My Take on Vance

or how one learns to shift perspectives

First the confession: I read the book in 2016.

But truthfully, reading is never a confession. The real confession is: I liked it.

The perspective shift is that I have now re-read it, and I understand why so many others did not like it even back in 2016, before he was a public or political figure to attack. As I re-read, I found myself giving his plethora of cliches and absolutes frustrated eye-rolls and long sighs. It’s amazing what a fresh and objective read can bring. This is the kind of being proved wrong (otherwise known as Learning Something New) that I love.

our west virginia back “yard”

I’m a strong believer that you should always read a book for yourself when it gets a lot of buzz, whether it’s positive or negative, instead of jumping in with the masses and assuming they know what they’re talking about. Back in the early 2000’s, in the days when I was still a part of a suffocating evangelical circle, many people around me began “banning” Harry Potter from their children’s lives. Witchcraft is not highly regarded in evangelical systems—and whether or not that book actually fits under that umbrella didn’t matter. Once word got around that it was a bad book—meaning evil, not poorly written, but I suppose both are subjective—you would be a very bad Christian if you had it in your house.

So, of course, I went out and bought a copy.

From there I fell in love with the magical world, the characters, and growing story over seven books. I didn’t understand what the problem was, but figured most of the people condemning the books probably didn’t read them in the first place—a typical perplexing issue even among today’s bans. These days, the HP books have a whole other connotation to them, now based on the author herself rather than the content, and a new demographic promoting a “ban”, which is an unexpected shift in perspectives, for sure. And I put ban in quotes because in both cases because a lot of the time these bans, even if they get a lot of air-time, are personal, somewhat isolated in certain groups, and not systematic—not like Utah’s most recent nonsense of literally banning several titles from all school libraries across the state. That is unconscionable. I would love to know if all the people making that decision read all of those books.

Anyway back to Vance. When I first read his memoir slash condemnation, I saw myself in the pages and I had great empathy for his personal story. That hasn’t changed. While I did not grow up in Appalachia, (nor did he, technically) I grew up poor, rural, in a sometimes violent and avoidant alcoholic home, and on the fringes of Appalachia where the region is a mix of cultures. In Pennsylvania, I experienced the kind of atmosphere Vance describes— “pessimistic bunch” who are “socially isolated” and “passing that to our children”— with a lot of drugs, low income families, and a certain kind of oppression that I didn’t even realize was affecting me so much until I left. I saw more confederate flags in that state than I see in West Virginia, where I live now. When I moved to PA as a thirteen year old in 1988, the KKK marched in the closest town. The junior high I attended still used paddles as option for discipline, albeit a student “choice”. The hillbillies and the landscape Vance describes very much echoed a lot of what I also witnessed and felt.

However. That was not everyone, or all of my experiences, and it still is not everyone or every experience in Appalachia or rural America.

And that’s the part (at least one part—there are several issues) that is the problem with this book. When I first read it, I was as caught up in my own lived experience just as Vance maybe was when he first started writing it, and so not able to see the problematic language well enough to read it objectively. I was part of the exact system he describes, and also the exact reason of why that book soared to lists. We all too often want simple explanations for complicated issues and sometimes that stifles our objectivity—it did in his writing and it did in my first reading. I think most of us love an underdog story as well, and that’s what really drew me in initially. I don’t discount Vance’s personal experiences in that way—assuming what he wrote about his own life is true, I’m glad he was able to find a way to a life he wanted. Everyone should be able to have that.

But when I reread this book now, in addition to a lot of absolute statements and damning diatribes about lazy hillbillies and other terrible stereotypes, I can see the numerous blatant and often ridiculous ways he uses “we, us” instead of “I, me” far too often. Language is powerful. It’s hard to imagine such tiny words mattering that much, but they do because by using “we”, he’s categorizing all hillbillies, and frankly all folks in Appalachia and a lot of rural America, instead of simply saying “This was my experience”. He didn’t need to implicate an entire region to tell his personal underdog story, but he did. Imagine how many different tellings you might have from all of the residents of a small town—probably a different testimony from each resident, all of which giving you a well-rounded and more objective look and understanding of that town. And yet, this book became a “tell-all” of a region that spans thirteen states, and has a diverse population of almost 30 million that crosses both rural and metropolitan areas. All in all, his book was only a “tell-part”.

A few years back, I had a friend gently educate me a bit about some of the stereotyping aspects, a conversation I really took to heart. I believed what she said, and realized that I had been identifying with the personal connection, but not truly seeing the overarching influence. It was the turning point in my perspective, and I’m glad I re-read it because it solidified what she told me, and I was able to see the damaging parts for myself, and friends, it’s pretty damn obvious.

Recently I made a comment on another friend’s Facebook page, a joke about Vance that led to some dissenting opinions, of course. (And no, not about the couch, because I find that obnoxious at this point) It’s really not my style to comment about anything political or remotely conflicting on socials, but the result was eye-opening also. The people who defended Vance were in the camp of loving his personal story. I get it. I was once one of them; I still think his part in his story is valuable. But I now also understand so much clearer how a single white man’s story can not be the representation of an entire region (especially one that has been historically insulted, mocked, or ignored) and that’s what publishing his book did for Appalachia. And frankly probably all of rural America. That damage went far. Look at how rural people are targeted as being on the “wrong side” of things constantly. His book wasn’t the only factor in that, to be fair, but it certainly did not help.

So, I guess this is a pledge for me, for all of us, to read more, read widely, and read objectively. Seek out people who strive to show us all kinds of representations of people, places, and lives lived and who won’t be afraid to tell you the more complex truth.

Read Appalachia is a fantastic resource for books from a diverse range of Appalachian authors, so check that out. And The Whippoorwill Award highlights excellent children’s books from rural authors. Also, if you ever want to learn about any new region or culture, check out that area’s independent bookstores because those folks will be promoting a wide range of quality literature, not just the buzz books. Last year, I read and loved Demon Copperhead, like so many other people have, and I have a few new ones on my list now (including What You Are Getting Wrong About Appalachia and Appalachia Reckoning) from my local bookstore Wordplay. It’s encouraging that other books can rise to the top. Let’s help it continue.