Suppose the proverbial “greatest book of all time” is The Bible (and/or the Quran?). These collections contain a series of sometimes random, rambling stories, yet they all reinforce a key overarching theme. Debates continue as to whether The Bible is pure fact—a series of “memoirs” documenting events around that central theme—or fictionalized to reinforce the same message.
Harry Potter, by many accounts, comes in second as one of the greatest books ever written. There’s no debate about this one; it was crafted purely as a work of fiction. But again, it’s a series of stories that follow close friends as they navigate their life journeys.
That … is quite a book.
On one hand, it’s a memior of Andrew Verkamp–a boy who grew threw up in rural southern Indiana. And to read it, it’s honestly a bit of a surprise he made it this far. From a runaway chainsaw to a cabin in the woods, from childhood drinking to biting a head off a turkey. And that’s just the beginning.
I don’t know how many of these stories will translate well if you didn’t grow up in that particular time and place, but at the very least it’s just like a train crash–in all the best ways. You know, for some reason, that you perhaps shouldn’t be enjoying this quite so much–but it’s hard to look away.
EDITOR’S NOTE: I assume any legal implications from that evening have long since exceeded the statute of limitations, and this public confession has no legal basis. If it does, just forget I said anything. It was a snowy night, and obviously, I was safe at home cuddled up in bed that night (just ask Mom and Dad). That’s the story, and I am sticking to it.
On the other, it’s the story of Kyana Woodstock–25 years of a local mirror of that famous concert now itself more than half a century gone. Growing from a TV in the backyard to a 30’+ screen, hundreds of guests, live music, and entirely too many fireworks to a professional venue with licensing fees, insurance worries, and seats for 1500.
It’s structurally a strange book, taking half the time to even get to the title’s point. It’s a touch ‘stream of consciousness’ at times and you’re never quite sure where (or when) the next story is going to take you.
This isn’t your average blah, blah, blah book. Instead, it’s a random “kamikaze” style of seemingly unrelated “pukes” of brain thoughts, all weaving into a ‘sorta’ seamless collection of recollections. Four books in one.
But oh, is it a ride alone the way.
Disclaimer: You might be able to guess from author’s name (and the fact that I’m in the book) that this is my father. I also helped a bit to edit the book and read an earlier version before this one. Heck, I even wrote one of the chapters (apparently). So take this all with a grain heaping spoonful of salt. But like I said–once you get start, it’s a hard book to put down.