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If the only subjects worthy of a writer’s labor concern certain universal truths, which William Faulkner called the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself, then Marlin Barton has achieved a noble goal with his splendid second collection of stories, “Dancing by the River.”

Most of the stories center around several generations of Andersons, a family that once owned a general store in rural Alabama. There is no genealogical tree to easily identify the Andersons, nor does Barton provide any but the slightest of physical descriptions of his central characters, choosing instead to depict them by their ages and by their relationships with friends, spouses, parents, children and lovers. When he does provide clues about his characters’ appearances, Barton affords this modest luxury mostly to the supporting cast from outside the Anderson clan, such as a gypsy handyman or a mouthy young Confederate soldier.

The sparse character studies do not deprive the stories of their rich imagery, however, because Barton’s strengths lie in his subtle description of place and his pitch-perfect dialogue. For Barton, what happens to his characters in their relationships, framed by their connection to their homes, the family store, or a strip club, is far more important than any family trait passed down through the generations. (more…)

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The first four chapters of Smonk surely rank among the most grotesque, savage and compelling fiction ever written.  Using Alabama in the early 1900s as his setting, Tom Franklin has created two despicably fascinating characters, E.O. Smonk and Evavangeline, for whom violent and creative self-preservation are as natural as breathing.  These two travel along separate paths of destruction, sharing some bit players in their storylines, but otherwise remaining oblivious of each other’s existence as they move toward the day of reckoning.

Whether they are evil incarnate, as some folks believe, or avenging angels, Franklin does not make clear, because he populates the countryside with enough human and animal detritus to place their actions in proper context.  As bad as they may be, Smonk and Evavangeline are simply the best at playing a game in which survival is the only rule.

Franklin sets a frantic pace in the beginning, as the bodies and the indignities against humanity pile up like the carcasses of rabid dogs that litter the land.  Smonk simultaneously repulses and demands rapt attention, appealing not to the prurient interests of pulp fiction but to the stunned disbelief that things cannot get any worse.  Or can they? (more…)