Robert Gipe

Robert Gipe has blown the lid off his already zany writing style with Pop, the conclusion to his Canard County Kentucky trilogy. It's a celebration of diverse Appalachia, told from three perspectives: that of Dawn Jewell Bilson, his original heroine from his first book Trampoline; Nicolete Bilson, her seventeen-year-old daughter; and their Uncle Hubert.

A lot is crammed into these few pages. For just a start, there is a visiting movie crew, environmental destruction/activism, social media, holiday parties, ghosts, violent crimes and attempted assaults, witchcraft, a lengthy dream sequence, my favorite shoe store, and notably, a fledgling soda pop business featuring local flavors. run by Nicolette and her friends, from which the novel takes its name. The book is set in 2016, so there is an election and the birth of Trumpmania as well. The action spreads across at least four states. I am not sure I understand it all, but it sure was a helluva ride.

As with the rest of the trilogy, the illustrations are hilarious, and pure genius. As a defense of the people and the region, I want to stand up and applaud Pop for its creativity and take up the phrase "nothing about us without us" directed at the wider culture, and Hollywood in particular, as a mantra.

As an Appalachian myself, I can't help but nitpick about this one detail: while the description of boiling down syrup and pouring off was spot on (I have done it, with a tractor engine instead of a mule to extract the juice from the stalks), you don't make sorghum syrup from cane. Nicolette and friends are clearly making molasses. Sorghum is a "whole nuther" plant.

I'm Robert Gipe's biggest fan and have told him so personally, but I believe that there are five or six potential novels here about a host of topics. The beauty of Trampoline and Weedeater was the contrast between poignancy and craziness, and in Pop our most talented new Appalachian author sometimes loses the pacing. I hardly felt that I could catch my breath long enough to do emotional justice to the sad parts. I hope he picks up some of these sociopolitical and comedic threads that are touched upon here and expands upon them in his future work, which I eagerly await.… (mais)

More sprawling and less intimate than Trampoline and Weedeater, but a fun ride—there are ghosts and visions, teenage entrepreneurs, a murder, and at least one surprise reveal. If there's a lesson here, it's that things are not always what they first seem (except for the guy who gets killed), and it's good to approach what you think you know—people, regions, and politics—with care and attention. And the illustrations, as always, are top notch. I suspect this is Gipe's last Canard County book, and I'll genuinely miss the cast of characters.… (mais)

The second in Gipe's Canard County trilogy, this is a sweet, offbeat book about the many ways you can't save the folks you love—and also the shifting currents of motherhood and friendship, whether art or politics can redeem a body, class, drugs, community—the book is set in early 2000s Appalachia—and unrequited love. Along with the story itself, Gipe does a fantastic job with both the dialogue/dialect—no easy thing to do well, and he nails it—and the wonderful, fourth-wall-breaking, deadpan illustrations that help move the story along. This is way different from anything else I've read lately, compassionate and quirky without ever being cute, and I liked it a lot.… (mais)

Set in the coal mines of Kentucky in the '90s, Robert Gipe's Trampoline is a compelling and emotional bildungsroman that is destined to become an Appalachian classic and a mainstay of the Appalachian Studies syllabus. The novel, which is brilliantly illustrated, is very bleak at times, but never becomes depressing. I rooted for Dawn Jewell from the first page and believed she would triumph in the end; this conviction carried me through all of her setbacks, disappointments, and dangers. I laughed a lot, especially over the language and dialogue, which is spot on. The only thing that made me want to cry is that Dawn is not really a fictional character; there are many Dawns in Appalachia, and almost 20 years after the time of Trampoline, these kids are up against poverty, broken families, terrible adult influences, and underfunded/ineffectual schools, plus social media bullying, fracking, and the meth plague. Dawn seems so very real because she is real.

As with every great American coming-of-age tale, we join Dawn just as she is making the choices that will determine the course of her life. Will she become an activist like her Mamaw or choose the self-preservation of silence? Will she be courageous enough to let a boy into her life? Will she choose education over crime and controlled substances? Will she get out of Kentucky or will she stay?

Gipe's treatment of Dawn's first love with Willet, the DJ, is phenomenal: it is disappointing and realistic and deeply moving all at once. "Baby Steps" is a sensible rule for any relationship when you've been through as much trauma as Dawn has, and Willet is mellow and respectful enough to understand.

I loved it when Dawn matured enough to understand that the environmentalists and miners are all one big family, all loving the mountains, all struggling to survive and preserve their home and way of life. This is why there are no easy answers to the issues surrounding coal, and why there never will be any easy answers.… (mais)