Chris Offutt on nature, Appalachia and the “Code of the Hills” ‹ CrimeReads

Chris Offutt published his first book when I was young and in college. Kentucky Road (Knopf Doubleday, 1992) hit us English scholars at the University of Kentucky hard, and we discussed it Ad infinitum at the time. Some of us thought it was absolutely fantastic, perhaps the best work ever to come out of Kentucky, and it was appropriate for the mountainous region in which the stories are set. Others objected, arguing that the stories seemed exploitative in places, that the portrayals fell into stereotypes. What everyone seemed to agree on, however, was that the work was a Mood it got under your skin. The style was animated by an artful eeriness, and there was a constant tension that held the reader’s attention. We also talked a lot about Offutt’s creation of place, something we hadn’t seen in other Appalachian writers. There’s a certain authenticity there, we agreed, a fact confirmed by many students who had actually grown up in the mountains (“That old lady reminds me of my Mamaw… That guy is just like my uncle.”)

Another point we all agreed on was: Offutt’s characters are not limited to humans. The mountains themselves and all their flora and fauna play a crucial role in the story collection. Indeed, the characters – and the narrative tension in general – cannot be separated from the environment that shapes them. And in that respect, there was often something mystical too, something raw and dangerous, a brave art that was shaped not only by the expression of the mountains’ beauty but that juxtaposed the natural world and the (often brutal) human world. One story in particular, “Auntie Grandma Lith,” merged the two worlds in such a spectacular way that we just couldn’t stop talking about it. (“Is it real? Is it fantastic? Should we believe The?”)

Honestly, I haven’t stopped thinking about it Kentucky Road. And occasionally I still discuss it over a few beers with an old college friend.

Offutt wrote another collection of stories, two novels and three memoirs – all incredible works. He recently published three books in a series about US Army CID police officer Mick Hardin –The Killing Hills, Shifty’s Boys, And Code of the Hills, all from Grove Press. Mick is from the mountains of eastern Kentucky, where his sister is sheriff and where his wife still lives, although their relationship is rocky. Between assignments abroad, Mick is persuaded to solve cases in the mountains, sometimes as a hired private investigator and sometimes as a deputy cop. The books are gripping, full of colorful characters, fast-paced action, and again attuned to that element of place, the natural environment that lives both outside and inside so many characters. Mick is also a fantastic heavy hitter, a quiet guy who sees through all angles and can hold his own among the toughest mountain villains.

I talked to Chris about the series and the next part, the upcoming The reluctant sheriff.

Chris, nature plays an important role in the Mick Hardin series. Even in really tense scenes where violence threatens, characters talk about the flora and fauna that surround them, even though they believe someone is about to kill them. Mick in particular is aware of the rhythms of nature. Can you talk about the place of nature in these scenes or in the series as a whole?

The hills of Eastern Kentucky are full of birds, wildflowers, small game, and a mix of deciduous and coniferous trees. There are more examples of flora and fauna than anywhere else in North America. There are more animals in the hills than people. I grew up there and learned to love what the woods have to offer, especially the birds. Mick and the characters reflect my love of nature.

I believe that people are strongly influenced by the surrounding landscape. We are especially shaped by the nature of our childhood. In the mountains, nature is a constant force – beautiful and relentless. Sometimes brutal. The sounds of the birds and the wind in the leaves are a constant backdrop to the life I experienced as a child and as an adult.

When I write, it’s a way for me to return to the environment I love.

Throughout the series, people adhere to certain mountain rules of conduct, even when it might slow down an investigation or jeopardize a plan. This is a unique, compelling element of the stories. What is so important about the mountain rules of conduct, the mountain ways of doing things?

The hills of eastern Kentucky are some of the most isolated areas in the United States. People have lived there for a long time, which has resulted in ancient ways of life being preserved in the culture. The population is small and people have never had a political voice. This has led to strong self-reliance and a deep distrust of authority. There were also fewer law enforcement officers in the mountains than elsewhere. This combination has created a mindset that, in many cases, is not about legality or illegality, but about what is right.

There is no real code, written or unwritten. It’s a term I invented to explain people’s cultural willingness to sort out problems themselves. I’m not advocating vigilantism. But it also seems clear that in America we don’t have a “legal system,” we have a “legal system.” And that legal system always favors people with money.

Mick’s sister, Sheriff Linda Hardin, plays an important role in all three novels. Sometimes the siblings are at odds – both professionally and philosophically – but other times they work well together. Did you think much about this before you started writing? In other words, how did you come to the conclusion that a sibling element would help you tell the story?

The most important social factor in the mountains is loyalty to family. This is true elsewhere, of course, but in Appalachia there are no other institutions that inspire loyalty, like big companies, sports teams, or old universities. I wanted to emphasize loyalty to family in the books. Although Linda and Mick are very different and had different childhoods, they are still devoted to each other like siblings.

In conventional crime novels, there is usually a love story for the protagonist. It’s a stylistic device, but a valuable one that can show a softer side of the tough protagonist. The downside is that this dynamic has only two outcomes: they stay together or they break up. Siblings stick together no matter what. They can live in angry silence for a decade, but they can also end their animosity if they have to join forces. This seemed to me to be a far more interesting relationship than that of the usual romantic love.

At one point in the novels, the narrator digresses and tells of an event that happened a long time ago. For example, the Branham sisters in The Killing HillsMountain beauties from a bygone era who enjoyed the attentions of attractive suitors before falling on hard times. There are other such stories about days long gone, often of loss, and even more recent stories appear as narrative digressions. What role does the past play in these novels?

Faulkner said, “The past is never dead. It is not even past.” He was talking about Mississippi, but the same can be said of Eastern Kentucky. In some ways, the past is not so far away. Life in the mountains remained unchanged for over two hundred years. By the end of the 18th century, all available land was largely settled. The first settlers were Scots-Irish, who were outsiders in both Ireland and Scotland.

The westward expansion extended north and south of the Appalachian region because of the rugged terrain. There were no large rivers for riverboat trade. There was no flat land for large factories. The land was not suitable for massive agriculture or ranching. The periodic migration of young people left behind mostly older people who helped to maintain the earlier ways of life and thinking.

All of this is part of why Mick thinks about the past. He was raised by his grandfather deep in the woods, which also influences his way of thinking. To use your term, these “narrative digressions” are also about me and my own thinking about the past. It’s possible that I think about the past too much!

Several reviewers have highlighted the “precise dialogue” in the books. What is important about this? As someone who grew up in Appalachia, does the dialogue come easily to you?

I’m glad that people think the dialogue is accurate. In my work, the dialogue is an attempt to convey a dialect and a way of thinking. Writing dialogue is always difficult. It’s a balancing act or an illusion of deception. Nobody really speaks like they do in books and movies. When we talk to each other, we want to communicate. We interpret and inflect. We let sentences trail off and take lots of pauses. We give ourselves time to think by saying “you know” or “um…” or “you know what I mean?” But that’s not what readers really want to read!

I write very long dialogue scenes and then shorten them considerably. I try to reduce them to the essence of what is being said. I try to convey the accent and dialect mainly through syntax.

Which authors do you like to read?

My goodness, there are so many. I read two books a week. That seems like a lot until you do the math and it’s only about 100 books a year. I have many favorites: Flannery O’Connor, Joan Didion, James Alan McPherson, Graham Greene, Jean Rhys, Pete Dexter. I could go on forever. Nathaniel Hawthorne. Henry James. James Welch. John le Carré. Edith Wharton. Different authors have had a strong influence at different times in my life.

The first mountain writer I loved was James Still. From time to time I read his novel River of the Earth. Such a masterpiece!

Can you tell us something about it The reluctant sheriff?Will this be the last part of the series? And if so, what’s next for you?

It might be the last one. But then again, I’ve started a new one! The reluctant sheriff takes shortly after Code of the Hills ends. It’s hard to talk about the new part because it gives away information about the entire series. The biggest change is that part of the book takes place on Corsica, an island in the Mediterranean where a person from Kentucky is hiding. And of course, someone reluctantly becomes sheriff