Alex Bledsoe and the Tufa of Tennessee

Because of library availability, I read The Hum and the Shiver some months before its sequel, Wisp of a Thing. They’re unusual without being idiosyncratic, flirt hard with a number of stereotypes, and I liked them both, possibly more than I should.

The Tufa live in Cloud County, nestled in rural East Tennessee’s Smoky Mountains. Though they’ve dark hair and eyes and dusky complexions and have been living there, it’s asserted over and over that they’re not Native American. Which means, of course, that they must be fairies. Even when I initially thought they might be Native American fairies, I had the Tufa pegged as supernatural. I recognized the resemblance between “Tufa” and “Tuatha” (the Tuatha de Danaan or Children of Dana appear in the oldest Irish mythological cycles). But even for a reader unfamiliar with the Irish, it’s clear from very early in both novels that magic is to be taken seriously. For one, too many characters do for them to all be unreliable narrators, but there are also clear demonstrations: in just the first pages of The Hum and the Shiver, the locals magically turn away a hord of paparazzi. The odd thing is that, despite this, the novels are in many ways structured like mysteries, with an outsider trying to figure out the real heritage of the Tufa. In The Hum and the Shiver, it’s preacher Craig Chess, who takes an interest in the protagonist, and part-Tufa newspaperman Don Swayback. In Wisp of a Thing, it’s protagonist Rob Quillen. 

So, as a reader, there’s this build-up of characters trying to find out information you already know, and even if there are a few details you’re not clued in yet, they’re really not so significant that they really matter enough to make you turn pages. There are some smaller character moments – decisions, attitudes – but really, a lot of the appeal of the books comes down to atmosphere. And that’s not unproblematic, either. Bledsoe lovingly describes Needsville, TN, and its surroundings, trying not to idealize. Sure, there are plenty of solid, salt-of-the-earth folks. And there are bullies and drinkers and violent cops; farmers, motel owner, gas station attendants, mechanics, EMTs, and folks who seem to mostly just hang around. At times, it seems Bledsoe has found the sweet spot of humanizing without changing often-stereotyped figures. At other times, he seems to venture perilously close to James Dickey territory (several of his narrators even make Deliverance jokes). At first, I’m refreshed that’s he’s drawn women who actually have a sex drive; then I start wondering, wait a minute, am I really supposed to believe these women spend this much time worrying about men? The Gwinn family as described in Wisp of a Thing are grotesques – mean, skinny young men and fat, fist-fighting women. And later in that book, there’s a scene where the bad, bat-winged fairies (who, except for an evil Lothario, are ugly, unwashed litterers) gather at their homebase, drinking, rutting in public, making dischordant music, distilling moonshine, and cooking up meth.

What saves the novels, and really provides their hearts, in the authentic care and affection Bledsoe shows for the area, for the people described, for small-town life without the rose-colored glasses, and especially for the music. Haven’t mentioned the music yet? A deep love of and interest in bluegrass/country/folk music is tied up in these novels and the magic of the Tufa. And I just may need to check out Kate Campbell.

The stories themselves: The Hum and the Shiver follows Private Bronwyn Hyatt, returning home from Iraq a wounded hero. They tell her she killed numerous enemy combatants before she was injured, but she doesn’t remember, and she’s afraid she’s lost her ability to play music. There’s a haint who seems to have followed her home, and ominous death omens targeting the Hyatt family suggest Bronwyn’s mother may soon die, leaving Bronwyn with mystical responsibilities in the Tufa community that she’s resisted her whole life. Meanwhile there’s the troublemaker boyfriend she had hoped to get away from, his little brother who’s giving her mandolin lessons, and the handsome new preacher. It all builds up to a series of conflicts that includes an unexpected stabbing at a local bar. Bronwyn’s very enjoyable as a main character, though I sometimes questioned the storyline; while Bronwyn comes to a decision of sorts at the novel’s end, in some ways other characters drive more of the action, and some heavily-hinted-at conclusions seemed to me to require a little more build-up and interaction to be truly believable.

I don’t know whether’s it’s just that it’s the more recent read, but I think I actually preferred Wisp of a Thing. I was surprised to get a new protagonist, because I thought for sure The Hum and the Shiver was setting up for more tales told from Bronwyn’s point of view. (In some ways, however, ; slightly-less-than-satisfactory because the author is being subtle endings being preferable to slightly-unsatisfactory because the author is bogarting the good stuff for the sequel ones.) As Wisp opens, however, we meet Rob Quillen, singer/songwriter/guitarist who recently appeared on American Idol, I mean “So You Think You Can Dance?”, but left when his girlfriend died in a plane crash en route to visit him at the set of the show. He’s come to Needsville because a mysterious stranger told him he’d find a song that could cure heartbreak, but so far he’s come across only strange superstitions and a feral girl who may be under a curse. Rob’s story may be somewhat more satisfactory because as an outsider, he can break the Tufa rules and do all the things I kept waiting for characters to do in the earlier volume: take cell phone photos when something strange appears,;call the police, or at least question why no one else is calling them, when a local threatens him with a baseball bat or leads a tourist into the woods; and take on malevolent old man Rockhouse Hicks.

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While I’m posting about fiction that treads the borderlands of fantasy/literary fiction/modern fairy tale/magic realism, I should mention Some Kind of Fairy Tale by Graham Joyce. A woman shows up on a couple’s doorstep on Christmas Day, claiming to be their daughter who disappeared twenty years ago; the only explanation she can give is that she’d been taking from the woods by the fairies but only stayed with them for six months. I’d not have picked this one up based on the premise; I figured the whole book, and nothing much of note would happen but it would draw the question out to the ending until giving some kind of answer, but probably not (leaving it up to the reader in much, much-hated Henry James style). But, the book was recommended, and although my expectations were pretty accurate, I enjoyed it.

I think the reason is that the men Tina Martin left behind her, brother Peter and ex-boyfriend Richie, are such likable characters it was just pleasant spending time with them. (Some Kind of Fairy Tale is English without having an attitude about it. There are some great descriptions of bluebells in May.) Peter and Richie were best friends in high school, playing together in a band, but haven’t talked to each other since Tina disappeared and some fingers pointed to Richie. Peter’s now a family man who couldn’t find a job with his Master of Social Work and so became a farrier, while Richie remains a musician who never made it big; in some ways, the heart of the story is how they reconnect. Of course, we also get the details of Tina’s Otherworld story and the analysis of it, borrowing on Freud and Jung, by local psychiatrist Vivian Underwood. There’s a welcome bit of a twist to the psychiatrist’s storyline, but the with the author having given, I believe, pretty clear evidence in favor of one explanation (in fact, though I really hate to fault a writer for being unambigous, the last few chapters may even give more information than we really need), he ultimately leaves the reader to give her own explanation for Tina’s disappearance. Chapter epigraphs on the historical court case of an Englishman who killed his wife, believing her to be a fairy, and by many, mostly familiar (Campbell, Bettelheim, Chaucer, Shakespeare) but some not (John Clute, Marina Warner) authors on nature of fairy tales may not be essential to the story but add a bit of resonance. I generally like my fantasy with more over fantasy, but I may have to read more by G. Joyce.