At a recent book talk, I was excited to hear Appalachian stories. The writers were some of the best. Almost immediately, I was mesmerized by the first reader. But his story was one of tragedy. Death. I had heard of this writer for some time. The second reader, another well known writer, told the story of a beheading in the middle east. His style was gripping, the content made me sick. I could barely sit in my seat.
I thought I would wait a bit for the next reader to spin his yarn. More death, great writing. The fourth reader, the editor of this compilation of stories spoke a bit differently reading his own work. My stomach was uneasy. I had long waited for this evening. I thought it would be uplifting as Appalachia is. At least it is for me.
At a yoga class before our stretching began this morning, the conversation shifted to discuss this book whose title I shall not mention. I wouldn't want to injure these wonderful writers. I will not read their work. Not until the subject matter lightens.
"This is Appalachian writing today. It is dark," said my friend who taught math.
Other chimed in. I was hoping for the lightness of Rose Senehi, or some other writer. Then I reflected on this. What were the common themes in all of these writers? It was east. Their age. Few were over their mid forties and I suspect most were in their late thirties.
How sad this generation feels the darkness like this. Sad they can't see the beauty, the possibilities. Could it be they are reflecting their sense of doom in the world? One was clearly pro war in the middle east and I am at loss to understand this. Still, we all come from varying political ideologies. I wonder if he also has a confederate flag flying from his pick up truck.
I want to read these fellows. If nothing other than their technique, their craft at working the words but I will wait until their content softens. I do not know how I can get past the macabre of it all.
Nope, this is not my Appalachia. Mine is the Appalachia of possibilities.
Now.
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