The Ballad of Falling Rock
Saul Crabtree may have sold his soul to the devil for a voice that brings anyone who hears it to tears, or the devil may just have taken an interest in him. Or not. However, he comes by it, this Appalachian preacher’s son is blessed or cursed with a voice that shifts emotions and sometimes even the weather. His grandson inherits it along with the mystery of Saul’s life in this novel that moves from 1938 through the Eighties.
Some of the best and most powerful chapters take place in the Catawba tuberculosis sanitorium, early in the narrative when the only treatment available is fresh air and/or the removal of the damaged lung.
Dotson’s language is at times lyrical and at times too much so, overwrought with imagery that could have used pruning by an editor. The elements of magical realism add an otherworldly overlay that seems right, but some of the more mundane logistics give pause: anyone who has ever had a newborn will question the believability of one disappearing with its mad father into a disintegrating house where the two will remain alone and unseen until the child is a feral four-year old. How on earth did he feed it?
The narrative is intercut with a Native American legend about an Indian named Falling Rock that doesn’t quite overcome its connection to the ubiquitous road sign. It mirrors the story of the Crabtree men but doesn’t really add anything. This is a novel about the fearsome power of love, and in many ways it is magical and heart-wrenching, but it just misses.
