The author relates his memories of growing up in the 1940s and 1950s in the Allegheny Mountains as the son of a churchless Methodist minister and a fifth-grade schoolteacher
A good measure of this book's appeal for me is the setting. This is a memoir about growing up in my own hometown. McKain's evocation of the wooded mountains of northern Pennsylvania's oil country conjures up big emotions for me--it's home, and it's an area that doesn't merit much attention from anyone else anywhere. Literary mentions of people and places I know are not common happenstances in my normal reading life.
Going in, my expectations weren't high: small town author, sticky sweet title, yada yada. But the story was written with great poignancy, especially since I'm aware that in later years the author fell victim to the same dementia that he describes in the book, afflicting both his mother and grandmother.
The further I got into reading this book, the less I liked the narrator--which makes enjoying an autobiography almost impossible. He seemed so uncaring and oblivious at times, especially regarding his narcissistic, unpredictable father. I couldn't fathom why he would crave the attention of a man who would beat his wife in his son's presence without a modicum of remorse. I also couldn't understand why the son never tried to intervene. Spellbound got glowing reviews, but not from this reader. It's just an unhappy book.