I love Appalachia. I love the accents that are as soft as summer rain. I love the fog that clings to the mountains like a gentle hug. I love the symphony of flowering trees that springtime rolls out—Redwoods, and Dogwoods, and Silver Bells. I love finding puddles popping with toads no bigger than your fingernail, and I love those mountains—ancient and full of secrets, and older than time itself. Mostly, though, I love the Appalachian people. Folks with names like Easter Jewel and Farra Glow, who fold you into hugs no matter how many times they see you and never let you forget how much you have to offer the world.
I love Appalachia, but ten years ago I had to leave Appalachia for the safety of one of my children. Our leaving was abrupt and ugly. It involved death threats and the ACLU and so many tears. We didn’t leave Appalachia so much as we were ripped from it; torn away with a violence that left us tending wounds for many years to come. But I never blamed Appalachia. I still don’t. I blame religion and I blame politics, but not Appalachia, not its people.
A couple of years ago I started writing a novel. Whenever I sat down to write, I found myself wandering those hills again, missing the way they sheltered us and made us feel wanted. I decided to write a novel set in Appalachia. A quiet horror story about the kinds of people I knew and loved there; bright and resilient and flawed and wonderful. I wanted to write a book that subverted the harmful stereotypes about the region. The media stereotypes about Appalachia are lazy and boring—low hanging fruit that gets plucked by the kinds of people who learned to feel big by making others feel small. People like JD Vance.
When Vance’s novel “Hillbilly Elegy” was released in 2016, I was working as a librarian in a small, progressive town on the coast of Maine. There were waiting lists for the book, people were excited and wanted to talk about it. They wanted to know if I’d read it and what I thought. The answer to that first question, then and now, was no. I have not read the book and I never will because JD Vance is not Appalachian, at least not in the way he wants you to believe. He is not a champion for the working class. He does not have a nuanced understanding of generational poverty or the despair it breeds. What JD Vance has is naked contempt. Contempt for the poor, for those struggling with addiction, for fat people, and single mothers and anyone who has ever relied on the system he admits saved his life. There are many excellent books about Appalachia written by authors from the region. “Hillbilly Elegy” is not one of them.
Here is a list of Appalachian books and media that are worth your time.
“Demon Copperhead” by Barbara Kingsolver is a raw and engrossing exploration of the opioid crisis inflicted on Appalachia by pharmaceutical companies. Read it in conjunction with “David Copperfield” by Charles Dickens, the story Kingsolver based it on, for a deep dive into boys born into unimaginable circumstances in places they love fiercely in spite of the trauma they experience there.
“The Battle of Blair Mountain: The Story of America's Largest Labor Uprising” by Robert Shogan covers a sadly overlooked piece of American history. In 1921, 10,000 coal miners in West Virginia banded together to fight for better working conditions. Learn why the term “redneck” symbolizes racial unity and workers’ rights and the extreme measures the government was prepared to take to silence the movement.
“Appalachian Reckoning: A Region Responds to Hillbilly Elegy” edited by Anthony Harkins and Meredith McCarroll features the voices of Appalachian people responding to Vance’s book and the harm it has perpetuated against the region.
“Appalachian Elegy” by bell hooks is surely the title Vance coopted for his own book, but this is the elegy you should read. The poetry of bell hooks is clear and devastating and rooted in a sense of place. It is a tangled look at a complicated region through the eyes of one of its most important poets.
“Affrilachia” by Frank X Walker is another collection of poetry by another Black Appalachian poet that will broaden your understanding of how complex Appalachian culture is.
“Uneven Ground: Appalachia Since 1945” by Ronald D Eller is an astute and often profound history of the region if you want to learn more about how politics and policy shaped modern Appalachia into what it is today.
The Appalachian Trilogy by Silas House is comprised of three novels A Parchment of Leaves, The Coal Tattoo, and Clay’s Quilt and spans 100 years and multiple generations of an Appalachian family. Authentic, gorgeous, and painful, House is the first openly gay Kentucky Poet Laureate and his work is unforgettable.
“Even As We Breathe” by Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle was written by a teacher at a high school where 30% of students are Native. She wrote her novel, set in WWII era Appalachia, for them, and is the only member of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians with a published novel.
Podcast: Appodlachia For on-point analysis about modern Appalachia that is charming, funny, and fun, subscribe to the Appodlachia podcast wherever you listen to podcasts. You will not regret it.
