Daniel Woodrell (1953–2025)

There are an even dozen stories in Daniel Woodrell's THE OUTLAW ALBUM (2011), and they are all pure Woodrell, oozing Appalachia and the poor and dispossessed of that region. I've been a cautious fan of his work ever since WINTER'S BONE - 'cautious' because his characters often border on the grotesque and his stories are so dark. I am reminded of the Flannery O'Connor I read back in grad school nearly sixty years ago. But Woodrell's grotesques seem so much more depressing. The worst offender show more here is "Uncle," told by a girl who watches her uncle entrap and rape young women who are tubing or canoeing on the river. But she fixes him good - payback for the times he molested her - with a mattock blow to the head, leaving him a drooling idiot she has to care for - until she doesn't. And in "The Echo of Neighborly Bones" an uppity neighbor is killed, over and over. And in "Night Stand," a Vietnam vet and his wife are confronted with a naked, growling man who breaks into their home at night. What he does and the identity of the invader are the driving force in that story.

All of the stories here seem to have a very dark side, yet they are also oddly compelling. I finished them all, wincing my way through their odd casts of characters and grotesque mini-plots. I'm still not sure if I like Woodrell, but I will hesitantly recommend this story collection, if you are already a Woodrell fan, that is. Have at 'em.

- Tim Bazzett, author of the memoir, BOOKLOVER show less

I ’ve seen Daniel Woodrell’s writing variously categorised as country noir, hillbilly noir and – my personal favourite – hick lit but I’m not sure any of these labels give an accurate picture of the sensibility a new reader might expect to encounter. For me it is – at least by the example of WINTER’S BONE – closer to something like misery lit without the redemptive ending.

That probably sounds harsher than I mean it to. Or maybe I do mean to be that harsh. I’m honestly not show more sure.

My difficulties stem in part from the book’s almost universal acclaim which set such high expectations. As I read I could not help but look for, and fail to find, the brilliant book I had been promised.

That’s not to say the book is bad.

Its heroine – a 16 year old called Ree Dolly – is a heartbreaker. The oldest child of a crank chef she has not a single one of the modern world’s advantages despite living in the globe’s ninth richest country. The book’s central dramatic premise is that Ree’s father has gone on the run after putting up the family’s meagre property as collateral for his bail. His failure to appear for his next court date will result in the loss of the house that Ree lives in with her drug-addled mother and two younger brothers whose care she is entirely responsible for. Ree’s desperation to save the home is only partly in pursuit of a roof over the family’s heads. She also believes that if she fails she will never be able to join the Army: the only escape available to someone in her circumstances. So she looks for her father in spite of the physical barriers (just getting around the remote and inhospitable location) and very real dangers posed by breaching the unwritten but well understood rules of engagement within the extended family community in which she lives.

The writing is evocative and for the most part gloriously sparse. This description of Ree setting off on the first step of her quest says in five sentences what other writers would take five pages to convey

She broke her own trail through the snow and booted the miles from her path. The morning sky was grey and crouching, the wind had snap and drew water to her eyes. She wore a green hooded sweatshirt and Mamaw’s black coat. Ree nearly always wore a dress or skirt, but with combat boots, and the skirt this day was a bluish plaid. Her knees kicked forward of the plaid when she threw her long legs forward and stomped the snow.

Woodrell also makes extensive use of a dialect that is at times as foreign to me as Swedish but somehow manages to be comprehensible as a whole while helping provide the sense of otherness the book drips with.

For this is not a world I know. The Missouri depicted here is physically and emotionally harsh. These Ozark mountains are not those of tourism brochures or cultural reclamation festivals and the people who populate the area have little room in their lives for the human courtesies I have taken for granted my entire life. Their choices aren’t so much limited as non existent – make drugs, take drugs or both. Insanity – Ree’s mother’s path – seems a sensible option. I have no trouble believing that the lives depicted here are entirely credible but I have no real understanding of how a person living anything vaguely similar in the real world would find the motivation to wake up each day.

And perhaps I should be happy with this. A great character, good writing and a glimpse into a world I can be profoundly grateful to never have encountered.

But, ornery creature that I am, it feels like there is something missing. It’s hard to put into words but the best I can come up with is that there is no change of tone in this novel. It starts out bleak and ends that way, with never any hint that things will be another way. I’ve always thought that what makes truly great noir is its offering of a glimmer of hope that things might not turn out badly this one time. Kind of like buying a lotto ticket: your head knows you’ve an infinitesimally small chance of winning but your imagination is temporarily sparked by the fleeting possibilities. WINTER’S BONE doesn’t offer that.

My conclusion then? That the novel is less than the sum of its parts. When considered independently each element of WINTER’S BONE is close to brilliant but as a whole it left me wanting something…just a little something…more. show less

'If there is any list of great books for this year, and this book isn't on it, then you'll know precise what that list is worth: plain nothing.'

A great story, elegantly structured with layer on layer of thin vignettes. Quirky characters succinctly introduced. Also, quirky without being wacky or grotesque.

Reminded me of McCarthy's *Orchard Keeper* or Johnson's *Train Dreams*. All three are examples of stories told about a way of life that's over, and what it means when its over--without show more nostalgia.

Ug. None of this is well said. The best recommendation I can make is the simple fact that I've stayed up to late in order to finish it; late past the point where I can express myself coherently. show less

Ree lives in a world that is far removed from my reality. There is an undercurrent of violence and danger that is always present. Ree is a tough cookie, as her Uncle Teardrop tells her "Folks have noticed the sand you got, girl". There are unwritten codes that the inter-connected families abide by, evidenced with lines such as "where a man's at ain't necessarily for you to know neither". There are some mean, unsavoury characters in this story which adds to the tension. The environment is show more harsh and unforgiving as well, the winter weather another element to contend with.
Wonderful writing. Lines like "Little Arthur was a little-man mix of swagger and tongue, with a trailing history of deeds that vouched for his posture". I finished this story relieved that I could walk away from a place where women have few choices and men are ruthless. Where a woman needs to knows her place, can be just as violent as the men, and lives in fear. Ree is tenacious, protective of her mother and two brothers, and willing to risk her life to get to the truth. A gruelling story that is horrific at times; the characters and world building are so well written that it is a great read. show less