Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver: A review

Barbara Kingsolver's latest is essentially her retelling of Charles Dickens' David Copperfield set in the southern Appalachian Mountains of Virginia. The main character of her opus was named Damon by his teenage mother but, of course, that was easily turned into "Demon" by the other kids.

Demon was born to a single mother in a single-wide trailer. His mother was a troubled adolescent who had not the first clue about caring for a baby. Demon inherited his good looks from his father who had died before he was born. Part of those looks was his distinctive copper-colored hair.

Demon soon became a ward of the state's foster care system. As such, he experienced an often traumatic existence, but from somewhere - either genes or some of his caregivers along the way - he developed a strong instinct for survival. In school, it was discovered that he had some athletic talent and that helped to smooth his way through the system.

Kingsolver tells her story through Demon's voice. The narrative is unsparing in its recitation of all the perils that he faced. Some of his foster parents forced him into child labor. The schools that he attended could be most kindly described as derelict.

After he was injured playing sports for his high school, he became addicted to painkillers. He had a long battle to overcome that addiction. He had some disastrous romantic entanglements and crushing personal losses. But that instinct for survival kicked in and he was able to overcome his challenges and setbacks.

This is quite a lengthy book of more than 600 pages and a LOT happens in it, all of which makes it a bit difficult to adequately sum up, but Barbara Kingsolver is such a terrific writer that the book never seems long. She keeps the action moving.

In all that action, she takes us to some dark and depressing places but there is so much beauty in her telling of it that one never feels overwhelmed, never feels frustrated, or wants to hurl the book against the wall. What writing talent it takes to achieve that and to make the reader feel empathy for these characters, some of whom are not that attractive.

I've already noticed that this book has a spot on most of the "best of 2022" lists that appear at this time of year. It would appear on my "best of" list as well. Another winner from Barbara Kingsolver.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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