This novel was thrilling, it artfully balanced all the essential ingredients for me: Discovery of a new author, from my home state and apparently people like me, spinning a powerful story out of fragments of history gleaned from her personal research. Missouri was an interesting place in the Civil war, there weren’t many pitched battles, but the wilder southern areas (the Ozark mountains) were a most dangerous place to live, regardless of sympathies. Guerilla confederate forces fought the Missouri Union militia who plundered their land in sort of free-for all. Old scores were settled in the chaos and many just disappeared, farms burned. Often homesteaders were caught between the “successionists” and the union armies, sometimes feeding one in the morning & the other at night. Women were enslaved without proper due process, and some taken to a horrific women’s prison in Saint Louis (my home city, whose history always interests me). My own family lore has a story of brother against brother & family disputes. Few Missourians were landowners with slaves, so the sympathy with the south was not about slavery, it was more tribal and due to antipathy to control by the often poorly supervised and opportunistic frauds claiming union credentials. Daniel Woodrell, another native son, has written great novels about our history.
Paulette Jiles was recently introduced to me, and what a thrill to realize we share some history & to discover her incredible writing talent. It is poetic, beautiful prose and she captures the heart of a young, strong heroine brilliantly. I’ll go out on a limb and say the spunky Adair Colley is one of the great female figures in literature. Jiles understands horses and the relationship of men and women with these beasts (angelic, she calls them, as they serve mankind faithfully even through war and danger. I was interested to read that Jiles’ first protagonist was stranded in prison after 80,000 words, and she relegated her to a minor character before a photograph of a dark-eyed woman gave her the creative vision for the stunning Adair that I just read about. I can recognize great writing, am envious as I can’t do it, but jolted with reality to realize how hard it must be even for the talented ones such as Jiles to invest so much effort into a character and then have to give it all up and throw in the towel. But what emerged is a powerful tale, a page-turner really, and with plenty of pain, bite and reality for me. These people suffered a lot, and the author does not sugar-coat, my heart was racing the whole time & I expected catastrophe. I can handle a great novel where nothing good emerges (I’m a McCarthyite for goodness sakes), but this author infused slivers of hope amongst the pathos, a rich broth infused with the smells, the mosquitoes, the nefarious characters making up the river beds of my native Mississippi river soils.
I like this book so much; I might write the author to share MO kinship & thank her for what she has given us. I read this along with my friend, also from MO, and can’t wait to discuss the details of it. I will also order one more of this brilliant author. Great female characters are not the common, this one is special. Another unique feature of this novel, which I loved, is that each chapter quotes from a historical source (e.g. letters written to family, actual military correspondence) which illustrates the authenticity of the story – this was not distracting in any way, in fact it embellished the experience for me. She quotes often from Feldman’s “Inside War” which I’ve had on my shelf for years, the story of Missouri’s civil war from the soldier’s perspective. I have my own family stories and history sources, so this kinship with the author was special.
This book certainly reminded me of Frazier’s Cold Mountain (which I also loved), the trauma and the long journey through the wilderness in the hope of finding a home that is likely no more, and a love interest that makes the reader hope for reconciliation and resolution and redemption.
p. 15, before the trauma, our tomboy heroine, fantasizing freedom in the outdoors: “There were only a few years left to her before she would have to marry and be closed up in a noisy house, trapped by domesticity. Adair dreamed often of the waste places and their silence. Places where nobody lived and so there would be no smoke and dirt and ceilings and mindless talking, only herself and the clean show and the way the world went at every cant and turn of the seasons, and herself riding through it.”
p. 22, first encounters with soldiers shows of Jiles’ superb prose: “They wore dark blue. They were young men from St. Louis or from the river towns. Their horses were ganted, rake thin, and the blue coats torn and faded, for they had been long in the field and the Ozark mountains were a geography that could beat men and equipment and horses all to pieces. The fenders and girths of their saddles were scarred and repaired with whang leather. They were hungry-looking and cold and rank, hanging loose in their saddles at a hard trot.” Does anyone else feel Cormac McCarthy here?
p. 63, from “Inside War”, “For northerners… the enemy was neither the plantation-owner nor his slaves but poor southern shite trash – ‘pukes’, as northerners liked to call them… Northern whites feared they too could be compelled back into a perceived impoverished barbarism, as they thought of the Pukes, away from the increasingly mature property and moral tidiness by which northern freemen justified their individual existence and purpose of their society. Perhaps at some unacknowledged level there was something enticing about a wilder, unstructured life.”
p. 251, Adair picks up TB in prison & her wild ride back home encounters so much, e.g. “…the sow bear had been tearing up the body of a man and she was so shocked she felt faint at first. He was strung all up and down the open glade, the arm and part of the torso torn loose, a checkered shirt ripped from the ribs, the skull with the hair nearly worn off it rolled into a stand of limestone where it took on the color of the rock except for the patches of deep auburn hair. The sow bear shook her head to loose one of the legs from the spine and it seemed half a man kicked and danced in her jaws.”
p. 256, these immigrants from England, Scotland and Irish highlands, fighting now an American civil war: “Adair listened and would have listened all night. The songs were like an intoxicating drink in their high romance, their extravagance, the ballads of the border people in their poverty and their bitter, violent pride. Tales of revenge and murder and lost loves, lost heroes and war.”
p. 297, post-war Missouri was as treacherous as ever, martial law still in place for 2 more years gave the Union (or Union-claiming) soldiers nearly free reign. Here a returning, traumatizing union officer watches the ferryman warily and muses about the future of mankind: “The world was very combustible, the human body was partible in ways heretofore unimagined. What held the civilized world together was the thinnest tissue of nothing but human will. Civilization was not in the natural order but was some sort of willed invention held taut like a fabric or a sail against the chaos of the winds. And why we had invented it, or how we knew to invent it, was beyond him.” (again, Cormac McCarthy-esque for me).
p. 298, Tragically beautiful writing about nature, man and the environs of my home state: “Men had striven against one another to control the unreeling river-road, battling at New Madrid and Island Number Ten, at Baton Rouge and Vicksburg, in the heat of the summer and the humid, choking air of the malarial swamps. But the river carried away men and guns and the garbage of war, covering it over, washing itself clean again as if they had never been. Neumann turned his face toward Missouri.”