Where's the GPS? Wrong Turn in Ohio

It's the word, holler, that gets to me. You can still hear it around here to describe the ramshackle houses under the Normanskill bridge or other self-contained clans further down the Hudson River. You tell your children not to go there; you wonder if the town's school bus picks up any of them and takes them to classes rather than BOCES. These are places where sexual offender lists are interchangeable with the telephone directory, where census agents never appear.

Such is Knockemstiff, Ohio, as referenced in one review of the stories as "an alternative universe to the American dream." Yes, bloggers, the place creates the people who inhabit it. Even when characters, in their drugged out cravings, head off to California, they never make it outside of the county. Each story tells of fights, unemployment, every imaginable variation of illegal substances and illicit sexual encounters. The populace is marginalized and not trapped in poverty and ignorance, but completely acclimated to it.

This is author Donald Ray Pollock's first novel. It is his home town and he worked in both its hog slaughtering plant and paper mill, now both long gone. He must have known, first hand, of events and families such as these. I cannot say this book was a good pick for our 50 states. The Plains Dealer called it "a great read about a bad place." I would say it is rather an exercise that shows an author can write well about the most sordid aspects of life. But then I don't read de Sade. Somewhere else I saw a reference that Knockemstiff could trace its roots to Winesburg, Ohio. If that is the case, it must be kudzu. I suggest we add Winesburg as a more acceptable alternative town to visit; go to Knockemstiff only if you fancy a detour into Hieronymous Bosch.