Pittsburgh readers know him as the author of the brilliant 'American Rust,' set in the Mon Valley. He treats the Lone Star State with equal grace.
June 9, 2013 8:00 AM
In "The Son," Philipp Meyer explores the rise and fall of a Texas family.
"The Son" by Philipp Meyer.
By Bob Hoover Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
Some novelists are historians by nature whose preparations for their fiction involve serious fact-finding.
Philipp Meyer demonstrated his historian's nature in his first novel, "American Rust," with its setting of industrial decay in the Monongahela Valley. Reared in Baltimore, Mr. Meyer caught the feel, the sights and even the smells of the Mon Valley as though he were a native. Instead, he did his research.
Most importantly, "American Rust" nailed the character of the valley's residents -- the defeat of those who stayed and the younger generation's determination to flee. Mr. Meyer said he conducted some of his research in the valley's taverns where he nursed a beer while listening to the talk of those who drank freely.
It's a long way in many respects from Brownsville, Pa., to Brownsville, Texas, but the sense of loss is expressed just as acutely in Mr. Meyer's ambitious novel about the rise and fall of a Texas family. "The Son" covers a lot of ground, starting in 1836 with the birth of Eli McCullough who built a huge expanse of South Texas land into a cattle and oil empire and finishing in 2012 with a death signifying Mr. Meyer's message "that what goes around, comes around."
My initial take on "The Son" was "Blood Meridian" as told by Edna Ferber, but then the author of "Giant" appears midway through Mr. Meyer's book, so it became apparent that he was onto something larger than Ferber's 1952 potboiler. And while it was Cormac McCarthy who brutally preached that America was founded in a river of blood, Mr. Meyer gets down in the dirt and gore, the rapes and the tortures that fed "the tree of liberty" called the United States.
By Philipp Meyer. Ecco Press ($27.99).
After raping and slaughtering his mother and sister, a band of Comanche kidnapped 8-year-old Eli and his brother who did not survive the ordeal. Mr. Meyer's version of how a white child grows into the culture of a Comanche warrior is so vivid, violent, heartless and tender at the same time that I often put the book down to recover from the scenes, then picked it up, eager to follow the narrative.
Mr. Meyer has structured the novel through the voices of several generations of McCulloughs -- Eli, his son, Peter, and great-granddaughter Jeannie Ann, later called J.A. as she rises to control the family business, but no chapters compare to the saga of Eli as he moves through the 19th century.
Peter's life has the strained ring of melodrama to it, while J.A.'s struggle to advance her cause in the patriarchy of the McCulloughs is empty of tenderness.
The overarching theme of "The Son" is loss, from the natural abundance and beauty of the land to the cultures of the Native American and descendants of the Spanish conquerors of Mexico, all brutally wiped out by the "sons" of the Lone Star state.
It's a too-familiar -- and depressing -- tale that finds a fresh interpretation from the pen of Philipp Meyer.