I’ve found a new author! David Joy wields words with grit and uses poetic description to capture the heart of the mountains. After I listened to the first chapter of his novel, When These Mountains Burn, I knew I’d be facing yet another book about the Opioid Crisis in Appalachia. (I’ve also read, and highly recommend, Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver and Dopesick by Beth Macy.) Yet even though I faced another ride through addiction and despair, I couldn’t help myself. David Joy writes compelling prose.
So compelling that I wonder why I never heard much about Joy’s novel When These Mountains Burn, published in 2020, yet heard SO MUCH about Demon Copperhead, published in 2022. Both tackle the opioid crisis and its affect on rural communities, and quite frankly, I liked Joy’s novel better. His use of multiple points of view and intense pacing made this short, 272 page novel fly by, but had the same sobering affect as Kingsolver’s 560 page story, which often felt long.
The Premise
When These Mountains Burn presents three distinct characters: Raymond Mathis, the father of an addict; Denny Rattler, a man sucked into addiction after a work accident on a construction site; and a DEA agent determined to find the source of the drugs tainting the mountains of Western North Carolina. The competing story lines of these three characters end up colliding as each makes a critical choice to change the way things are going in the Carolina Mountains near Cherokee. All of this against the backdrop of raging forest fires destroying acres of mountains, much like how the opioid crisis is destroying hundreds of lives.
What I liked
Joy’s writing is sparse, yet descriptive. His characters pop off the page. I could appreciate Raymond’s anger with his son’s choices while I also felt his love for the boy he raised. Joy assaults his readers with disturbing images, like those of addicts shooting into their necks, yet balances that with softer contemplation of forgiveness and chosen family. But expect more gritty than sentimental.
In one scene, when Denny’s sister tries to encourage him to seek help for his addiction, the narration gave me great insight into how the mind of an addict might work:
But an addict’s mind was a rockin’ chair. You could have full understanding that moderation didn’t apply to people like you, and at the same time, convince yourself that you could do a little without wantin’ a lot. It was almost like the drugs were talkin’ when things got like that, like the voice you were hearing in your head wasn’t even your own, even tho it sounded like you and reasoned like you.
When These Mountains Burn, David Joy
Somehow, Joy makes you care about each of his characters, the father, the addict, and the DEA agent, all at the same time. The world he creates balances nuance and hard lines, and that conflict kept me tuned in.
What I didn’t like
The description of addicts shooting drugs into their necks, obviously.
Recommendation
If you haven’t yet read a novel about the opioid crisis, I highly recommend When These Mountains Burn. It’s a faster read, with more punch, than Demon Copperhead. And if you’ve already worked your way through Copperhead, I daresay this issue is worth another read. When These Mountains Burn does a great job of exploring all sides of the complicated issue of opioid addiction and what it does to our communities.
David Joy will be speaking at our annual Chautauqua Creative Writing awards this June 21, 2024 at The Millwald Theatre in Wytheville. I cannot wait to hear him, and I plan to read his most recent release, Those We Thought We Knew, next. Watch for a review!
Have you read other books about the opioid crisis? Any you recommend?
First, I couldn’t fall asleep. I don’t usually struggle with insomnia, but one night last week my mind churned into the wee hours. I heard my son stirring too and wondered what he was doing up so late. My Mother Voice niggled me. Do I need to dig into his habits? When was the last time we discussed healthy choices? On the verge of an empty nest and excited about the possibilities opening to me as mothering duties decline, sometimes I forget to engage with child #4 like I did with #s 1, 2 and 3.
So, cue the mother guilt.
Then my brain turned to self depreciating thoughts about how I’m handling my new job as a school board member. These early months in the role feel like drinking water from a fire hose. So much policy to decipher, so many schools to visit, so many relationships to navigate. I often feel inadequate to the task.
Finally, when I did fall asleep, nightmares plagued me. I don’t watch or read violent content, but sweet old me dreamed of trying to kill off, like a pesky insect, a public figure who irritates me. He would not die, so I had to keep trying, just like a Terminator movie.
Then, thanks to my evening reading of This Tender Land by William Kent Krueger, which opens at a home for orphaned children, I dreamed I lived in an orphanage. And my assigned bunk had several bags of ticks hanging on the wall next to it. Yikes!
No sleep for Julia that night!
The next day, besides overwhelming fatigue, I continued to experience worry and a rapid heartbeat. I knew looking at my phone would only feed my unease, and yet I couldn’t help myself. I wanted distraction, but I only found more to upset me. The cycle disrupted my day.
It took until mid afternoon to name my problem.
Anxiety.
I haven’t experienced a state of sustained agitation like that since I was taking care of my dying father. But once I recognized the problem, I could take action.
The Solution
First, I folded the baskets of clean laundry that had cluttered in my family room for days. In my world, outer order promotes inner calm. While folding, I listened to a new podcast from The Washington Post called Impromptu. In it, opinion writers discuss the thought processes behind their published columns. The episode I listened to was called “How to cope with the absurd, high stakes 2024 election.” The columnists discussed how they put limits on their consumption of and discussions about politics to protect their mental health. They encouraged each other, and listeners, to find the narrow balance between staying informed and over indulging on politically charged news.
Clearly, I’ve been consuming too much toxic news and commentary about our political system. Time to reevaluate my reading and listening habits.
Side note, my oldest son recently introduced me to a new word: “timeboxing.” He used it to describe how he might limit his interactions with an annoying co-worker. I’m applying it to news consumption.
My second strategy for battling anxiety is, as I stated in my New Year’s post, spending more time reading and sharing Good News. Positive news news stories exists, but our brains are wired to focus on crises and threats. My bout of anxiety revived my intention to focus on positive content. I have culled some political/ current events podcasts from my playlist and added more thoughtful, inspiring ones, like Wiser Than Me by Julia Louis-Dreyfus. I’ve also recommitted to reading at least three stories a week from Reasons to Be Cheerful, a nonprofit dedicated to stories about solutions. I loved this piece about how academic institutions are helping save local news. Or this Instagram post about women applauding women (something we don’t see enough in our culture.)
Also, I put down the novel about adults abusing kids at an orphanage and picked up Ross Gay’s collection of essays, Inciting Joy. Gay, a poet and essayist, has a humorous, wandering, and thought provoking voice. His writing usually makes me smile, if not laugh out loud. Also, in honor of National Poetry Month, I have a few poetry collections on my nightstand. That’s what I’ll read before bed if my mind needs settling and peace.
I also recalled the importance of breath work. All last fall, during cross country season, I preached to my athletes about the benefits of breathing to control stress (particularly on the starting line.) Yet, I’d forgotten how much a long exhale can activate the parasympathetic nervous system and calm my nerves. Welcome back, box breathing,.
Finally, I am adding more outdoor green time. Evidence exists that listening to bird song and spending time outside improves our mental health. With temperatures rising and plants blooming, it’s easier to spend time outside, and I plan to take full advantage of that. Look out garden beds, here I come.
With wars abroad and a contentious election at home, 2024 could be a stressful year. But, we have tools available to manage our well being. I’m choosing to carefully consume content, focus on the positive, spend more time outside (without devices!) and BREATHE.
It’s a tough world out there, people. Take care of yourselves. How will you do it this week? Share in the comments.
When I bought three tickets to Ada Limon’s presentation at the Virginia Festival of the Book, I couldn’t wait to hear a famous poet speak and to share the experience with two of my poetry loving children. What I didn’t realize until I was sitting in the plush seats in the gorgeous Paramount Theater in Charlottesville is that Limon recently was named the 24th Poet Laureate of the United States! My fan girl factor shot up three levels. And Ada Limon did not disappoint.
Limon read from her latest poetry collection, The Hurting Kind, and shared her signature project as Poet Laureate: “You Are Here.” Nature inspires much of Limon’s writing, and her project has two initiatives. First, Limon curated a collection of poems called You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World. Second, as part of Poetry in Parks, Limon will visit seven national parks during 2024 to commemorate the installation of an historic American poem on a picnic table in each park. Limon hopes the poems will serve as public works of art to inspire park visitors to better enjoy their surroundings.
Among her many accolades, including a Mac Arthur Genius Fellowship and a Guggenheim Fellowship, Limon has earned a special honor. With a huge smile, she told the audience, “I sound like a pathological liar when I say this, but I was chosen to write a poem that will be engraved on NASA’s Europa Clipper Spacecraft that will be launched to the second moon of Jupiter in October 2024.” NASA imposed just a few requirements. The poem had to be about water, it had to be short (you know, to fit on the side of a space ship), and it had to be written at the 4th grade level. “I asked if they thought aliens read at the fourth grade level,” she joked. To the crowd’s delight, she read that poem to us. At the end, I had tears in my eyes. I don’t think it’s published anywhere yet, but when it is, I will find it and share it.
Poetry is in love with language. Poetry is in love with the failure of language
Ava Limon, US Poet Laureate, 2024
Limon encouraged the audience to make time for writing and to take part in National Poetry Month, which happens each April. In fact, her “You Are Here” project launches this month. “Write one poem a day, even if it’s junk. At the end of the month, you’ll have a collection of poems to edit,” she told the audience.
Limon also had this advice:
In this world filled with violent rhetoric, endless clickbait, reports of violence, and tales of loss, I found this advice particularly profound. Limon gave me permission to do what I’ve been craving for a while now.
As a related aside, I’m reading the essay collectionInciting Joy by Ross Gay, who I saw at the 2023 Virginia Festival of the Book. (They get some talented authors!) In his essay, Gay ponders why people so often get offended by W.H. Auden’s famous line from his poem “In Memory of W.B. Yeats”:
…poetry makes nothing happen.
W.H. Auden
Gay asserts that too often, people assume the line means poetry is ineffective. Instead, he counters, what if the line asserts that poetry does make something happen, and that happening is nothing? He says, in his endearing, verbose way, “In other words, a poem, or poetry, can stop time, or so-called time at least… This is one of the suite of poems Auden write in the late thirties and early forties, a period when one might have wanted so-called time – the clock, the airplanes, the trains, the perfectly diabolical synchronous goosestep rhythm of time itself- to stop.”
That’s two poets (Gay also writes poetry) telling me within the span of two weeks to find and embrace the nothing, the quiet. I will take that advice. And, write a few poems. How about you?
Happy National Poetry Month! To learn more, visit Poets.org. Check out their ideas for celebrating and teaching poems, as well as poems to share for Poem in Your Pocket Day, April 18.
A Word Nerdish friend recently shared a word I’d never heard before:
Eudemonia
Also spelled eudaemonia, this was my friend’s word of the day from Alexa. And after a week dominated by a bridge collapse, political fights, and more bad news from Gaza and Ukraine, I thought we needed this word, which has roots in…
What do you think, Word Nerds? Take a guess. Focus on that prefix, “eu.” Think “euphemism” or “euphoria.” Any ideas?
Eudemonia: from the Greek, eudaimonia, having a good attendant or indwelling spirit, lucky, happy (from eu- + daimon-, daimōn spirit) (Thank you, Merriam Webster.)
The simplest translation of Eudemonia is happiness, but there’s more to it. According to Positive Psychology, eudemonia is about not a state of being, but a process in which a person uses reason, an understanding of their true nature, and virtuous pursuit of their personal gifts to fully realize who they are meant to be. The idea has roots in the philosophy of Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates.
The same article from Positive Psychology offers an extensive history behind eudemonia, the modern definition of the concept, and most importantly for us, tips for pursuing eudemonia. They include knowing your life goals, focusing your talents and skills on achieving those goals, developing your potential, being fully engaged in what you do (because you find it meaningful and enjoyable), and expressing yourself.
It seemed appropriate to contemplate this word today, as I practice Christianity, (the loving kind), and today is Good Friday, a time to reflect on the love of Jesus, who sacrificed himself completely to save sinners around the world. My pursuit of happiness and fulfillment is intrinsically tied up in my faith, and the concept of eudemonia, gives me something meaningful to contemplate during Holy Week.
How I pursue happiness
I’m getting older. Therefore, I appreciate the value of each day and the need to use time well. I try to live intentionally, moving toward goals and practicing mindfulness.
One of my favorite yoga poses: Child’s Pose
I need a lot of help and reminders. Reading articles like the one from Positive Psychology help me keep my focus and find new tools. I also try to practice the following activities daily: (doesn’t always work, but it’s the goal)
Dedicate time in my schedule for creative pursuits: writing, photography, playing piano, crafting, painting, cooking
Begin each day with quiet time (which includes prayer, reading scripture, reading for personal growth) and find time for solitude during the day (e.g. while walking the dogs, meditation, yoga, cooking in a quiet kitchen)
Start the day with exercise- even 10 minutes is better than nothing
Connect with people- in person is best, but texts, calls, or note writing will do
I wasn’t sure what to expect during my recent trip to New York City. While my daughter and I visited the Big Apple, we sampled yummy bites of Thai spring rolls, pedaled around Central Park, and pondered the Going Dark exhibit at the Guggenheim.
The Rockefeller Center Ice Rink!The view from the top of The Guggenheim
But the best thing we got was a visit from an angel named Jessica.
After several days touring the city and mastering the NY subway system, my daughter and I arrived at Moynihan Train Hall for our trip home. Finding a comfy bench in the waiting area, we relaxed and swapped thoughts on our favorite parts of the visit. We embodied confidence and contentment.
It wouldn’t last.
When we boarded the train, we couldn’t find seats together, so we sat across the aisle from each other. My seat mate was AirPodding into a Zoom meeting, so I waited to introduce myself. Right on time, we pulled out of the station and started our trip to our first stop, Newark.
We didn’t get far.
Just before Newark, the train stopped, and the conductor announced that the Portal Bridge was stuck open and maintenance was working on it. We sat in a dark tunnel and waited. My phone pinged with an update from Amtrak, sharing what the conductor already had.
Meanwhile, my seat mate was off of her Zoom call and busy explaining to her child how to unclog a sump pump because, apparently, somewhere a basement was flooding. (It had been an especially rainy week in the northeast.)
When she got off the phone, she looked at me and smiled. “So, what’s happening with the train?”
I filled her in on the bridge debacle. “I overheard your phone conversation. Sorry about the flood.”
“Oh, it’s my mom’s basement. It’s done this before. Hopefully my daughter can manage it. Just living life, you know?” She grinned like she wasn’t facing multiple crises on a rainy Thursday.
The intercom crackled, and the conductor informed us that repairs were taking longer than expected, and we would be backing up to the NY station.
My seat mate and I raised our eyebrows. “And then what?” we both wondered aloud. I looked on Expedia for flights to Washington, D.C. She checked out Greyhound’s site. My phone pinged with yet another update from Amtrak.
When we returned to the underground tunnels of Moynihan Hall, the conductor addressed us again. “Well folks, this train will eventually start its route, but we don’t know if it will be in one hour or three. You can leave the train to go to the station, but please listen for announcements and alerts. It’s easiest if you just stay here.”
Preparing ourselves for a long wait, my daughter and I started the NYT crossword, the full sized one. My seat mate introduced herself as Jess and said she was heading up for a snack. “Do you need anything?” We shared our names and thanked her. I assured her I’d keep an eye on her belongings while she was gone. “Don’t let the train leave without me,” Jess said.
She returned a few minutes later, and daughter and I decided our backs could use a break, and popcorn and soda sounded appealing. So, we left our stuff under Jess’s watch and headed up to the station. The delay had caused chaos for many trains and travelers, and hordes of people sat on the polished floors or waited in line for food. During a quick trip to the bathroom, the girl behind me in line asked, “Are you from train 95?” I answered, “Yes, you too?” She nodded nervously.
In hindsight, I wonder if she’d heard something I hadn’t.
Back out in the food court, we skipped the long line at Chopped and quickly paid for Skinny Pop and a Diet Pepsi. Then we headed down to track number 12, where we had boarded our train the first time. The line of cars on track number 12 looked different. Some had double decker seating. My daughter said, “Mom, I’m getting worried.”
We took a convoluted route back up to the station, found the nearest employee, and told her we were looking for train 95 headed to Virginia. She checked her handheld monitor and frowned. When she spotted a fellow employee across the way, she headed in his direction and motioned for us to follow. The man she spoke to shook his head. “We made several announcements. That train is gone.”
Gone. With our luggage, my daughter’s laptop, phone, and purse.
As the female employee led us to customer service, I struggled to accept the situation. We hadn’t been gone that long. I didn’t get any texts. How had we missed the train? Maybe it was just lost in the confusion, hiding on a different platform. At customer service, I received a sheet of paper with directions for filing a lost items claim.
“Ma’am, do you know the number of the car you were on?”
No.
“The seat number you were in?”
No.
The man behind the counter shook his head. “Good luck. Give them as many details about your items as you can, but it’s a long shot.”
All my hope sank to the floor. I still wanted to believe train 95 was parked somewhere in the tunnels below us.
Suddenly, my daughter called me. “Mom! The train is here! Come on!” A group of us (because we were NOT the only ones to miss the train) followed a man in a navy Amtrak vest down an escalator. As soon as we got to the track, the man waved us into a door. “Just get on!”
The train started rolling shortly after we boarded. And then we learned we were not on train 95. It was train 92. Also heading to Virginia. But not with our stuff.
We plopped down next to a couple from Boston. I explained our predicament. “If you need to borrow a phone, or a laptop, just let us know.” My daughter took a phone and started searching Linked In. I combed Facebook for a woman named Jessica. I’d seen her scrolling, so I knew she had a profile.
There are a lot of Jessicas on Facebook.
Next, I called the numbers on Amtrak’s Lost Item flyer. I got voice mailboxes, a woman working for the Florida train authority, and Automated Assistant Julie. None of these calls proved fruitful or comforting. My daughter stared out the window, not actually seeing the warehouses we passed.
Finally, I decided if I didn’t hear from anyone, we’d take train 92 to Alexandria and drive down to the end of the line in Norfolk to retrieve our belongings. It seemed like our best shot to claim our stuff. I put my mother-in-law, who lives in Tidewater, on alert.
By then, our friends from Boston had tracked down a conductor who told us that our belongings had been removed from train 95 in Philly. All the passengers from train 95 needed to get off in Philly and claim their luggage. It seemed encouraging, but I was dubious. How in the world did they know what bags were ours?
Thirty minutes later, at the baggage claim in Philly, we realized they did not, in fact, have our bags. But, after we reported our dilemma to the station superintendent and got new tickets to Alexandria, I checked my Facebook messages.
And there it was. A frantic note from Jessica: Call me at this number.
I cried out to my daughter. “It’s Jess! She found us!” We knew my seatmate with the perfect hair and the calm disposition would come through, and she did.
When Jess answered her phone, she heaved a huge sigh. “I’ve been so worried for you! I’ve been hitting you up online any way I could find!”
Jessica asked for details about our bags and collected all of them. Took a picture to confirm. Got me on the phone with the conductor who assured me they would leave our items at customer service at Union Station in D.C. I got follow up calls from the same conductor as well as from an employee at Union Station.
While we rode to DC to collect our bags, I looked at Jessica’s Facebook profile. Turns out this together woman is a UVA grad, just like me. We later figured out her significant other is a guy I went to high school with. “God is so good!” she texted me later. “All the time,” I replied.
My daughter and I learned several things on that crazy train ride. First, just stay on the train. Second, if you get off the train, take everything with you. But third, and most importantly, people are good. Throughout the crisis, strangers offered kindness and generosity, including the Amtrak employees. But the star of this story is Jessica. She was prepared to take all of our stuff with her when she got off in Baltimore and mail it to us. People she didn’t even know. Because of her thoughtfulness and concern, my faith in humanity shot up several points.
Don’t let the headlines fool you. People are good. Jessica was our angel on the Amtrak that day, and we are forever grateful. Thank you, Jessica, and Go Hoos!
Many today consider Social Security benefits a non-negotiable part of American life, something we’ve always had and will have. But Social Security wouldn’t exist without the hard work of Ms. Frances Perkins, the first woman who served on a presidential cabinet as FDR’s Secretary of Labor. During the throes of The Great Depression, Ms. Perkins’ persistence in the face of personal tragedy, political criticism, and blatant misogyny not only gave Americans the New Deal, but also paved the way for women who wished to serve in public office.
Anyone interested in history, public service, and the evolving role of women in America during the 20th century should read Dray’s new release.
Premise
Dray’s new novel published March 12. Check it out!
With poverty devastating the US and war brewing in Europe, FDR won the American presidency and immediately asked Frances Perkins to serve on his cabinet as Secretary of Labor. The two had become acquainted in New York political circles, and Perkins was not always a fan of the crafty, arrogant Franklin Roosevelt. But after illness tainted both of their lives, they developed a friendship and political partnership that would change the trajectory of modern America.
What I liked
Frances intrigued me from the start. She grew up in a comfortable middle class family in Massachusetts, attended college, and taught physics and biology. But by 1910, she felt compelled to help the poor, and her interests turned to social reform.
Early in the novel, when contending with another female social reformer who questions Frances’ motivations, Frances replies,
“… many people in America believe poverty is a moral problem having to do with spirits, sloth, or some other sin we can blame on individuals. But I believe that poverty in America is an economic problem that can be solved, and I intend to solve it.”
Go Frances! Early in her social reform days, when she was accosted by a pimp, Frances literally beat him off with her parasol. This woman had pluck! (Which sometimes worked against her with the press and political adversaries.)
After earning a masters degree in economics and sociology from Columbia, Frances became the secretary of the New York Consumers League. In that role, she investigated working conditions and fought for laws to limit working hours. In 1918, she was the first woman appointed to the New York State Industrial Commission, which put her in contact with several influential politicians, including FDR.
I also enjoyed learning about FDR and his determination in the face of polio, world war, and a failing economy. Even though he and Frances didn’t always see eye to eye, he recognized her talent and bolstered her career. Without Frances, The New Deal might never have happened. FDR and Frances cared deeply not only for the rights of the poor, but for the survival of the country. Their passion is as relevant today as it was while they fought for American democracy.
If we don’t lend a hand to millions of folks out there who’ve lost everything, they’ll be sitting ducks for nationalist demagogues. Just look at what happened in Italy and Germany. It’s going to come to blows one day. We’ve got to give our people a reason to believe in our democratic system so they’ll stand up of it. If we want to keep our American way of life alive and well, we need to give our folks some security and a democracy worth fighting for.”
FDR speaking in Becoming Madam Secretary.
In Becoming Madam Secretary, Dray highlights the sacrifice and struggle of working in public office, especially for a woman in the early 20th Century. Frances’ husband struggled with bipolar disorder, and eventually moved to an institution. She kept his condition quiet to avoid public scandal. Her often petulant daughter resented having a such a busy mother, adding more stress to Frances’ life. Dray deftly examines the precarious balance between motherhood and career, still so relevant today. She also highlights the burden Perkins carried as she broke barriers for other women.
I was coming to the uncomfortable realization that other women felt a strong personal investment in my career. Even those who weren’t my friends. Beyond any policy I might advance, they wanted to see me succeed. As if my rise validated their won ambitions and self-worth as women. It was both an honor and a terribly humbling to hold such a mantle.
While the events of Becoming Madam Secretary happened almost 100 years ago, they ring familiar in today’s political climate. For example, as Hitler made concerning changes in Germany, Frances fought to bring Jewish refugees to the United States. “Nativists” at the time accused her of being a communist and worse. The rhetoric echoes some of the language we hear today regarding immigrants.
What I didn’t like
Becoming Madame Secretary started slowly for me. There were also lots of characters introduced in the early chapters, and the name dropping made me feel like a newbie politician in the New York legislature. At times, the dialogue, especially between Frances and her friend and admirer Sinclair Lewis, felt awkward and stilted. However, as the book progressed, it sucked me in and I looked forward to reading about Frances and finding out how she managed to get her policy passed.
Recommendation
I have read several of Dray’s other historical fiction novels, including My Dear Hamilton and The Women of Chateau Lafayette. Becoming Madam Secretary is one of my favorites. If you love historical fiction or inspiring stories about strong women, you should read Becoming Madam Secretary. Dray’s novel is the perfect way to celebrate Women’s History Month.
If you want to learn more about Frances Perkins, the most recent episode of the What’s Her Name Podcast features a discussion with Stephanie Dray about the amazing Frances Perkins.
Have you read or learned about an amazing woman recently? Please share in the comments!
