My Old True Love by Shelia Kay Adams.
Chapel Hill: Algonquin, 2004. $23.95 — 288 pp.

Modern historians generally agree that during the Civil War, the Southern Appalachians emerged as the most dissension-ridden geographic area in the South. Certainly, Western North Carolina and eastern Tennessee contained a bewildering array of factions — elitist pro-slavery families nestled cheek to jowl with poor pro-Unionist farmers throughout the region.

In addition, brutal Home Guard patrols and lawless bands of Union-sanctioned “foragers” harassed the dispirited farming communities from Madison County to Knoxville. They did so with an intensity and a cruelty than often suggested that the home front was more dangerous that the battlefield. It was a time that seemed to bring out the worst in human nature: bushwhackers, traitors, sadists and thieves.

This is the setting of Shelia Kay Adams’ novel, My Old True Love, a tale, the author contends, largely based on “family history” — plus Shelia Kay’s “very active imagination.” Drawing on a rich blend of family tales, music and local history, Adams weaves a bloodstained but appealing narrative that is filled with anguish, strife and, above all else ... passion.

Arty Stanton, the narrator of My Old True Love, emerges as a feisty, garrulous woman who both experienced and witnessed the events attending the Civil War in Madison County. Speaking from the vantage point of 1920, she recalls epidemics, the birth of eight children (living), music, joy, toil and the deprivations (physical and psychological) that came with the war. Speaking with a disarming zest for living, Arty remembers her life’s most intense moments: the death of a child, the stirrings of physical passion, moonlight on a February snow and a drink from a cold mountain spring.

However, Arty is, first and foremost, a woman — a biological fact that tints this novel like elderberry dye. She speaks with unabashed frankness about sexual attraction, pregnancy and menstrual cycles and physical sensations. (She readily salivates when she thinks of the garden’s first beans and corn or the first jug of molasses, etc.) In short, Arty revels in sensation.

Further, Arty acknowledges that the purpose of human existence is procreation. Unfortunately, the path to the fulfillment of this goal is beset by a thousand pitfalls, most of which are devised by the world of men. War, politics, greed, arrogance and the lust for power — all are part of the meaningless games devised by foolish men — games that are destructive rather than creative.

As Arty’s tragic epic unfolds, My Old True Love provides a perspective on the chaotic events that characterized much of the Civil War in Appalachia. Due to the dissent regarding secession and the absence of slaves in most of this region, the people living in places like Marshall and Shelton Laurel are ambivalent about a conflict that was often referred to as “the rich man’s war and the poor man’s fight.” As a result, hundreds of young men went to the war reluctantly, or they were prone to switching sides with a whimsical disregard for “causes.” Many more refused to fight at all, or quickly deserted when they encountered deprivation.

This atmosphere of indecision is reflected in the Stanton family. Arty’s husband, Zeke, along with an assortment of brothers, joins the Confederacy while her son Hackney soon deserts and joins Kirk’s Raiders — a Union-sanctioned band that “foraged” throughout eastern Tennessee and Western North Carolina. While Arty’s neighbors readily protected and gave shelter to deserters, the region was rife with spies and bushwhackers who were motivated by greed or the need to settle old grudges. Atrocities are commonplace, as are “executions.” (In fact, one of the executions that Adams relates bears a disconcerting resemblance to the “execution” of my own great-great grandfather by Kirk’s Raiders.)

During the worst years, all of the local farms are routinely visited by both Union and Confederate troops who demand “10 percent” of the household’s provisions. Invariably, the worst offenses are committed by “neighbors against neighbors.”

Ah, but the primary focus of My Old True Love is not the atrocities of war but the “ravages of the human heart.” Even as the war rages or in the midst of typhoid epidemics and periods of near starvation, Arty’s primary concern is the sexual contretemps of her family — especially her son, Hackney, the handsome, vain and gifted musician and singer who seems to have a terminal case of carnal lust. In fact, fornication seems to be his reason to live. Then, there is the long-suffering Larkin, who is hopelessly in love with Mary, Hackney’s wife. There are also some notable ladies who pursue their own sexual gratification with a disconcerting aggressiveness. In essence, carnal lust emerges as both humanity’s greatest solace and most relentless curse.

However, Adams layers her novel with music, which isn’t surprising since she is one of America’s greatest ballad-singers. These are marvelous ballads, too — perfect compliments to the yearnings of Adams’ anguished lovers. Heartfelt and poignant, they speak from the dim past of Scotland, Ireland and England, and each is either a celebration of love’s joy, treachery or loss.

The first third of My Old True Love contains an impressive array of “mountain metaphor,” and although I am a seasoned veteran of this region’s Scotch-Irish culture, I encountered a few that I had never heard, including “as ignorant as four buckets of hair” and “as old as God’s dog.” Adams’ protagonist, Arty, also has a penchant for speaking in superlatives (the prettiest baby, the sweetest molasses, the coldest spring, the heaviest snow, etc.) which in conjunction with metaphors creates a remarkably colorful (and sometimes disconcerting) pattern of speech.

In general, I found the depiction of Appalachian culture both accurate and discerning. Adams captures the complex mix of humor, stoic endurance, superstition and zest for life that characterizes the souls of mountain folk. I only found one disparity that troubled me. The people of My Old True Love are disconcertingly affectionate. Mothers, lovers and children are given to frequent displays of tears, embraces and ardent declarations. Alas, in my own experience, my relatives and neighbors were not “huggers and kissers.” Affection was present, but restrained. (My own grandmother who reared me only embraced me once in her life ... a few days before she died.)

Finally, I would like to note that the publisher’s advance publicity for My Old True Love compares it to Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain and Robert Morgan’s Gap Creek. I feel that the comparison to Gap Creek has considerable merit — especially since both contain talkative, carnal-minded narrators who salivate when thinking of food — and other stuff. However, the comparison to Cold Mountain bothers me. It misrepresents Adams’ book. Cold Mountain has a classical underpinning and contains motifs with universal relevance. Adams’ book is a well-written novel that deals with a specific family and region at a specific time. While it is true that both novels deal with the Civil War, the underlying themes have nothing in common.

(Gary Carden is a writer, storyteller and lecturer whose book, Mason Jars in the Flood, was recently named Book of the Year by the Appalachian Writers Association. He can be reached at gcarden498@aol.com.)