Book Report: Tomato Red

12. Daniel Woodrell, Tomato Red (1998) (2/27/21)

Not long ago on FB, a writer friend of mine (of gangster stories) declared . . . I don't remember the exact words, but something to the effect that Daniel Woodrell was a god and could do no wrong. So of course I had to seek him out.

I had read Winter's Bone and greatly admired it. When I read my review of that book now, it seems that book wasn't so very different in its components from this one: a holler in the Ozarks; young people with unrealizable dreams of getting out. And yet while that one moved me, I didn't much care for this one. I don't know quite why, and I keep trying to puzzle it out.

The language, again, was virtuosic—maybe to a fault: there were moments when I wanted someone to just say a plain sentence.

The basic plot concerns a young man, Sammy, who has drifted into Venus Holler, Missouri, "the most low-life part of town," and into the lives of nineteen-year-old Jamalee (Tomato Red, so called for her red-dyed short hair), her younger and drop-dead gorgeous brother Jason (he is also, probably, gay—not necessarily a good thing in podunk Missouri), and their hooker mother Bev. Breaking and entering into the homes of wealthy neighbors introduces them all. 

Jason ends up dead—no one knows how, and the law seems not to care; Jamalee ends up absconding with some money and a gun—hopefully to find a better life, but prospects seem slim; and Sammy, at the very end, whacks someone with a crowbar, so it's pretty clear where he's headed. 

I wanted to like these people, and couldn't. But I suppose I did develop some empathy (or do I mean sympathy?) for them. Or not specifically for them, but for actual red-blooded Americans who live in the poorest pockets of this country and want something better in life—but have no ability to achieve it. 

Sammy's whack of the crowbar at the end is driven by desperate frustration, and I believe (bleeding heart that I am) that that same frustration is what drives so many in this country into sorry fates: of prison, or addiction, or murder, or early death. We, as a society (and I definitely include the uberwealthy here), could do so much more to educate and arm young people and give them the wherewithal to escape circumstances beyond their choosing."Pull yourself up by the bootstraps" be damned.

For a sample of the writing, randomly chosen, here's this:

When you look as if you are a person who should in any circumstances be considered a suspect, you get put through the drill plenty. Big boss man comes sidling up on the driver's side, hand on his pistol butt, stayin' just over my shoulder for a clear shot in case I might snap and want to blast my way free of a parking ticket. John Law has standard demands: license, registration, name of passenger. He runs the paperwork through the behemoth computer they've got that keeps track of us un-mainstreamed residents till the day the rules decide to stack us all in a pile and squash us like little irritants. The computer keeps us easy to find. On me the computer prints out that I'm temporarily clean, with no outstanding warrants and no more tail on my parole, either. Yet damned if I don't smell guilty.
     He hands my papers back and says, "There you go, Mr. Barlach." He says my name wrong, then leans to my window. He smells of baby powder and Old Spice and has a mint clicking behind his teeth so he's got sweet breath and is prepared to start kissin' at any second. He says, "You and your vehicle match a description."
     "What's that, cool cat in car? Is that the description?"

This book gave me a lot to think about, in an uncomfortable way. Again, I can't say as I liked this book. But I'm glad I read it. (And seriously, the use of metaphor, simile, and the like? Not to mention dialogue? Masterful.)