Demon Copperhead: Barbara Kingsolver

This was a magnificent book. The resilience of the central character, and in its way, the society from which he comes is grimly relentless but never falls into the pit of implausibility or tedious repetition. He, and those whom he comes from, have everything against them and yet, and yet, somehow remain at least some humanity. His voice is marvelously distinct and Kingsolver manages the tricky task of making someone whom one might think of as being inarticulate and unable to effectively communicate the opposite – although there are numerous subtle little touches where words do fail Demon or there is certain, often endearing clumsiness and woolliness of expression. The style is both literary and oral – a clever and original creation which, I thin, I have not really come across before; the intimate wholly authentic voice of the narrator of a tale but not this combination.

The writing on, and experiencing of, addiction is stunning. As good, in literary form, as it was in cinematic form in requiem for a Dream. And the author does not make the (elementary) error of making this an anti-big pharm diatribe (although this element is certainly and necessarily there, particularly towards the end as demon gradually emerges from his addiction fog and begins to ‘find’ himself.

I was particularly intrigued by Chapter 60 where Demon has what can only be described as a transcendental night on a mountain. This strongly recalled Patrick Suskind’s Perfume and Grenouille’s time deep in the cave and his re-entry, re-born, into the world.

A wonderful book.