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4.43 AVERAGE
4.43 AVERAGE
dark
emotional
mysterious
tense
slow-paced
adventurous
dark
emotional
funny
mysterious
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
dark
emotional
mysterious
sad
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
dark
emotional
funny
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
dark
emotional
funny
mysterious
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
I never expected to be so drawn into this 30 hour listen, but drawn in I was and once I started listening I could hardly stop at night to go to sleep. The narrator (Matt Godfrey) was brilliant and the different voices that he developed, and appeared to effortlessly transition into and out of, for the extensive cast of characters were so distinct that I could immediately tell who was speaking, before the person was identified.
The quirky Caskey family were easy to envision and the family dynamics were uniquely dysfunctional. Although it appears to be grouped with horror novels, it is of the Southern gothic genre, with more left to be imagined in the reader's mind than characterized in detail in the book. McDowell's writing is sublime, making this one of my new favorites.
The quirky Caskey family were easy to envision and the family dynamics were uniquely dysfunctional. Although it appears to be grouped with horror novels, it is of the Southern gothic genre, with more left to be imagined in the reader's mind than characterized in detail in the book. McDowell's writing is sublime, making this one of my new favorites.
When Oscar Caskey finds the mysterious Elinor Dammert on the second floor of a hotel during a great flood, he brings her home and falls in love with her. But Elinor isn't what she seems and Mary-Love, Oscar's mother and matriarch of the Caskey clan, doesn't want Oscar marrying her...
That's the setup but it's just scratching the surface. How do you write a teaser for an 800 page epic?
My cohort Anthony Vacca recommended this and [b:Paperbacks from Hell: The Twisted History of '70s and '80s Horror Fiction|33670466|Paperbacks from Hell The Twisted History of '70s and '80s Horror Fiction|Grady Hendrix|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1504436657s/33670466.jpg|54542087] agreed with him. They both undersold it.
While Michael McDowell is primarily known as a horror writer and Blackwater definitely has scenes of horror in it, it's a sprawling family epic more than anything else. Oscar Caskey rescuing Elinor and bringing her back to his family kicks off an epic that spans three generations, starting in 1919 and ending during the 1960s.
Released as six novellas during the horror boom of the 1970s, Blackwater is a slow burn, the characters and their machinations taking center stage. It reminds me of [b:The Pillars of the Earth|5043|The Pillars of the Earth (Kingsbridge, #1)|Ken Follett|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1388193707s/5043.jpg|3359698] in some ways. Painstaking time is taken to flesh out the Caskeys and their extended clan and the lumber business. The book is a comedy of manners at times, family drama at others, and the undercurrent of horror is lurking in the background, waiting to tear the arms off of some poor sucker at any moment.
The book primarily features conflict between strong female characters, first between Mary-Love and Elinor, and the conflict is carried on down the line. It could easily be a great historical novel if Elinor wasn't a man-eating river monster in disguise. All the maneuverings reminded me of Game of Thrones, only played out in an Alabama river town over the course of three generations.
The cast is richly developed and I unexpectedly started caring a little too much for this rich Southern family and their lumber business. The twists kept me thinking about the book when I wasn't reading it. The deaths were pretty sad, even Mary-Love's, even though she'd had it coming for a couple decades at that point.
There's so much I want to say but I don't want to spoil anything. This beast was 800 pages long but I would have gladly read 800 more. That's how enthralled I was by the saga of the Caskey clan. It's a crime that this book has been forgotten over the years. I'll read it on my kindle but I'll probably buy a hardcover just to keep on a shelf someplace. Five out of five stars.
That's the setup but it's just scratching the surface. How do you write a teaser for an 800 page epic?
My cohort Anthony Vacca recommended this and [b:Paperbacks from Hell: The Twisted History of '70s and '80s Horror Fiction|33670466|Paperbacks from Hell The Twisted History of '70s and '80s Horror Fiction|Grady Hendrix|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1504436657s/33670466.jpg|54542087] agreed with him. They both undersold it.
While Michael McDowell is primarily known as a horror writer and Blackwater definitely has scenes of horror in it, it's a sprawling family epic more than anything else. Oscar Caskey rescuing Elinor and bringing her back to his family kicks off an epic that spans three generations, starting in 1919 and ending during the 1960s.
Released as six novellas during the horror boom of the 1970s, Blackwater is a slow burn, the characters and their machinations taking center stage. It reminds me of [b:The Pillars of the Earth|5043|The Pillars of the Earth (Kingsbridge, #1)|Ken Follett|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1388193707s/5043.jpg|3359698] in some ways. Painstaking time is taken to flesh out the Caskeys and their extended clan and the lumber business. The book is a comedy of manners at times, family drama at others, and the undercurrent of horror is lurking in the background, waiting to tear the arms off of some poor sucker at any moment.
The book primarily features conflict between strong female characters, first between Mary-Love and Elinor, and the conflict is carried on down the line. It could easily be a great historical novel if Elinor wasn't a man-eating river monster in disguise. All the maneuverings reminded me of Game of Thrones, only played out in an Alabama river town over the course of three generations.
The cast is richly developed and I unexpectedly started caring a little too much for this rich Southern family and their lumber business. The twists kept me thinking about the book when I wasn't reading it. The deaths were pretty sad, even Mary-Love's, even though she'd had it coming for a couple decades at that point.
There's so much I want to say but I don't want to spoil anything. This beast was 800 pages long but I would have gladly read 800 more. That's how enthralled I was by the saga of the Caskey clan. It's a crime that this book has been forgotten over the years. I'll read it on my kindle but I'll probably buy a hardcover just to keep on a shelf someplace. Five out of five stars.
This was such a great engaging story. I love Michael McDowell's writing style and was sad when it finally ended. It's a long one, but totally worth it.
Blackwater is a familial saga that covers several generations of an influential family in Perdido, Alabama, during the first half of the twentieth century. A dusting of genre tropes folded into the mix, Blackwater is to Southern Gothic as John Crowley's Little, Big is to fantasy. It is languid, like its titular river, and the fantastic is woven into these lives, and is brutal, but the lives are the focus.
It is an odd book, and it is a 'horror adjacent' masterpiece. That said, a reader should know that this is not a horror novel, and I don't think it's the best place to start with McDowell. Readers unfamiliar with his work might find The Elementals an easier read before committing to Blackwater. If you enjoy the former, you're likely to adore the latter.
A book to get lost in. I loved it.
5 stars: One of my favorite books, ever.
Book Talk (Spoilers ahead!):
In Nathan Ballingrud's otherwise favorable introduction to Blackwater, he lodges this criticism:
I disagree. The black characters work the hardest, have the least autonomy, and are never more than maids, drivers, cooks. The short shrift is the thematic heart of the book and the narrative justification for all the spookiness in an otherwise realist saga.
Why, fellow reader, have a river monster live among this southern family? What does this serve in a book that is... not really about river monsters? And what are we to make of Ellinor, whom, beyond being a river monster who kills innocents and villains alike, also becomes a part of the Caskey family, a part of the wider community, a loving wife and mother?
What are we to make of a community that would allow such a being into its midst, with such ease?
Buster Sapp, a young African-American boy in the family's employ, is Elinor's first victim in the story. Ostensibly, he is killed when he sees her swimming in the confluence of the rivers, sees her true form. His death is senseless, unjust, and evil.
Buster was dutiful in his labor for the family and pursued Elinor out of concern for her life. Let us not forget Buster. His death, I'd suggest, is the keystone for understanding the rest of the book.
There's ghosts and creatures, weird events, and prophetic declarations. Most of the book is about family dynamics, sons and daughters pursuing independence, mothers vying for control. Their stories engage us. We recognize these people. Many, most even, we like. And..We become complicit in what is truly monstrous in Perdido, Alabama, through our love of these characters. Because that's part of the magic of the book: we come to empathize with the members of the Caskey family.
We believe in righteousness. In our own righteousness. But are there monsters in our midst? Do they fit with us as if they've found home and kin?
Elinor, early in the book, murders a child. And yet we spend much of Blackwater aligned with Elinor in her struggles with her mother-in-law, Mary-Love, and others.
Elinor, with her:
What a lovely line. What an amazing encapsulation of the character.
This monster crawls out of the muck of the river to live with this family, to marry, to have children, to ascend as matriarch. In the story's sum, her pursuits are prosaic, if writ larger than most. She builds her prosperity as anyone would: through hard work, partnerships, savvy, and luck. But Elinor lives a charmed life because she is of the river. She knows the land and has access to powers the mortals she walks among do not. And she's happy to use this privilege.
It's not that she doesn't think others should not act in their best interest, but she'll get hers first.
She sounds... horrible. But we root for her. We're, more often than not, on her side.
McDowell created a juxtaposition for us to ponder. Elinor is a monster. Elinor is all these other things, besides. What are the Caskeys? What are we missing?
We lost sight of the people crushed under the weight of this family. Given, in a phrase, short shrift.
We forgot about Buster.
In lesser fiction, evil is heavy breathing behind a shiny black mask, or a cackling hag over witch's brew. In Blackwater, we follow generation after generation of family members whom we relate to, despise, mourn, and hope for. They're not evil. They're just people. Right? They're just living their lives. They're of their time. Right?
Right?
This is among the most dialog we get from Zadie in eight-hundred-plus pages, and it is in counterpoint to Buster, whose job she took on after his demise.
Buster's fate is cruel; Zadie's is soul crushing. And telling.
Because though she has 'seen things and heard things' the supernatural is not what has taken from her. No, it is this culture into which the Sapp family brings their children. It is their service to the Caskey family that has taken so much. It is the cultural context in which this great malignancy inflicted upon the Sapp family is the best option going.
Bray, who accompanies Oscar at the start of the book and acts as his chauffeur throughout his life, dies and Oscar laments not having a Sapp to drive him. He has other men from the mill to do the job, but he gets Sammy Sapp, who is in eleventh grade and has his driver's license, to quit school and work for him as his driver. Sammy got a uniform and Oscar bought a Lincoln Continental 'in his honor.'
Evil doesn't cackle over a cauldron. Evil is pleasant, accommodating, avuncular.
Later, Oscar has this exchange with Zadie:
The exchange goes on and Oscar suggests Zadie could run for mayor, but when Zadie counters by asking who would read the paper to him every day, he recants and says she should:
Ballingrud is correct in the short shrift given the black characters in Blackwater. It's not a fault of the telling. It's the thematic point of the book. A supernatural monster in their midst fails to overshadow the evil that holds families like the Sapps in its thrall. What does it speak of us, fellow reader, if we find ghosts and creatures more frightening than we find the Caskeys?
PostScript
My first book read in 2022 is Riot Baby by Tochi Onyebuchi and it led me to write this commentary on Blackwater. They are unique books, but if this take on Blackwater resonates with you, check out Riot Baby. It is quite good and equally thought-provoking.
It is an odd book, and it is a 'horror adjacent' masterpiece. That said, a reader should know that this is not a horror novel, and I don't think it's the best place to start with McDowell. Readers unfamiliar with his work might find The Elementals an easier read before committing to Blackwater. If you enjoy the former, you're likely to adore the latter.
A book to get lost in. I loved it.
5 stars: One of my favorite books, ever.
Book Talk (Spoilers ahead!):
In Nathan Ballingrud's otherwise favorable introduction to Blackwater, he lodges this criticism:
"If there is a glaring flaw in the book, it's the short shrift the African-American characters are given. Ivey and Zaddie Sapp, Bray Sugarwhite, and others are all relegated to the background, only occasionally venturing forth to perform folk magic or to react to the actions of their white employers."
I disagree. The black characters work the hardest, have the least autonomy, and are never more than maids, drivers, cooks. The short shrift is the thematic heart of the book and the narrative justification for all the spookiness in an otherwise realist saga.
Why, fellow reader, have a river monster live among this southern family? What does this serve in a book that is... not really about river monsters? And what are we to make of Ellinor, whom, beyond being a river monster who kills innocents and villains alike, also becomes a part of the Caskey family, a part of the wider community, a loving wife and mother?
What are we to make of a community that would allow such a being into its midst, with such ease?
Buster Sapp, a young African-American boy in the family's employ, is Elinor's first victim in the story. Ostensibly, he is killed when he sees her swimming in the confluence of the rivers, sees her true form. His death is senseless, unjust, and evil.
Buster was dutiful in his labor for the family and pursued Elinor out of concern for her life. Let us not forget Buster. His death, I'd suggest, is the keystone for understanding the rest of the book.
There's ghosts and creatures, weird events, and prophetic declarations. Most of the book is about family dynamics, sons and daughters pursuing independence, mothers vying for control. Their stories engage us. We recognize these people. Many, most even, we like. And..We become complicit in what is truly monstrous in Perdido, Alabama, through our love of these characters. Because that's part of the magic of the book: we come to empathize with the members of the Caskey family.
We believe in righteousness. In our own righteousness. But are there monsters in our midst? Do they fit with us as if they've found home and kin?
Elinor, early in the book, murders a child. And yet we spend much of Blackwater aligned with Elinor in her struggles with her mother-in-law, Mary-Love, and others.
Elinor, with her:
"...smile that was neither brave resignation nor studied indifference, but a smile that seemed to mock credence."
What a lovely line. What an amazing encapsulation of the character.
This monster crawls out of the muck of the river to live with this family, to marry, to have children, to ascend as matriarch. In the story's sum, her pursuits are prosaic, if writ larger than most. She builds her prosperity as anyone would: through hard work, partnerships, savvy, and luck. But Elinor lives a charmed life because she is of the river. She knows the land and has access to powers the mortals she walks among do not. And she's happy to use this privilege.
It's not that she doesn't think others should not act in their best interest, but she'll get hers first.
She sounds... horrible. But we root for her. We're, more often than not, on her side.
McDowell created a juxtaposition for us to ponder. Elinor is a monster. Elinor is all these other things, besides. What are the Caskeys? What are we missing?
We lost sight of the people crushed under the weight of this family. Given, in a phrase, short shrift.
We forgot about Buster.
"No trace of Buster was ever discovered, but no one expected it to be otherwise."
In lesser fiction, evil is heavy breathing behind a shiny black mask, or a cackling hag over witch's brew. In Blackwater, we follow generation after generation of family members whom we relate to, despise, mourn, and hope for. They're not evil. They're just people. Right? They're just living their lives. They're of their time. Right?
Right?
"Miss Elinor," said Zadie, "I have grown up in this house. I have never lived anywhere else. I am gone grow old here, I guess. I have never got married. I have never had anything to do with colored men, 'cause I belong to you."
"You're mine," Elinor assented.
"And living in this house," said Zadie, "I've seen things and I've heard things. But that don't mean I pay much attention. All I know is I belong to you, and I'm gone grow old here waiting on you and yours."
This is among the most dialog we get from Zadie in eight-hundred-plus pages, and it is in counterpoint to Buster, whose job she took on after his demise.
Buster's fate is cruel; Zadie's is soul crushing. And telling.
Because though she has 'seen things and heard things' the supernatural is not what has taken from her. No, it is this culture into which the Sapp family brings their children. It is their service to the Caskey family that has taken so much. It is the cultural context in which this great malignancy inflicted upon the Sapp family is the best option going.
Bray, who accompanies Oscar at the start of the book and acts as his chauffeur throughout his life, dies and Oscar laments not having a Sapp to drive him. He has other men from the mill to do the job, but he gets Sammy Sapp, who is in eleventh grade and has his driver's license, to quit school and work for him as his driver. Sammy got a uniform and Oscar bought a Lincoln Continental 'in his honor.'
Evil doesn't cackle over a cauldron. Evil is pleasant, accommodating, avuncular.
Later, Oscar has this exchange with Zadie:
"Mr. Wallace," Oscar declared, "Is coming down hard on your people. Don't you think you and I better send Sammy up there with a letter or something and ask him to ease up a little bit?"
"You write the letter," Said Zadie, "and I will pay for Sammy's gas."
"Are you looking for equality, Zadie?" Oscar asked, with a little of his old high-flown courtliness.
"Equality with what, Mr. Oscar? Equality with who?"
The exchange goes on and Oscar suggests Zadie could run for mayor, but when Zadie counters by asking who would read the paper to him every day, he recants and says she should:
"...give up this idea of politics."
Ballingrud is correct in the short shrift given the black characters in Blackwater. It's not a fault of the telling. It's the thematic point of the book. A supernatural monster in their midst fails to overshadow the evil that holds families like the Sapps in its thrall. What does it speak of us, fellow reader, if we find ghosts and creatures more frightening than we find the Caskeys?
PostScript
My first book read in 2022 is Riot Baby by Tochi Onyebuchi and it led me to write this commentary on Blackwater. They are unique books, but if this take on Blackwater resonates with you, check out Riot Baby. It is quite good and equally thought-provoking.
Great, riveting story set in the American South in the early part of the 20th century, in which a strange young woman shows up during a flood and changes the town of Perdido, Alabama and the lives of the Caskey family forever. The horror in this one is subdued, and the strange and supernatural happenings fall more into the background while the saga of the Caskey family takes center stage. Nevertheless, the horror aspects are shocking and frightening when they do float to the top. The only thing I would have changed is to give a little more attention to the African American characters; while the Sapp family's story certainly follows alongside that of the Caskey's, it would have provided an interesting counterpoint if the former had interwoven with the latter a little bit more. Of course, that would have made the book even longer, and it *is* an undertaking. As usual, McDowell does not mince words; every sentence is tight, terse, and necessary to the story. While it is long, the book is never boring, and is surprisingly progressive in how it addresses homosexuality and feminism. A thoroughly enjoyable read.