"Strange as this Weather Has Been"

Let me tell you something before you go on and read this, thinking it's a run-of-the-mill review:
It's not.
I'm not gonna summarize it (go to this page if that's what you're looking for) or sing praises to it (okay, maybe I might do that a little); I just want to point out a few things....

Ann Pancake's novel, Strange as this Weather Has Been, is real, sad, and strong in so many ways that it's still flipping around in my head with me trying to get a good look at all of it.

Mountaintop removal -strip mining at its worst- is the backdrop of this novel set in southern West Virginia.

As usual, the folks who have lived in these hills for generations are being fucked three ways to Sunday by the coal companies (with the help of their bought-and-paid-for-politicians).

What is important here is that it's NOT historical fiction. This is happening NOW. Yes, really. RIGHT NOW.

That whole coal-company-fucks-local-folks-and-destroys/steals-everything-they-own (and then some) scenario was just something from history class, right?

Nope. It's still happening, only on a grander scale.

Near as I can tell, the facts of mountaintop removal are set out pretty clear and true. There is no ranting and raving or exaggeration. This is true. This is really happening. This book gives us an up-close view of what it really means. (The cover art is pretty darn cool, too.) You can learn more over at ilovemountains.org or Ann has a longer list of resources on her main page.

Mountaintop removal is disgraceful, but it couldn't be a novel all by itself, now could it?

Jayne Anne Phillips says, "Ann Pancake is Appalachia’s Steinbeck..."

That's a pretty strong sentiment, but I think I might just agree.

The family that centers this story is real. These are characters people who will live and breath for a very long time, just like the Joads. However, unlike the Joads, this family doesn't pick up and leave to seek something better, at least not as a whole and functioning unit.

If you're from West Virginia (does this phenomenon extend throughout Appalachia?), then I don't have to explain to you what I'm talking about. For those of you who are not, I'll try a cursory explanation: There's just something about West Virginia, some deep connection between the people and the place. Even if you've moved off and managed to make a go of it, likely you'd move back home in a minute if you could (could generally means a comparable job/income). Ann Pancake does a fantastic job of weaving this into the story; it's a major factor for a lot of us, whether we live here or not: moved away and came back (or moved away and can't wait to come back).

This bond to the land is a very real phenomenon; I don't know a native West Virginian who'd tell you any different.

Add to the mix a minimum wage job at the Dairy Queen and four kids and you're starting to get the idea.

There is no melodrama or bullshit. This isn't someone's made up fantasy land. This stuff is real.

It was the no-bullshit writing that drew me in, but it was the honest use of language that kept me in. The words and word order (word arrangements?) made me feel at home, like setting on the porch and listening to Gramma tell one of her stories, the lightning bugs flashing in the yard and the heat lightning off in the high clouds up over the hills.

I think Ann Pancake has succeeded in showing me the value of how we talk.

That's a big statement (even bigger, for me, than naming her Steinbeck), so let me back up and explain a little bit.

I have always claimed West Virginia as my 'Where are you from?' answer no matter where I went. I've always been proud to be from West Virginia, even when (maybe I should say 'especially when') folks asked me about outhouses and indoor plumbing. (Yes, I've really been asked about outhouses and indoor plumbing. Not just once or twice, either.) With that said, I also have to tell you that there's been an awful lot of times that I felt as if I were treated as less of a person because I'm from West Virginia. I never considered changing my answer, no matter how long I lived somewhere else, but I did change my speech. I got to the place (it didn't take long) where I considered it highly important to speak correctly - neutral accent, proper grammar, and no syllable dropping (You try saying something 'hillbilly' in front of a group of sophisticated, urbane folks and see if they don't drop right out of their polite airs and poke fun at you. I kid you not).

Avoiding ridicule in any form was a good motivator to change my speech patterns, but the most important reason -for me- was to 'set a good example.' Like saying, "I'm from West Virginia and I speak correctly" which, I suppose, is just a nice way of saying "I'm not a hick like you think I must be when you have to ask did I grow up with running water."

Writing this down makes it sound kinda' lame or embarrassing or...I don't know... something, but the fact of the matter is that there is a great deal of ignorance floating around about West Virginia (it can't be all bad, though, because it's kept a lot of folks out that we wouldn't want here anyway).

Okay, there's a lot more to write on this subject, but I'll leave it for now and come back around to what I mean about this novel. Ann uses our way of talking in a useful way. That's not saying it well, but I'm not sure how to say it. She uses our speech patterns as a way to make this work real. There is no ridicule, only truth.

Let me try again: She has shown me, in a new way, the value of our unique way of speaking. It's as if by validating our 'talk,' I have a new appreciation for our culture. It's like taking the 'history' out of 'culture & history' and plopping 'culture' right down in the here and now.

It feels as if my need to show other folks that I'm an intelligent, valid human being -West-by-God-Virginian - has been replaced by a need to get over the need to prove anything (and that always feels good).

This way of talking and being is mine -ours- and there's not a damn thing wrong with it.

I feel like it's a new freedom that leaves me open to write in a way that feels more real.

Yeah, this book really did that.