Camelot, West Virginia

West by Gawd Virginia

I have never lived in West Virginia, but since 2007 I have spent a lot of time in the Mountain State. Most of that time has been in the Ohio River Valley, birthplace of my parents, my grand-parents, my great — oh you get the picture. A section of this blog is dedicated to West Virginia, and you can find it here.

I grew up hearing a lot about the Mountain State. Momma talked about people. Poppa about landscapes. Maybe that’s why I know more about my mother’s side of the family. One thing in particular stands out. Momma hated the characterization of West Virginians as ignorant hillbillies. She would say “I’ll put my education up against anyone’s!” And she meant it. My maternal grand-mother died just after my fourth birthday–my last surviving grand-parent. With grandma gone, we never returned to the Ohio Valley. It was not until 1987 that I made my first adult trip to Parkersburg.

It is a two-way street

Not that family ever came west. I recall, largely through Poppa’s photographs, a visit by my uncle Brady and his family. I recall that Poppa’s cousin, Casto Ball, visited us once in Montana. (Remember that name.) After Brady died, his widow, Momma’s sister-in-law Augusta, visited us twice in California. The second time, she brought her grand-daughter along as a high school graduation present. It was that visit that made this only child believe he had little sister. Sharon and I had so much in common.

In a similar situation, in 2007 I stayed one weekend at a gay campground/resort in the hills above the Ohio River. As I checked out, I asked if I would find a gay masseur in Parkersburg. The clerk handed me a business card printed with a very familiar name. Turned out to be my first cousin, Ron. Ron and I share more common traits than Sharon and I. So now I have a younger brother as well.

My Travels around West Virginia

Since that visit in 2007, I’ve returned to the Ohio Valley several times.  Using Parkersburg as a home base, I’ve driven around the state, visiting fifteen of its fifty-five counties.  On most of those trips, Ron has joined me.  One of our common traits is that we are both photographers. Plans for future trips will get me further into the back woods and more of those mountain counties.

Which brings us to Camelot

Anyone who follows my blog knows that I am a reader.  My education took me all the way to a PhD in literature.  It also taught me that I don’t like studying literature.  I just like to read.  On average, I read three books a week.  To get that PhD, I had to read a lot of serious books.  Heavy, man, and I don’t mean in pounds and ounces.  These days, I’m attracted to what Momma called “light and frivolous.”  Most of what I read these days is made up of MM romance or Cozy Mystery.  They allow me to escape, and don’t, for the most part, make me think too hard.

In some cases, the title alone draws me in.  Such was the case with Camelot, West Virginia.  Because, duh, “West Virginia.”  My mind works that way.  I will read almost anything set in San Francisco, New Orleans, or Paris–my favorite cities.  Books set on the Oregon coast catch my eye, as do ones set in the highlands of Scotland.  I don’t read a lot of books set in Montana, because, frankly, most of them are written by non-Montanans.  My home state becomes a stereotype, not the reality I know and love.

The Book Itself

I had such concerns about Mackley’s book.  Well until I started reading it, that is.  Momma has rubbed off on me.  I dislike negative portrayals of the people of West Virginia.  And such do show up in this book.  The town is beset with drug addicts, pushers, and other criminal elements.  But that is the case everywhere these days.  It is clear that Mackley loves her characters, and has worked to make them (at least the heroes) loveable.

She has a good eye for location, and I speak as a landscape photographer.  Try as I might, I could not locate the “Tri-County” area where she set the book, but my limited travels around West Virginia tell me I may have driven right through Camelot.  Hey I know that the town is fictional.  But all good fiction has at least a base in reality.

In short, I could not put the book down, and cannot wait to pick up the sequel, Down Came a Blackbird.   There are also two prequels to be enjoyed, and I plan on doing just that.  Oh and remember how I told you to remember the name of Poppa’s cousin.  I always thought Casto was an odd name.  Turns out it’s a family name, and the Casto family is in my family tree.  It’s also in the book.  Abercrombie and Fitch said it best.  “West Virginia–it’s all relative.”