY honors the form of the crime novel — there are murders, there's an investigation, there are high stakes and there's much suspense over the fate of the POV characters — it is as much a social-issues novel in the McTEAGUE or ARROWSMITH model. And that dark weight is underscored by darkly beautiful prose that manages, mostly, to avoid that pungent whiff of critique-averse workshop prose that often permeates MFA writing. Examples:
"He measures his own time in the frothy snap of aluminum tabs."
"I don’t touch him. I cannot save him. But I stay with him. It strikes me all as very unimpressive, very biomechanical, his severed veins like slit wires, the heart a collapsing valve, his brain a cracked battery. The blood, all that blood, is just oil, lubrication."
"She loves the old black-and-white romances, when men were men and smoked cigars and wore trench coats and suspenders and spoke firmly while peering from under fedora brims. She once told me that when she was a little girl, she wanted to be kissed like how Humphrey Bogart kissed Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. She wanted to be gripped by the shoulders, thrown up against the wall, shook a little before being squeezed and loved full on the mouth. I wonder if her first kiss went this way, if it was everything she wanted. And all these other men now, does she give them instructions? Does she even have a say at all, with all her bruises and scratches, all her hurt? My mom doesn’t look for love in all the wrong places, I’ve decided, nothing stupid like that. She lucked out with Dad, a good man, comparatively. She’s just always empty, hungry. And it makes sense, in its own way. Her father is also a lover of the classics."
"When she sees it’s me, she stops, keeps half her body hidden behind the oak door, and studies me with disinterested appraisal, the look of a bitter woman who’s worked hard to tailor herself into the mechanizations of a man’s world. There’s a hatefulness to her that has always discomforted me, both a model and a warning to all us ambitious girls."
And one that seems to act as a thesis statement to this novel: "After these incidents, the bullying decreased. It was a valuable lesson, a realization I should have accepted years ago. Violence has a way of settling things."
*****
One other thing about LADY CHEVY:
In all the talk about writers appropriating the voices and experiences of others that they have not lived, one principle has emerged: "It's OK to render the experiences of people you aren't, just don't mess it up." I mention this because in LADY CHEVY, a white male author has decided to write in the voice of a female teenager, and one with deep-seated body issues to boot. There's a lot of talk about the size and shape of her body, and about her breasts. I'm not rendering judgment on it; as a white male I am distinctly unqualified. In my eyes, the teen-girl POV voice is not used to prurient "male gaze" effect. Your mileage may vary. Consider this a trigger warning.