Scott McClanahans short, impressionistic biography of a place has a few strikes against it right out of the bullpen. Its from a small press in Columbus, Ohio; its by an unknown author from West Virginia; and its got a hideous cover.
But readers should persevere, because Crapalachia is the genuine article: intelligent, atmospheric, raucously funny and utterly wrenching.
McClanahans setting is the hollows of West Virginia, places of moonshine and dilapidated churches. Flyspeck towns had known a breaking-even prosperity until the mines started closing. It was all gone now, were told. There were only mountains and a twisty-turny road with chug holes so deep you could bury your baby inside of them.
McClanahans stories, which read like a hybrid of fact and fantasy, are full of characters like Six Toed Russell (Russell was always good at math); foreign-exchange student Tiertha Timsina, who arrived knowing only two words of English; and the authors friend Lee Brown, who once drove to Lewisburg so he could sit in a trust-fund hippie restaurant and order a 15 dollar hamburger (raised without steroids or preservatives). And everybody has a favorite story to tell about the Greenbrier Ghost or the folklore of Sewell Mountain.
The heart of these stories is McClanahans relationship with Uncle Nathan, with his eyes as blue as Christmas tree lights, and saucy, melodramatic Grandmother Ruby, whos constantly imagining her approaching demise: She told me that it wasnt a man or a woman, but it was the angel of death all right. She said that the angel was smiling at her. The angel had black teeth and I believed her. The antics of these two characters and the authors uncomplicated love for them makes their deaths in the course of these stories all the more piercing.
McClanahan chooses his material and shifts his registers like a master musician. Although the narrative is full of boisterous stories about troll dolls, crotchless panties and Rubys chicken and gravy (bubbling up all brown and beautiful), theres also some hard-won pain in these pages and some evocative writing: Let us pretend that we will never die. Let us meet at this address a thousand years from now. Let us meet in Danese alive and not dead, alive and not dead, alive and not dead.
When McClanahan is in grade school and learns of the South losing the Civil War, he daydreams: Imagine if we would have won. Imagine Crapalachia as the center of the world. Imagine skyscrapers rising from the mountains. Readers who find this captivating book will have no trouble imagining Crapalachia as the center of the world – at least for 170 pages.