They have some curious language, these coal-mining Kentucky families from the 20th century. They say"craps" for crops and eat some kind of birds "dommers" that I can't even find a definition for. They keep having baby after baby even though they can't feed the babies they already have. ( )

The first thing you notice about this story of the depression era in the mining towns of Eastern Kentucky is the beauty of the writing itself and the genuine flavor of the dialog. James Still captures the stark, almost hopeless, situation of the families, while simultaneously showing the strength and endurance of the individuals and their connections to one another. I was struck by the generous nature of the people, who scraped into their near-empty larders to help one another survive their common perils.

One of the themes explored here seems to be the separation of man from nature. As the family is pulled from working fields on farms to living in camps and working coal mines, they seem to be separating themselves from a birthright and a bond that even they themselves do not understand.

The earth parted; it fell back from the shovel plow; it boiled over the share. I walked the fresh furrow and balls of dirt welled between my toes. There was a smell of old mosses, or bruised sassafras roots, of ground new-turned.

The share rustled like drifted leaves. It spoke up through the handles. I felt the earth flowing, steady as time.

There is also the conviction that whatever happens, however difficult or unjust, life continues. Indeed, it springs up from death itself.

Shot so his life's blood flowed a river. Yonder, up Lean Neck where the road comes off the hill and crosses the creek, years ago. The spot is marked, I hear. Marked peculiar. A locust post was driv on the spot, and I hear it tuck root.

That tree is a reminder of the spot of a death, but it is also a reminder that life, and family, continue. The locust tree itself rises from a post, unintentional and improbable, but determined and strong.

There is a thread of humor that runs through the novel as well that offsets the bleak conditions and reinforces the idea that even though the life is hard, the people are not necessarily unhappy. They are, in fact, accepting and uncomplaining; strong and rugged, even the children.

After several unsatisfying reads, it was a joy to open a book and find a voice that resonated, a world that seemed authentic, and a narrator who could convey his experiences with meaning and honesty. My thanks to the Southern Literary Trail for another dynamite read.
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How do you review a book that is so unique, considered a classic, and offer up what hasn't already been said?

You don't. You don't try to recreate what's already there. That would be like saying, I'm going to invent a car! (how many variations are out there today?)

What I will say is this book has my heart. It wasn't always an easy read because Still wrote his story in the manner of speech used decades ago. I imagine there are areas today where it exists. I'd love to go visit and sit and just listen. I found it a fascinating "study" of a long ago language and way of life. Likely the most accurate account of both ever.

It tells the story of a young seven year old boy living with his siblings, older sister Euly, younger brother Fletch, parents, and a variety of family members who drop in and out of their lives, and home throughout the story. It tells of the challenge of mining, camp life, a mother's wishes and desires, and a father's need to reconcile the knowledge of taking food out of his children's mouths to help out other family members in need. Therein lies the friction between mother and father, keenly observed by the young boy.

Highly recommend. An authentic capture of a bygone life. ( )

’Mother was on the rag edge of crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting down nowhere for good and all, searching for God knows what,” she said. “Where air we expecting to draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever I’ve wanted to set us down in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring, with room to swing arm and elbow, a garden-piece for fresh victuals, and a cow to furnish milk for the baby. So many places we’ve lived – the far side one mine camp and next the slag pile of another.”’

A refrain that was probably heard in many homes in 1940s Appalachia. Coal mining and its faster money supplanting farming as a way of life, but though the money was faster, living was uglier in a coal town. And the need was diminishing, diggers being let go, mines shutting down. Life decisions. A hard life, whichever route you took, births, deaths. The narrator is a young son of the family in this story. The author, James Still, lived his whole life in Appalachia, and it makes me wonder if this story isn’t somewhat biographical. I found this a fascinating slice of life from a not-too-distant time and a place changed, for better or worse, by coal mines. From Brother Mobberly’s sermon:

”Oh, my children, where air we going on this mighty river of earth, a-borning, begetting, and a-dying – the living and the dead riding the waters? Where air it sweeping us?” ( )

James Still beautifully captures the the heart of Appalachia. It was entirely engaging from start to finish. I was worried with all the poverty and human struggle and pain This book would be depressing, but was not. It was inspiring. Highly recommend. ( )