Yellowhammer Press

Much of the work we discuss here isn’t new.   We’re not solely concerned with new books, new authors, or new artists.  I learned firsthand that educating oneself about actual Southern art — more than just ceramic roosters — is a process that requires some digging.  Investigate on your own, teach yourself about what Southern art was and is and maybe ought to be.  Discover writers you’ve never read and artists you’ve never considered.  “New” is great but it’s a precarious place to start.

Ron Rash’s Chemistry and Other Stories isn’t new.  It’s a couple of years old, but it wears them well.  Rash is a professsor of Appalachian Cultural Studies at Western Carolina University, and his title should give you some indication of his subject matter.  He is a prolific writer of poetry (poetry, of course, is always dicey and never having read it, can’t comment either way) and fiction.  You might know the name from more successful novels like Saints at the River and The World Made Straight.

The short form style of Chemistry gives Rash the chance to explore a broader Appalachia and populate it with figures who are equal parts tragic, exuberant, and  punishingly honest.  The titular story depicts a family struggling with a father’s terminal illness and his patiently abiding interest in a remote, evangelical church.  Other gems like “Speckled Trout,” (winner of the 2005 O. Henry prize) “The Projectionist’s Wife” and the seemingly out-of-place “Honesty” are well worth the effort.  Rash works in an Appalachia whose traditions and struggles aren’t dying or dead but are very much alive, despite the soft fatalism of his oeuvre.

Chemistry is also exceptional in the way it deftly avoids cliche, which the Appalachians are particularly full of.  Martin Amis once said a writer’s primary work is to do battle with cliche, and Rash has succeeded where scores have failed.  Though the characters are familiar — old men gossip about a legendary fish, an abusive husband consoles his recently-assaulted wife — they aren’t tired, trite, or predictable.  His characters share a sort of fatalistic resignation, and it may be just that soft note of defeat that resonates so familiarly with those of us who know Appalachia intimately.