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nols73's review against another edition
5.0
This was my favorite of the Home series. I wanted to throttle Sharon through large chunks of the book, but also wanted to hug her, and tell her it would all work out if she just had a little confidence in herself.
nols73's review against another edition
5.0
I loved this book. Michele's writing is very evocative, and I could feel the very southern mother's house pride, jealousy, and need to show up the other southern women. Caitlyn's frustration, embarrassment, and irritation came through perfectly. The descriptions of the people, places, and actions were so spot on, I could see every bit of it, and almost smell Hardee's biscuits and gravy.
melanie_page's review against another edition
4.0
Michele Feltman Strider contacted me on Twitter to recommend Hometown, a 2012 self-published book that is part of the Southern Trilogy, for my Reading Fat Women goal. I was told I did not have to read the whole trilogy for Hometown to make sense, and that is true. I am going to say right away that I think the synopsis, in the first sentence, is both misleading and cruel to the main character. At no point in the novel is she described as “plump, unattractive, and underachieving.” She’s a fat woman who is the product of her setting, and I can’t think of a time when she was described in an ugly way. In fact, I almost didn’t read this book thanks to that one sentence. Fat people aren’t automatically unattractive.
Set in Alabama starting circa 1999, Sharon Hunters is married to Gary, a drug-dealing loser whose family runs most of the town, including the court system. Sharon doesn’t know what to do with her life because her society hasn’t taught her how to be an adult, so she got married right after high school. After getting a job at a grocery store bakery, Sharon feels some confidence and finds herself attracted to the kind co-worker Alan. Through a series of questionable choices, Sharon divorces Gary, marries Alan, and moves to New Orleans to open Alan’s dream restaurant, all with a baby in tow.
Choices I may find ridiculous make sense in Sharon’s world. She narrates this novel in which she follows the path that she sees others treading. After describing her life with husband Gary, Sharon points out, “If it wasn’t the life I dreamed of, it was pretty much what I’d always expected.” You can see that she doesn’t know how to reach her potential, or what potential even means. Early on, readers learn that her baby isn’t new husband Alan’s. Instead, she got pregnant by Gary during one last hook-up and resorted to quickly marrying Alan to keep her pregnancy safe from her drug-dealing ex. Sharon’s friend tells her not to forget she owes Alan another baby so he has one biologically related to him, whether he knows it or not. Also, Sharon makes comments about not knowing anyone who’s ever retired, and thinks a good way to start a family is flush a birth control pill here and there to have a nice “surprise.” These decisions, while awful, are all evidence of her hometown’s mentality.
Throughout the novel, Sharon’s weight is addressed realistically. When someone is mad at her, the first go-to insult is “fat bitch,” which we’ve all heard/read/seen on TV. Occasionally, Sharon thinks about losing weight, but is not dedicated to the idea. She’s almost too apathetic about the subject, such as when she notices how many breakfast cereals promote weight loss but are twice the cost of her regular cereal. I noted dozens of mentions of size and fat: how small a seat is, how Sharon almost touches someone she’s sitting next to, how she’s embarrassed when her stomach growls, how thin coworkers leave heavy-lifting jobs to her. These are all little indicators of her size that don’t say something inherently negative about the character.
I really enjoyed the plot, watching Sharon grow and develop, slowly acclimating to things “fancier” than her hometown. I could relate when Sharon felt unsophisticated. She learns about wines on a dinner date — and to be honest, I’m as clueless as she is:
One problem that stood out to me was Sharon’s narration didn’t match her dialogue. Since the novel is in first-person POV, it should all sound like Sharon. Verbally, Sharon says things like “nekkid girl” and “Filipino tubes” and “It ain’t all that great, Jolene. In fact, it pretty much flat sucks most of the time.” But in her head, she’s using these kinds of words: guile, surreptitiously, astringent, eponymous, cachet, aspersions.
If you can get through the realistic “isms” and phobias and ignore the disparity in vocabulary, you’ll see Hometown is a rewarding novel full of interesting characters. I enjoyed getting into Sharon’s head and growing with her, and I was always happy to be reading or getting back to the novel.
This book was originally reviewed at Grab the Lapels.
Set in Alabama starting circa 1999, Sharon Hunters is married to Gary, a drug-dealing loser whose family runs most of the town, including the court system. Sharon doesn’t know what to do with her life because her society hasn’t taught her how to be an adult, so she got married right after high school. After getting a job at a grocery store bakery, Sharon feels some confidence and finds herself attracted to the kind co-worker Alan. Through a series of questionable choices, Sharon divorces Gary, marries Alan, and moves to New Orleans to open Alan’s dream restaurant, all with a baby in tow.
Choices I may find ridiculous make sense in Sharon’s world. She narrates this novel in which she follows the path that she sees others treading. After describing her life with husband Gary, Sharon points out, “If it wasn’t the life I dreamed of, it was pretty much what I’d always expected.” You can see that she doesn’t know how to reach her potential, or what potential even means. Early on, readers learn that her baby isn’t new husband Alan’s. Instead, she got pregnant by Gary during one last hook-up and resorted to quickly marrying Alan to keep her pregnancy safe from her drug-dealing ex. Sharon’s friend tells her not to forget she owes Alan another baby so he has one biologically related to him, whether he knows it or not. Also, Sharon makes comments about not knowing anyone who’s ever retired, and thinks a good way to start a family is flush a birth control pill here and there to have a nice “surprise.” These decisions, while awful, are all evidence of her hometown’s mentality.
Throughout the novel, Sharon’s weight is addressed realistically. When someone is mad at her, the first go-to insult is “fat bitch,” which we’ve all heard/read/seen on TV. Occasionally, Sharon thinks about losing weight, but is not dedicated to the idea. She’s almost too apathetic about the subject, such as when she notices how many breakfast cereals promote weight loss but are twice the cost of her regular cereal. I noted dozens of mentions of size and fat: how small a seat is, how Sharon almost touches someone she’s sitting next to, how she’s embarrassed when her stomach growls, how thin coworkers leave heavy-lifting jobs to her. These are all little indicators of her size that don’t say something inherently negative about the character.
I really enjoyed the plot, watching Sharon grow and develop, slowly acclimating to things “fancier” than her hometown. I could relate when Sharon felt unsophisticated. She learns about wines on a dinner date — and to be honest, I’m as clueless as she is:
“It’s wine, but lighter and sweeter than the Cab.”Because Sharon comes from a backward-thinking town that perpetuates its own misery, there are some challenging moments in the text: homophobia, sexism, racism, and xenophobia all make an appearance. In some scenes, Sharon is the guilty party, but as she grows she accepts — without a big proclamation — who people are, even if they’re different from her. Here’s a more mild example, one without cursing or slurs, said by Sharon’s first husband:
“Like Boone’s Farm?” I didn’t know a single soul who hadn’t vomited bright rainbows of the stuff at some point in high school.
“Not really. This is made from grapes.”
“Is Strawberry Hill made from strawberries?”
“No, it’s made from the distilled sweat of drunk sorority girls. This is better. I promise.”
“You’re my wife, so everything you own, I own. You know why? Cause I own you. The bible says so and this is America, so that’s the law.”My eyes rolled so hard at how dumb this guy is, but that’s the point: he’s ignorant. And so is Sharon. When they got married, Sharon was 19 and Gary was 22. At one point, a police officer asks Sharon if she’s discussed her problems with an adult, and she points out she’s married. But she does develop as a character.
One problem that stood out to me was Sharon’s narration didn’t match her dialogue. Since the novel is in first-person POV, it should all sound like Sharon. Verbally, Sharon says things like “nekkid girl” and “Filipino tubes” and “It ain’t all that great, Jolene. In fact, it pretty much flat sucks most of the time.” But in her head, she’s using these kinds of words: guile, surreptitiously, astringent, eponymous, cachet, aspersions.
If you can get through the realistic “isms” and phobias and ignore the disparity in vocabulary, you’ll see Hometown is a rewarding novel full of interesting characters. I enjoyed getting into Sharon’s head and growing with her, and I was always happy to be reading or getting back to the novel.
This book was originally reviewed at Grab the Lapels.
melanie_page's review
5.0
Set in Bayou La Batre, Alabama, about as far south in that part of the U.S. that you can get without falling into the ocean, we meet Jolene Harris, a twenty-seven-year-old hair stylist who works at her mother’s salon inside a trailer. A steady rotation of customers come in for trims, entire make-overs to become new women, manicures, and a little pampering set-and-style. Each has a story to tell, often of love lost of some two-timing philanderer who made the teller’s life hell, and Jolene, Rhoda, and their nail technician, Thuy, all listen like therapists. The other salon patrons have adroit, “homestyle” advice for each other:
I wanted so badly for Jolene to break up with Keith, but her circumstances are evaluated out by others: she doesn’t have a baby, he doesn’t have babies, so she could do worse. Is that enough? But look around — what else would Jolene expect? She’s not going to transport herself into scholar, career woman, and all-around responsibly adult who stops being a ball of juvenile fun. In a way I didn’t realize until I finished the novel, Michele Feltman Strider doesn’t judge her characters either in the narration or through the mouths of others, even though they nearly set themselves up to be judged. Thus, it’s hard to feel ill-will toward anyone or get too frustrated when they do what I wouldn’t. Not being led to feel one way made the setting and characters feel new because I didn’t know how they would surprise me.
The sensory details created a whole world for me. I found myself getting very hungry every time Jolene and Rhoda ate the rotation of frozen pizza, BBQ, and pork rinds. Each chapter begins with the screen door of Rhoda’s trailer slamming shut when Jolene enters, and I could hear that slap so (I half expected to hear my own parents yell, “Quit slamming the door!”). However, I did wish there were more outdoor descriptions; I kept placing the novel in the Midwest and then reminding myself this is a bayou. Should there be mosquitoes? Alligators? Palm trees? I wanted to see it, to hear the buzz of life. On the other hand, the dialect, idioms, and types of businesses and vehicles all reminded me I was in the south.
Homestyle made me laugh out loud on many occasions, especially the clever quips Jolene adds to a conversation that didn’t fail to remind me of Zora Neale Hurston‘s Florida stories. Yet, I also was left thinking. When the characters are wronged so hard, how do forgive? I’m not sure they do, at least not out loud. There was a tricky social contract even the most heart-broken characters followed that made them empathetic and supportive. Because I typically read before bed, I would lay awake thinking about Jolene, about her hardships and full heart and big personality, and wonder, “What is she doing right now?” as if she were a real person.
This review was originally published at Grab the Lapels. There, you can also find a brief interview with the author!
“It never occurred to me to ask if he had a wife, let alone three.”There’s definitely an overall vibe of down-south poverty: vehicle repossession, mobile homes, drinking all day, baby daddies, etc. Jolene is unusual at twenty-seven for not having children or any divorces, but is dating her own “no-‘count” boyfriend, Keith, whose sole skills for surviving are mooching off girlfriends and scheming. Even Jolene’s mother, Rhoda, has three divorces behind her. Possibly because people don’t see marriage working out around them, Jolene doesn’t appear to take planning her wedding to Keith seriously:
“Oh, you gotta ask.” Nancy shook her head, sagely. “That’s on you. If they lie about it, then it’s on them.”
And we’re gonna yell ‘yee-haw’ and fist bump instead of saying ‘I do.’But I was struck by how not cliche these characters are, and how much I care about what happened next when life seems both desperate and laid back, fun yet oppressive. Jolene rides the highs of a fun weekend in New Orleans with her bestie, returning home to discover the friend was head-banging on the motel bed and got her hair caught in the ceiling fan motor and had to be cut free. Through the lows, Jolene becomes a couch monster, eating cookies and red Kool-aid for dinner while watching her Bears — the Care Bears, that is.
I wanted so badly for Jolene to break up with Keith, but her circumstances are evaluated out by others: she doesn’t have a baby, he doesn’t have babies, so she could do worse. Is that enough? But look around — what else would Jolene expect? She’s not going to transport herself into scholar, career woman, and all-around responsibly adult who stops being a ball of juvenile fun. In a way I didn’t realize until I finished the novel, Michele Feltman Strider doesn’t judge her characters either in the narration or through the mouths of others, even though they nearly set themselves up to be judged. Thus, it’s hard to feel ill-will toward anyone or get too frustrated when they do what I wouldn’t. Not being led to feel one way made the setting and characters feel new because I didn’t know how they would surprise me.
The sensory details created a whole world for me. I found myself getting very hungry every time Jolene and Rhoda ate the rotation of frozen pizza, BBQ, and pork rinds. Each chapter begins with the screen door of Rhoda’s trailer slamming shut when Jolene enters, and I could hear that slap so (I half expected to hear my own parents yell, “Quit slamming the door!”). However, I did wish there were more outdoor descriptions; I kept placing the novel in the Midwest and then reminding myself this is a bayou. Should there be mosquitoes? Alligators? Palm trees? I wanted to see it, to hear the buzz of life. On the other hand, the dialect, idioms, and types of businesses and vehicles all reminded me I was in the south.
Homestyle made me laugh out loud on many occasions, especially the clever quips Jolene adds to a conversation that didn’t fail to remind me of Zora Neale Hurston‘s Florida stories. Yet, I also was left thinking. When the characters are wronged so hard, how do forgive? I’m not sure they do, at least not out loud. There was a tricky social contract even the most heart-broken characters followed that made them empathetic and supportive. Because I typically read before bed, I would lay awake thinking about Jolene, about her hardships and full heart and big personality, and wonder, “What is she doing right now?” as if she were a real person.
This review was originally published at Grab the Lapels. There, you can also find a brief interview with the author!
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