The year is 1929, and newlyweds George and Serena Pemberton travel from Boston to the North Carolina mountains where they plan to create a timber empire. Although George has already lived in the camp long enough to father an illegitimate child, Serena is new to the mountains--but she soon shows herself to be the equal of any man, overseeing crews, hunting rattle-snakes, even saving her husband's life in the wilderness. Together this lord and lady of the woodlands ruthlessly kill or vanquish all who fall out of favor. Yet when Serena learns that she will never bear a child, she sets out to murder the son George fathered without her. Mother and child begin a struggle for their lives, and when Serena suspects George is protecting his illegitimate family, the Pembertons' intense, passionate marriage starts to unravel as the story moves toward its shocking reckoning.
Rash's masterful balance of violence and beauty yields a riveting novel that, at its core, tells of love both honored and betrayed.
The Gift of Silence: An Essay by Ron Rash
When readers ask how I came to be a writer, I usually mention several influences: my parents’ teaching by example the importance of reading; a grandfather who, though illiterate, was a wonderful storyteller; and, as I grew older, an awareness that my region had produced an inordinate number of excellent writers and that I might find a place in that tradition. Nevertheless, I believe what most made me a writer was my early difficulty with language.
My mother tells me that certain words were impossible for me to pronounce, especially those with j’s and g’s. Those hard consonants were like tripwires in my mouth, causing me to stumble over words such as “jungle” and “generous.” My parents hoped I would grow out of this problem, but by the time I was five, I’d made no improvement. There was no speech therapist in the county, but one did drive in from the closest city once a week.
That once a week was a Saturday morning at the local high school. For an hour the therapist worked with me. I don’t remember much of what we did in those sessions, except that several times she held my hands to her face as she pronounced a word. I do remember how large and empty the classroom seemed with just the two of us in it, and how small I felt sitting in a desk made for teenagers.
I improved, enough so that by summer’s end the therapist said I needed no further sessions. I still had trouble with certain words (one that bedevils me even today is “gesture”), but not enough that when I entered first grade my classmates and teacher appeared to notice. Nevertheless, certain habits of silence had taken hold. It was not just self-consciousness. Even before my sessions with the speech therapist, I had convinced myself that if I listened attentively enough to others my own tongue would be able to mimic their words. So I listened more than I spoke. I became comfortable with silence, and, not surprisingly, spent a lot of time alone wandering nearby woods and creeks. I entertained myself with stories I made up, transporting myself into different places, different selves. I was in training to be a writer, though of course at that time I had yet to write more than my name.
Yet my most vivid memory of that summer is not the Saturday morning sessions at the high school but one night at my grandmother’s farmhouse. After dinner, my parents, grandmother and several other older relatives gathered on the front porch. I sat on the steps as the night slowly enveloped us, listening intently as their tongues set free words I could not master. Then it appeared. A bright-green moth big as an adult’s hand fluttered over my head and onto the porch, drawn by the light filtering through the screen door. The grown-ups quit talking as it brushed against the screen, circled overhead, and disappeared back into the night. It was a luna moth, I learned later, but in my mind that night it became indelibly connected to the way I viewed language--something magical that I grasped at but that was just out of reach.
In first grade, I began learning that loops and lines made from lead and ink could be as communicative as sound. Now, almost five decades later, language, spoken or written, is no longer out of reach, but it remains just as magical as that bright-green moth. What writer would wish it otherwise.
Ron Rash has melded richly developed characters,the type that I thought passed with the masters of old, and encased them in a highly readable, interesting, yet, unusual setting. I've always read a lot of fiction, but recently, I've found much of it formulaic and lacking satisfaction. This book changes my opinion. I must not have been looking in the right places. The storyline is set in the Depression Era in the Asheville, North Carolina area in a lumber camp with a cast of characters that you constantly struggle to understand whether you like them, admire them or just downright despise them. Some will become your strength, some your mortal enemies, some your alter ego and still others are just bit players used to enhance the narrative - a very unique way to do this.
There are several subplots taking place and one is told from a perspective that I've not seen before - how the purchase of land for a National Park (The Great Smoky Mountains) could cause such hardship for so many.
I found myself struggling through the first twenty-five pages trying to find a rhythm with the author, as my first inclination - as it is with so many of today's fiction dramas - was to blow through this book: reading through the descriptive phrases and latching onto the quotations in and effort to read it without much time being spent. That would have been a tremendous mistake. The writing is so beautiful, that I was finding myself going back to re-read many sentences just for the beauty of the descriptions and metaphors. So I settled into a little slower rhythm, extending my reading time based on the number of words per minute, but allowing the richness of the story to take me into its world. I was missing the dynamics of the writing and the flow of the description designed by the author at the faster reading speed. And with this book, making it last longer is a good thing.
Never having heard of Ron Rash, I was surprised by the style and fullness of the characterizations. This is one fine book that carries the reader's interest throughout the entire book right up to the last page. I compare this to "Cold Mountain" in the way the story is told and how well it is written. It had the same feel to me.
Highly recommended to the discerning tastes.
writes,
During the Depression in Appalachia, wealthy lumber baron George Pemberton returns from Boston to Waynesville, North Carolina accompanied by his new wife, the orphan Serena. Waiting for him to disembark from the train is his sycophant partners, pregnant teenage kitchen hand Rachel Harmon and her outraged father. A drunken Harmon demands Pemberton take care of the child he sired. Instead encouraged by Serena, George kills him as he knows he is above the law.
Pemberton destroys the land and its people and his wife Serena is as evil and avaricious as he is. She insures Rachel is scorned by everyone and that the brat once born remains the bastard he or she is. Meanwhile Serena also obtains the undying loyalty of foreman Galloway whose life she saved; he becomes her slave willing to kill anyone if she asks; however George actually likes having a son adoring Jacob and angering his wife.
This is an intriguing look at the Depression from various perspectives. Especially fascinating is the poignant glimpse at horrific working conditions that make a case for a strong OSHA and yet in spite of the danger of death and maim the workers have forged a club like solidarity (mindful of soldiers in war conditions). Although the key cast is stereotyped; the Pembertons especially Serena are evil caricatures of the abuse of wealth while in contrast poor single mom Rachel is kind and noble, fans will appreciate this powerful 1930s drama.
Harriet Klausner
writes,
This story is a work of historical fiction, set in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina during the onset of the Great Depression. The primary characters are a lumber baron and his wife, and the story revolves around their lust and greed. Also featured in the book are historically real individuals who worked for the creation of the Great Smokey Mountain National Park.
While the story meanders at times in the beginning, the pace builds with each passing page. It reminded me in many ways, metaphorically, of a mountain stream. It begins slowly, gaining speed with each passing foot. In addition, there are rapids, waterfalls and still pools; each of which adds to the dimension and beauty of the stream. This story is similar and has still pools, rapids and waterfalls as well. It became apparent to me, as I read, that like the mountain stream, there is a faster and straighter way to go, but in the end it would not have the same beauty.
The story invokes questions about the environment, greed, lust, corruption, the human condition and a number of other factors. It does not try to answer the questions, but poses them to the reader so the reader can ponder them at their leisure, which reminded me of other great works of fiction. I am sure this is a story that will eventually be studied and taught in literature courses throughout the country.
It is evident that the author took years to research the book and spent time polishing the story so that every word was perfect. This is a masterpiece work that is sure to live on in the coming years. I highly recommend purchasing it, as it is a work that can be read on numerous occasions, with each reading adding to the story.
