Where All Light Tends to Go, by David Joy
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Where All Light Tends to Go, by David Joy
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A Finalist for the Edgar Award for Best First Novel“Remarkable . . . This isn’t your ordinary coming-of-age novel, but with his bone-cutting insights into these men and the region that bred them, Joy makes it an extraordinarily intimate experience.”—Marilyn Stasio, The New York Times Book Review"Lyrical, propulsive, dark and compelling. Joy knows well the grit and gravel of his world, the soul and blemishes of the place."--Daniel Woodrell In the country-noir tradition of Winter's Bone meets 'Breaking Bad,' a savage and beautiful story of a young man seeking redemption. The area surrounding Cashiers, North Carolina, is home to people of all kinds, but the world that Jacob McNeely lives in is crueler than most. His father runs a methodically organized meth ring, with local authorities on the dime to turn a blind eye to his dealings. Having dropped out of high school and cut himself off from his peers, Jacob has been working for this father for years, all on the promise that his payday will come eventually. The only joy he finds comes from reuniting with Maggie, his first love, and a girl clearly bound for bigger and better things than their hardscrabble town. Jacob has always been resigned to play the cards that were dealt him, but when a fatal mistake changes everything, he’s faced with a choice: stay and appease his father, or leave the mountains with the girl he loves. In a place where blood is thicker than water and hope takes a back seat to fate, Jacob wonders if he can muster the strength to rise above the only life he’s ever known.
Where All Light Tends to Go, by David Joy- Amazon Sales Rank: #140448 in Books
- Brand: Joy, David
- Published on: 2015-03-03
- Released on: 2015-03-03
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 9.25" h x .84" w x 6.32" l, 1.00 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 272 pages
Review
Praise for Where All Light Tends to Go
“[A] remarkable first novel . . . This isn’t your ordinary coming-of-age novel, but with his bone-cutting insights into these men and the region that bred them, Joy makes it an extraordinarily intimate experience.”—Marilyn Stasio, The New York Times Book Review
“[An] accomplished debut . . . In Appalachia, a young outlaw, Jacob McNeely, struggles to escape what Faulkner called that “old fierce pull of blood,” a violent meth-dealing father, the dark legacies of an unforgiving place and the terrible miseries it breeds. [A] beautiful, brutal book.”—Minneapolis Star-Tribune“Readers of Southern grit lit in the tradition of Daniel Woodrell and Harry Crews will enjoy this fast-paced debut thriller. Fans of Ron Rash’s novels will appreciate the intricate plot and Joy’s establishment of a strong sense of place in his depiction of rural Appalachia.”—Library Journal (starred review)“Bound to draw comparisons to Daniel Woodrell's Winter's Bone...[Joy's] moments of poetic cognizance are the stuff of fine fiction, lyrical sweets that will keep readers turning pages...Where All Light Tends To Go is a book that discloses itself gradually, like a sunrise peeking over a distant mountain range...If [Joy's next] novel is anything like his first, it'll be worth the wait.”—Atlanta Journal-Constitution“Joy’s first novel is an uncompromising noir, its downward thrust pulling like quicksand on both the characters and the reader. And, yet, there is poetry here, too, as there is in Daniel Woodrell’s novels, the kind of poetry that draws its power from a doomed character’s grit in the face of disaster. . . This is the start of a very promising fiction-writing career.”—Booklist“Gripping . . . Engaging characters, a well-realized setting, and poetic prose establish Joy as a novelist worth watching.”—Publishers Weekly“Joy’s debut is about hope as much as it is fate . . . [it] is harrowing. Joy’s voice is authentic, his prose sparse, his eye for detail minute. Everything works in this novel to push the reader closer and closer to the cliff’s edge, hoping against hope that what won’t be required is to jump off.”—Mountain Times
“Joy works with the materials many call the stuff of “country noir.” The result calls to mind the work of powerful writers such as Ron Rash, Daniel Woodrell, Mark Powell, and Cormac McCarthy . . . Joy has crafted a piece of masterful fiction. His sense of pace, his ability to catch the reader off guard with explosive and often upsetting incidents, his way with the shape of a chapter—all herald a major young writer.”—Still: The Journal
“Where All Light Tends to Go is lyrical, propulsive, dark and compelling. In this debut novel, David Joy makes it clear that he knows well the grit and gravel of his world, the soul and blemishes of the place. He uses details that put us inside the picture, and lets his narrative move at a graceful but restless pace.”—Daniel Woodrell, author of Winter’s Bone and The Maid’s Version “David Joy has written a savage and moving account of a young man’s attempt to transcend his family’s legacy of violence. Where All Light Tends to Go is an outstanding debut and a fine addition to the country noir vein of Southern Literature.”—Ron Rash, PEN/Faulkner Finalist and New York Times bestselling author of Serena “Where All Light Tends to Go is deeply rooted in place, written in an assured, authentic voice. David Joy manages to be both lyrical and gritty, loving and horrifyingly violent, funny and grim. His picture of modern Appalachia is rich and evocative, with bold storytelling not often seen in a first novel. This book is an amazing start to a career that could make Joy the Larry Brown of the Appalachians.”—Ace Atkins, New York Times-bestselling author of The Forsaken “Compelling and authentic . . . a harsh tale of young love’s tender hopes set against the brutal realities of ruined Appalachia. Jacob McNeely’s story is one worth reading.”—Tawni O’Dell, New York Times-bestselling author of Back Roads “David Joy writes under the auspices of community, heartbreak, and love, and makes use of the warmest color in fiction - gray. What is right and what is wrong and who is to decide? In the North Carolina mountains, these answers don't come easy. Big decisions come with big consequences, and if you second guess, you lose.”—Michael Farris Smith, author of Rivers and The Hands of Strangers “Running with the dopers, drunks and less fortunate in my youth, those who were doomed by their surroundings, the story that David Joy tells is one of truth, power and circumstance and quite possibly a tour de force in American letters.”—Frank Bill, author of Crimes in Southern Indiana and Donnybrook “Where All Light Tends to Go reads like the whiskey-breath of Harry Crews word-drunk on the lyricism of Daniel Woodrell. It's as brutally beautiful as it is heartbreaking.”—Mark Powell, author of The Dark Corner “David Joy gives us a world that is equal parts graceful beauty and true grit in this poetic and heart-pounding novel. Where All Light Tends to Go contains those essential elements for a novel that ‘sticks to the ribs’: complex and memorable characters, a palpable sense of place, and a plot that is driven as much by suspense as lyricism. You won't be able to put down this profoundly moving and illuminating look into a mysterious and intricate world where the smell of the southern pines mingles with the scent of cooking meth.”—Silas House, author of Clay's Quilt and Eli the Good “David Joy's Where All Light Tends to Go will be compared to a handful of grit lit masterpieces, but Joy's his own writer. It's a double page turner--I couldn't stop reading, but I relished each page twice, mesmerized by the language and plot twists. For every scene of evil personified, there's goodness. For every horrific act of lawless characters, there's the sublime. I'll remember—and be haunted by—this novel for a long, long time.”—George Singleton, author of Between Wrecks
About the Author David Joy’s stories and creative nonfiction have appeared in Drafthorse Literary Journal, Smoky Mountain Living, Wilderness House Literary Review, Pisgah Review, and Flycatcher, and he is the author of the memoir Growing Gills: A Fly Fisherman’s Journey. He lives in Webster, North Carolina. Where All Light Tends to Go is his first novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. One I hid the pickup behind a tangled row of pampas grass that had needed burning a good year or so before. The law never liked for folks to climb the water tower, but I hadn’t ever cared much for the law. I was a McNeely and, in this part of Appalachia, that meant something. Outlawing was just as much a matter of blood as hair color and height. Besides, the water tower was the best place to see graduation caps thrown high when seniors wearing black robes and tearful smiles headed out of Walter Middleton School one last time. Rungs once painted white were chipped and rusted and slumped in the middle from years of being climbed by wide-eyed kids looking to paint their names on the town. Those things that seemed as if they’d last forever never did. I didn’t even make it out of tenth grade, and maybe that’s why I hadn’t felt the need to scale that tower with britches weighed down by spray-paint cans. There was no need to cement my name. A name like Jacob McNeely raised eyebrows and questions. In a town this small, all eyes were prying eyes. I couldn’t show my face, didn’t want the problems and rumors that being down there would bring, but I had to see her leave. The grate platform circling the water tank had lost all but a few screws and curled up at the edges like a twice-read book. Every step I took shifted metal, but it was a place I’d stood before, a place I’d navigated on every drug I’d ever taken. With only a buzz from my morning smoke lingering, there wasn’t need for worries. I sat beneath green letters dripping a nearly illegible “FUCK U” across the front side of the tank, pulled a soft pack of Winstons from the pocket of my jeans, lit the last cigarette I had, and waited. The school I’d spent the majority of my life in seemed smaller now, though looking back it had never been big enough. I grew up twenty miles south of Sylva, a town that really wasn’t much of a town at all but the closest thing to one in Jackson County. If you were passing through, you’d miss Sylva if you blinked, and the place where I was from you could overlook with your eyes peeled. Being a small, mountain community that far away, we only had one school. So that meant that kids who grew up in this county would walk into Walter Middleton at five years old and wouldn’t leave until graduation thirteen years down the road. Growing up in it, I never found it strange to share the halls with teens when I was a kid and kids when I was a teen, but looking down on it now, two years after leaving for good, the whole thing was alien. The white dome roofing the gym looked like a bad egg bobbing in boiling water, the courtyard was lined in uneven passes from a lawnmower, and a painting of the school mascot, centered in the parking lot, looked more like a chupacabra than any bobcat I’d ever seen. To be honest, there wasn’t too much worth remembering from my time there, but still it had accounted for ten of my eighteen years. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t disappointing. What was disappointing about that school, my life, and this whole fucking place was that I’d let it beat me. I’d let what I was born into control what I’d become. Mama snorted crystal, Daddy sold it to her, and I’d never had the balls to leave. That was my life in a nutshell. I took a drag from my last cigarette and hocked a thick wad of spit over the railing. I was watching a wake of buzzards whirl down behind a mountain when the side door cracked against the gymnasium brick. One kid tore out in front of the crowd, and even before he jumped onto the hood of his car, I knew him. Blane Cowen was the type to drink a beer and scream wasted. I’d tested him once back in middle school, brought him up here on the water tower to smoke a joint, and when his legs got wobbly and vertigo set in he decided awfully fast he didn’t want to play friends anymore. In a school filled with kids who swiped prescription drugs from their parents’ medicine cabinets, Blane was the village idiot. But despite all that, I kind of felt sorry for the bastard, standing there, arms raised in the air as he dented in the hood of a beat-up Civic, no one in his class paying him a lick of attention while he howled. The parking lot that had seemed so desolate just a minute before was crawling now as friends hugged, told promises they’d never be able to keep, and ran off to parents who had no clue of who their children had become. I knew it because I’d grown up with them, all of them, and all of us knew things about one another that we’d never share. Most of us knew things that we didn’t even want to confess to ourselves, so we took those secrets with us like condoms, stuffed in wallets, that would never be used. I wanted to be down there with them, if not as a classmate, then at least as a friend, but none of them needed my baggage. Not until she took off her cap did I recognize her in the crowd. Maggie Jennings stood there and pulled her hair out of a bun, shook blond curls down across her shoulders, and kicked high heels from her feet. The front of her graduation gown was unzipped, and a white sundress held tight to her body. I could almost make out her laugh in the clamor as her boyfriend, Avery Hooper, picked her up from behind and spun her around wildly. Maggie’s mother hunched with her hands covering her face as if to conceal tears, and Maggie’s father put his arm around his wife’s waist and drew her close. A person who didn’t know any better would have thought them the perfect American family. Live the lie and they’ll believe the lie, but I knew different. I’d known Maggie my whole life. The house she grew up in was two beats of a wing as the crow flies from my front porch, so there hadn’t been many days of my childhood spent without her by my side. About the first memory I can recall is being five or six with pants rolled up, the two of us digging in the creek for spring lizards. We were tighter than a burl, as Daddy’d say. In a way, I guess, Maggie and me raised each other. Back before her father found Jesus, he’d run off on a two- or three-week drunk with no one seeing hide nor hair of him till it was over. Her mother worked two jobs to keep food on the table, but that meant there wasn’t a soul watching when Maggie and I’d head into the woods, me talking her into all sorts of shit that most kids wouldn’t have dreamed. I guess we were twelve or so when her father got saved and moved the family off The Creek. Folks said he poured enough white liquor in the West Fork of the Tuckasegee to slosh every speckled trout from Nimblewill to Fontana, but I never figured him much for saving. A drunk’s a drunk just like an addict’s an addict, and there ain’t a God you can pray to who can change a damn bit of it. But Maggie was different. Even early on I remember being amazed by her. She’d always been something slippery that I never could seem to grasp, something buried deep in her that never let anything outside of herself decide what she would become. I’d always loved that about her. I’d always loved her. We were in middle school when the tomboy I grew up with started filling out. Having been best friends, when I asked Maggie out in eighth grade, it seemed like that shit they write in movies. We were together for three years, a lifetime it had felt like. What meant the most to me was that Maggie knew where I’d come from, knew what I was being groomed into, and still believed I could make it out. I’d thought my life was chosen, that I didn’t really have a say in the matter, but Maggie dreamed for me. She told me I could be anything I wanted, go any place that looked worth going, and there were times I almost believed her. Folks like me were tied to this place, but Maggie held no restraints. She was out of here from the moment she set her eyes on the distance. If I ever did have a dream, it was that she might take me with her. But dreams were silly for folks like me. There always comes a time when you have to wake up. I was proud that she was headed to a place I could never go, and I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to text her, “Congrats.” When Avery let go, Maggie jumped into her father’s arms, bent her legs behind her with bare feet pointed into the sky. Her father buried his head into his daughter’s hair, pretended for a split second that he’d had something to do with how she turned out, then placed her on the ground for her mother to kiss. Maggie stood there for a moment, rocked back and forth before she turned away. She glanced behind her to say something as she ran off to Avery’s truck, but her parents had said their good-byes. In a way, I think they knew she was already gone. They knew it just as much as I did. A girl like that couldn’t stay. Not forever, and certainly not for long.
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21 of 21 people found the following review helpful. Dark, violent, painful and beautiful By J.Prather I'll admit that I was a bit disappointed when I began reading David Joy's Where All Light Tends to Go. My initial thoughts were that I had read this story before and met these people in countless other novels detailing the cycle of poverty and drug use in the mountainous regions of the South. It didn't take long though before I was captivated by this author's lyrical writing and keen insight. The power in this painfully familiar story lies in its darkly beautiful telling.This is a dark and violent tale filled with people who live in a world of hopelessness, and who struggle to hold on to any fragments of beauty they can find. Jacob McNeely is a young man trapped by circumstance and convinced that his destiny has already been mapped out for him. He is a hard young man, with a soul filled with such sadness that it makes him hard to read. By the end of the novel, he had completely broken my heart. I read the second half of the book straight through, determined to see things through with this broken young man who still managed to hang on to a sliver of hopeThe dark nature of this tale will not appeal to everyone, however I must say that I have seldom read such a beautifully written, emotionally brutal and compelling story. Even when I knew where things were heading, the suspense generated by the author was so intense, I still couldn't look away. I will be looking out for this author's future work and encourage any fans of the darker side of literary fiction to give this one a try.
24 of 27 people found the following review helpful. "Blood's thicker than water, and I was drowning in it" By S. H. Wells The genre has been called by a number of names: Southern Noir, Rough South Lit, or Grit Lit; and it has been made famous by writers Larry Brown, Harry Crews, and Daniel Woodrell. David Joy's debut novel "Where All Light Tends to Go" carves its own gritty story of the bonds of blood and place both into the genre of Southern Noir and onto the mountains of Cashiers, North Carolina. I would recommend this novel to anyone who enjoys the hardscrabble side of southern literature.Jacob McNeely is the son of a meth-dealing mountain Don named Charlie (who before him claims a heritage of bootleggers). Jacob is 18 and at a critical juncture in his life. As his daddy's lieutenant, Jacob is at the center of a whirlpool of drugs, money, and the coldblooded actions required to keep the crank flowing. Outside of this world, Jacob's sweetheart is graduating high school and has her sights set on places outside of Cashiers. At one point, Jacob reflects that "Blood's thicker than water, and I was drowning in it", and it is this sentiment that both expresses the bond and burden of kinship that describes the tension of Joy's novel. These two forces--love and meth--are in constant conflict throughout the novel, and Joy sets them at odds in a terrible and beautiful dance that kept me turning pages until the end.The narrative is propelled from tragedy to hope at each turn. Joy's strength as a writer come from being able to foretell the inevitable but also creating these spaces of hope. I kept thinking--mentally willing--Jacob to take an opportunity presented by the plot, even as the tale grew darker and more desperate. From the beginning Joy holds up the possibility of redemption, of escape, of resolution, but the characters of the world of Cashiers are fatalistically bound by family and location.Joy's inexorable bonds of kinship and place, the descriptions of the jaw-grinding effects of methamphetamine use and the drug trade, as well as the careful attention to language show us that "Where All Light Tends to Go" is a modern descendant of such greats as William Faulkner and Cormac McCarthy.
10 of 11 people found the following review helpful. A taut thriller in the Appalachian-noir mode By Thomas A. Holmes In David Joy's debut novel, WHERE ALL LIGHT TENDS TO GO, we see only a few short weeks in the life of Jacob McNeely, who provides the first-person narrative of this story. The son of a ruthless meth dealer and an estranged meth addict, Jacob has dropped out of school as early as the law has permitted, and he finds himself ill-fitted in his father's isolated criminal organization. Convinced of his being fated to the doom likely to face his parents, Jacob finds consolation in his attempts to assist his childhood sweetheart, Maggie Jennings, in leaving this blighted area to attend a university where she can bring about her greatest potential. Jacob's struggles with his oppressive father, his damaged mother, and his dreams of a happy life with Maggie almost match the ruthless torment his father forces him to endure in the regular course of his father's business.I confess that I read this novel much quicker than I intended to, in that it has taut action and unpredictable consequences so that I was reluctant to put the book down. Joy preserves a dramatic tension from the first pages, immediately making one sympathetic to Jacob's plight. Reluctant to be the type of man his hated father has become, Jacob falls prey to his father's control, never developing the ruthlessness his father relies upon for survival, even though he feels that such hardness would make it easier to achieve his goals. At the same time, he values Maggie Jennings and the life she might achieve, and he places himself in even more danger for those ideals. An experienced eighteen-year-old, Jacob wrestles with understanding, meaning, and priority in a house where life-and-death decisions make such considerations a luxury.In Jacob McNeely, David Joy has balanced the romantic with the tragic, offering a driven figure certain to appeal to readers of Appalachian-noir fiction. Fans of Wiley Cash's A LAND MORE KIND THAN HOME will have a new favorite in WHERE ALL LIGHT TENDS TO GO. Recommended.
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