Gods of Howl Mountain

In the mountains of 1950s North Carolina, injured Korean War veteran Rory Docherty lives with his grandmother, Maybelline. She is a former prostitute turned renowned medicine woman, both revered and scorned by the locals; he runs whiskey for a legendary bootlegger in a modified hotrod. The link between them, Rory’s mother has institutionalized, the attack that rendered her mute long ago unspoken of. Rory’s already difficult life gets more complicated when he pursues a preacher’s daughter as both a rival runner and encroaching federal agents threaten to do him in.

Taylor Brown’s hard-bitten Appalachian prose will seem familiar to those well-versed in this genre. His descriptions are rich with atmospheric detail, and his dialogue captures the region’s cadence. While he is not unique in that regard, he has nevertheless carved an identity apart from the region’s well-known voices. Gods of Howl Mountain is less spiritual and contemplative than the works of Ron Rash and Wiley Cash, less emotionally stunted than those of Chris Offutt, and more carnal than all of them.

However, there is more to this book than scenery, sex, and blood. Rory and especially Granny Mae are memorable characters who embody a range of contradictions: vulnerable (a one-legged man and an aging widow) yet strong, right-minded yet on the wrong side of the law, clever yet seemingly outfoxed. The book teases out its central mystery (who attacked Rory’s mother) slowly and throws a few red herrings the audience’s way. This will frustrate those expecting a more straightforward mystery, but for those with greater patience, there is more than enough going on, and the aftereffects of some of Granny’s herbal concoctions even add a splash of dark humor.

Gods of Howl Mountain has more than a whiff of the familiar about it, but it is competently crafted and engaging more times than not.