Ben Metcalf (1966–?) was born in Illinois and raised in that state and later in rural Virginia. He was for many years the literary editor of Harper’s Magazine. He has since taught at Columbia University’s School of the Arts and joined the Lapham’s Quarterly editorial board. His writing has appeared in The Baffler, Harper's Magazine, The Best American Essays, and elsewhere.
From the Hardcover edition.
Against the Country
by Ben Metcalf
eBook
-
ISBN-13:
9780812996531
- Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
- Publication date: 01/06/2015
- Sold by: Random House
- Format: eBook
- Pages: 336
- File size: 2 MB
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Against the Country is a gift for fans of Southern Gothic and metafiction alike. Set in the Virginia pines, and overrun with failed parents, racist sex offenders, cast-off priests, and suicidal chickens, this novel challenges literary convention even as it attacks our national myth—that the rural naturally engenders good, while the urban breeds an inevitable sin.
In a voice both perfectly American and utterly new, Ben Metcalf introduces the reader to Goochland County, Virginia—a land of stubborn soil, voracious insects, lackluster farms, and horrifying trees—and details one family’s pitiful struggle to survive there. Eventually it becomes clear that Goochland is not merely the author’s setting; it is a growing, throbbing menace that warps and scars every one of his characters’ lives.
Equal parts fiery criticism and icy farce, Against the Country is the most hilarious sermon one is likely to hear on the subject of our native soil, and the starkest celebration of the language our land produced. The result is a literary tour de force that raises the question: Was there ever a narrator, in all our literature, so precise, so far-reaching, so eloquently misanthropic, as the one encountered here?
Praise for Against the Country
“Iconoclastic . . . Against the Country has obvious affinities to Southern Gothic, both in its voice and in the delight it takes in rural ignorance and grotesqueries. . . . [A] country cousin of David Foster Wallace.”—The New York Times Book Review
“Exceptional in its verbal brilliance and conscientiousness, Against the Country involves us in a family’s anguished and hilarious struggle against the strange dooms that seem peculiar to white rural America. This is a savage and gladdening novel.”—Joseph O’Neill, author of Netherland and The Dog
“Metcalf’s unnamed narrator dazzles with his Puritan deadpan and capacious intellect, not to mention his double-barreled blasts of dark humor and wicked satire. . . . There are so many brilliant turns of phrase in Against the Country that it’s hard to choose favorites, but Metcalf is at his sharpest and most seductive when his antihero does more than blast and blame, when he steps outside his sermons to say something real. . . . Every note in every solo is sounded with exquisite perfection.”—Slate
“Faulknerian . . . eccentric, magnificent Southern Gothic metafiction.”—Vanity Fair
“Ben Metcalf is a brilliant writer, and Against the Country is an ingenious and hilarious novel, a glittering, bitter celebration of how the lousiness of life can be redeemed in the hands (and mouth) of a top-shelf teller of life’s stories.”—Sam Lipsyte, author of The Ask and The Fun Parts
“A daring conglomeration of every trick, swindle and gimmick possible using only ink and paper, a pulpwood imagination machine so finely and expertly wrought that it can take on Jefferson, Thoreau, the church, patriotism, race relations, sexual identity, J. D. Salinger, the myth of America and a thousand other targets . . . [Against the Country] is absolutely and completely worth all investment of time and effort, because it is an undeniably beautiful object, sharp as a new razor.”—NPR
“One of the more necessary—and most eloquent—expressions of a distinctly American, provincial rage in some years.”—Flavorwire
From the Hardcover edition.
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Metcalf, essayist and former literary editor of Harper’s, debuts with a virtuosic tour de force of Southern malfeasance. The largely plotless narrative records a rural boyhood in Goochland County, Va., the narrator’s relationship with his ever-vengeful father, and the rigors of farm-life. Sprawling and underpopulated, Goochland is the setting for the indignities of grade school, boozy first love, rejection of “the killer-God idea,” and salvation in literature. But even amid the requisite episodes of racial disharmony and religious fervor, Metcalf’s storytelling often digresses, and, in short sections with titles like “I Feared the Corn,” he obsesses over every particular of the land. From blackberries, chickens, and ringworm to meditations on Jehovah’s Witnesses and an appendix on dogs, the all-American life is lovingly deconstructed in a passionate screed that feels like a confession from the tortured heart of the South itself. But even in envying Thomas Jefferson “his idyllic hallucinations” and damning “this flytrap of a county,” Metcalf composes a relentlessly articulate paean to the American project. In the end, this isn’t a Southern novel, because it isn’t exactly a novel. It’s more like man’s revenge on God for the world he made—and anyone who disagrees must be a Yankee. (Jan.)
“Exceptional in its verbal brilliance and conscientiousness, Against the Country involves us in a family’s anguished and hilarious struggle against the strange dooms that seem peculiar to white rural America. This is a savage and gladdening novel.”—Joseph O’Neill, author of Netherland and The Dog
“[Ben] Metcalf’s unnamed narrator dazzles with his Puritan deadpan and capacious intellect, not to mention his double-barreled blasts of dark humor and wicked satire. . . . There are so many brilliant turns of phrase in Against the Country that it’s hard to choose favorites, but Metcalf is at his sharpest and most seductive when his antihero does more than blast and blame, when he steps outside his sermons to say something real. . . . Every note in every solo is sounded with exquisite perfection.”—Slate
“Faulknerian . . . eccentric, magnificent Southern Gothic metafiction.”—Vanity Fair
“Ben Metcalf is a brilliant writer, and Against the Country is an ingenious and hilarious novel, a glittering, bitter celebration of how the lousiness of life can be redeemed in the hands (and mouth) of a top-shelf teller of life’s stories.”—Sam Lipsyte, author of The Ask and The Fun Parts
“A daring conglomeration of every trick, swindle and gimmick possible using only ink and paper, a pulpwood imagination machine so finely and expertly wrought that it can take on Jefferson, Thoreau, the church, patriotism, race relations, sexual identity, J. D. Salinger, the myth of America and a thousand other targets . . . [Against the Country] is absolutely and completely worth all investment of time and effort, because it is an undeniably beautiful object, sharp as a new razor.”—NPR
“The book is nothing short of an encyclopedia of American provincial rage in all its irrepressible hideousness. . . . Against the Country stands out as one of the more necessary—and most eloquent—expressions of a distinctly American, provincial rage in some years.”—Flavorwire
“This novel is a lightning strike. It is a surge of electrical energy captured inside sentences. Ben Metcalf is a master of rhetoric and rage and persuasion and darkness and wit. Against the Country is an explosion of a book.”—Heidi Julavits, author of The Vanishers
“A virtuosic tour de force of Southern malfeasance . . . The all-American life is lovingly deconstructed in a passionate screed that feels like a confession from the tortured heart of the South itself. But even in envying Thomas Jefferson ‘his idyllic hallucinations’ and damning ‘this flytrap of a county,’ Metcalf composes a relentlessly articulate paean to the American project. In the end, this isn’t a Southern novel, because it isn’t exactly a novel. It’s more like man’s revenge on God for the world he made—and anyone who disagrees must be a Yankee.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A descriptive diatribe requiring careful reading for full appreciation of its wit . . . Besides being quite amusing, this book provides a potent examination of rural culture and of life in general. . . . The recirculating structure and casual yet intensely cerebral nature of this book make an arresting though demanding read. . . . Highly recommended.”—Library Journal
“Against the Country makes me feel joyful the way Candide, for all its astute gloominess, makes me feel better about the world because such a brilliant, funny thing has been made in it. The intelligence is generous and omnipresent, and every single page made me laugh.”—Rivka Galchen, author of Atmospheric Disturbances
“To find anything reminiscent of this writing you’d need to go back about 150 years, though it sounds new in Metcalf’s handling and occasionally even punk. What he has to say about American childhood is frightening and true. Virginia, you have been both honored and shamed by your wayward son.”—John Jeremiah Sullivan, author of Pulphead: Essays
This debut from the former literary editor at Harper's magazine is a descriptive diatribe requiring careful reading for full appreciation of its wit. The book tells the tale of a family that moves from suburban Illinois ("the town") to rural Virginia ("the country"). Told through the first-person recollections of an unnamed son, this work is roughly poised as an ad hominem attack on "the country" in favor of "the town." Criticism of a tyrannical and abusive father looms large in the narrative, though it is often leavened with some attempt at understanding. The institution of the rural school bus, the language of social workers, and the very landscape of "the country" are also taken to task. Besides being quite amusing, this book provides a potent examination of rural culture and of life in general. Of particular note is a chicken named Buttfucker, an evil black snake, and the descriptive notes on various dogs owned by the narrator's family. VERDICT The recirculating structure and casual yet intensely cerebral nature of this book make an arresting though demanding read. Many will hate it, some may embrace it, a few will be marked by it; highly recommended for those who care. [See Prepub Alert, 7/14/14/]—Henry Bankhead, Los Gatos Lib., CA
A boy's school years in rural Virginia are marked by poverty, poultry, school bus torments and a brutish father, all of which would one day inspire him to tell his story with a ponderous postmodernist flair. Labyrinthine sentences and metafictional antics make it difficult to separate style from substance in this variously humorous and bilious first novel. The narrator looks back from a distance of 30 years to the time in the early 1980s when his father uprooted the family of five from town life and planted them in a ramshackle house to endure a country life that's a darker take on the faux-gothic of Stella Gibbons' Cold Comfort Farm. There's much more than a nasty thing in the woodshed. The boy endures snakes, wasps, ticks, bullies and frequent disciplinary thrashings. Two long sections concern the daily horrors of the "yellow beast," the "yellow metal scow" that ferries him to and from school for frequent fights; and there's a possibly symbolic tale of his chickens' efforts to fly the coop. Elsewhere Metcalf focuses on the father and narrator-son. Along with his mean dad's physical and psychological oppression, there are references to his former scholarship and serious literary interests. Bitterness and wit have a tug of war in this mock memoir, as when the narrator's thoughts about his father lead to plays on the words "meaning" and "meanness." But they also echo an earlier, earnest pledge to challenge his father "in the ancient art of meanness, to which ongoing contest I submit this humble text." While Metcalf constantly impresses with his intelligence, his meta games and gnarly prose put such tough hurdles between the reader and this thorny parable of pain's memory that it's hard to see him winning more than a special, devoted audience.