This is just me, this is just me, so hold your horses!
I’m not saying that this isn’t a brilliant work of fiction—it certainly is. I’m just saying it’s not for me. First, we have a devil dude as the hero. I can maybe handle a devil if I open myself up to magical realism, which is tough, but I can do it if I try really hard. But I have a cow if a book is full of the word “god,” and here it’s all over the place. I mean it seems like the name came up a million times. I know the book is not trying to convince us of the goodness of some higher being, since so many terrible things happen. And I know that one of the things it’s trying to show is the super scariness of mobs that go on witch hunts. I just really don’t like a book whose characters are god-fearing folk. Which also leads me to say that I don’t like folksy either, and there’s a lot of that in Breathed, Ohio.
Here’s a sample:
“I feel bad for ‘em, I really do, but some say it’s God punishin’ ‘em for their lifestyle. Maybe He is, punishin’ ‘em. . . . It makes ya think maybe God is tellin’ ‘em to stop coming’ together. Maybe He’s tellin’ ‘em to stay apart.” She patted the sides of her neck. “Lordy, this heat has a fury, don’t it?”
So while I stand here at my Complaint Board, I might as well finish it up right now. We all know I want to. Okay, besides the devil and god driving me nuts, oh, and let’s not forget the god(!)-awful folksiness, the Southern dialect got on my nerves. Along with the dialect comes the bad grammar, like “how did you like them apples”? Of course it hurt my editor ears, but I can get into the swing of things if it seems realistic. Here, the problem isn’t just the bad grammar but the fact that the narrator only uses it sometimes. Most of the time, he sounds like this erudite storyteller. Does he have bad grammar or doesn’t he?
This all brought me to a big a-ha moment: I don't like Southern fiction! Or Midwest fiction or whatever it is. (The story actually takes place in Ohio even though it feels like the South.) And I didn't even know I didn’t like Southern or Midwest fiction until the dialogue and folksiness and God stuff all started bombarding me at once. I winced in pain.
The other big thing that turned me off was that this book is chock full of parables. Again, sort of an a-ha moment for me—I really hate parables. It felt like the author wanted to sit me down and teach me a thing or two about life. I’m always up for learning, but please don’t shove life lessons down my throat. Sometimes there was wisdom being thrown my way, and I accepted it happily, but usually I was very conscious that I was there to learn an important lesson. I just resent the hell out of that learning format.
Although the language was very rich, it was a little too rich for me. I’d find myself having to stop and contemplate too often. This isn’t a bad thing, but it made it a hard and slow read. I thought sections could be great stand-alone pieces, long prose poems maybe. But since I had signed up for a novel, I wasn’t loving the interruptions to the plot. I wasn’t dying to pick up the book, because I knew I’d have to think too hard. Call me lazybones, but it really did make my head hurt.
One more small complaint and then I’ll walk away from the Complaint Board, I promise. There are these Russian words written in the Russian alphabet scattered throughout, but super infrequently. So infrequently, that at one point I decided they were typos—someone during Kindle production must have occasionally hit the wrong alphabet set. Right when I was reminding myself to send a note to the Kindle people when I finished the book, one of the characters asks another character what was up with the Russian words. What??? What are Russian words doing in the middle of a Southern or Midwestern novel? This is just all wrong. I suspect the writer did this to add some weirdness to it, and weird it was, but it’s pretty bad when you think the book has font problems and it doesn’t.
Okay, now I am staring at the Joy Jar. The language, oh the language. To die for. Truly, the writing is phenomenal. There are paragraphs that I could read over and over (not any of the paragraphs that say God God God of course). The author has a very bizarre and cool way of seeing things, and the metaphors just slayed me. The author is so original, so creative, I was in awe. Even the names were fun: The dad was named Autopsy. The brother was named Grand.
Here are some sample goodies:
“He was more field than town. More old soul pasture than adolescent attitude.”
“…there is no hope to be had. Hope is just a beautiful instance in the myth of the second chance.”
“My hands were still shaking, little vibrations as if they were being chewed on by gnats.”
“He stood there, watching me scratch my chin through my beard. I stopped because he began to look worried I may have fleas.”
“Old Fedelia’s way to cool down was by licking her forearms. There she’d be, the shades of her eyes pulled half closed, her tongue amphibiously long and aggressive. ‘Kangaroos, you stupid boy. Kangaroos.’ Her amber eyes lit with rage as she shook her forearms at me when I asked why she licked them.”
“Because of him and the anger she held onto, her features reached home to their bones, causing cave and shadow.”
Besides the language, the plot was juicy, if not sad, dark, and strange. I really do love dark and strange. And there are some hefty issues happening here—racism, gayness, AIDS, mob psychology, good vs. evil, sibling love. The characters were well-drawn and complicated.
The story is told by a strange old man who is looking back to a sweltering summer in 1984. Occasionally, we see him in the present, and we learn why he is who he is. The author really made this narrative style work.
I tried, I really tried. So many of my trusted Goodreads friends just loved this book, I wanted to be part of the crowd. But, hey, look--my Complaint Board is way fuller than my Joy Jar. So 3 stars it is. But as I said at the start, it’s just me. I have trouble with God and devil stuff, parables, and folksy. I’m thinking most readers will scarf it down in glee.