J. D. Vance. Hillbilly Elegy. Harper, 2018.
Hillbilly Elegy brought its author to prominence. So much so, that he is now Vice-President of the United States. The book is a memoir, not specifically a book on politics. The twelve pages of endorsement cover the political spectrum from the New York Times and Mother Jones to the National Review and Peter Thiel.
A good friend handed me the book and told me I had to read it. What struck me is that my friend is not a reader. It takes her a long time to read anything. But this book she could not put down. I suspect also that she may have identified with it. Without going into too much detail, she grew up in a trailer park raised by alcoholic parents. Like Vance, she overcame much of what was in her background.
I confess that I also could relate to his story to some degree. No, I had a very stable family growing up. My parents grew up in the Depression, so there was a kind of awareness of how things could be if people did not work hard and respect American values. Until I was eleven, I lived in a working class neighborhood. I recall in 1960 when the steelworkers went on strike, many of my friends’ fathers were out of work. It was working class, yes, but with hope. Most of the families there and then were upwardly mobile.
Then my family moved to a different state and into a middle to upper middle class community. Things were different there, but I was a kid and fit in and made friends. Vance ended up at Yale; I went to Harvard. Vance explains his experience at Yale Law School in almost dreamlike terms. There was so much that seemed unreal to him. He began to realize that a lot of people had ideas about the working classes, but really had no idea of what it was like.
I have written a little bit about my experiences at Harvard elsewhere, but I observed something similar. The campus radicals who seemed to have an inordinate influence on campus culture had ideas about a Communistic “worker student alliance,” but they were all from privileged backgrounds. Their dialectical theories had little relation to real life in the United States.
While Vance ultimately is making a similar point, that is not his main purpose. He wrote a memoir. It is that simple. He confesses at the beginning that he is only thirty-one years old and has not done much with his life yet—in other words, this is a different kind of memoir.
Think of the title, What is an elegy? The dictionary tells us it is a poem or song lamenting the dead. OK, Hillbilly Elegy is prose, not poetry, but Vance writes extremely well. His voice carries us along in a vibrant if harrowing narrative. It is a kind of lament or mourning, though.
His story focuses on his hillbilly grandparents, whom he calls Mamaw and Papaw, both of whom have died and who had a greater hand in raising him than his own parents. But it also is mourning the loss of a way of life. His family’s roots are in eastern Kentucky, but the hardscrabble lifestyle typified by the hillbillies with their distinct beliefs and even code of honor is disappearing. What seems to be replacing it is tragic for many.
One of his collateral Vance ancestors was married to a Hatfield and murdered one Asa McCoy shortly before the end of the Civil War. That incident started the most famous American family feud. (If you have never heard of the Hatfield-McCoy feud, you have lived a sheltered life. Look it up.) He suspects that his own Mamaw in her younger days may have killed someone. The hills were a law unto themselves. As a kid, though, Vance understood hillbilly justice as the best and fairest kind.
There is an undercurrent of violence throughout this memoir. Yes, occasionally someone may have been murdered, but the common violence was what we call domestic violence. His mother’s parents, Mamaw and Papaw, eventually separated because they physically fought each other. But they still lived near one another and took care of each other. Both looked out for J.D. and his older sister. What grounding, wisdom, and direction he received in his young life mostly came from them.
My friend who lent me her copy of the book warned me that there is a lot of strong language. That is the way many people talked. Vance does not mince words. At times some of the sayings are colorful, but at other times they are very intense. There is a great sense of anger at real or perceived injustice.
Vance himself was born and raised in Ohio. His grandparents had moved there from Kentucky as married teens in 1947. Vance notes that the Great Migration from the rural South to the industrial North in the first half of the twentieth century included both whites and blacks. I lived in Detroit for a while in the late sixties. Many of the working class there were white people from the South who were collectively called hillbillies there.
Vance notes that in the 1960 census, ten percent of the population of Ohio were born in Kentucky, West Virginia, and Tennessee. That, of course, does not include the children and grandchildren of such migrants like Vance and his family.
Sadly, by the time Vance was born in 1984, things were changing. Alcohol fueled a lot the violence that Vance witnessed in his family and his community. But by the 1980s drugs had taken over the younger generation. The reason his grandparents more or less raised him was that his mother, their daughter, was a drug addict. She had graduated as salutatorian of her high school class, but got married shortly after graduating and also became addicted around the same time. As Vance tells it, she went through multiple husbands and boyfriends. Her life can be summed up as unfulfilled potential.
Vance’s father separated not long after he was born and for many years knew little about him other than his name. The family name Vance was Papaw’s name, and J.D. would legally adopt it as his own. Everyone called him J.D. because even names that the J and D stood for changed. His father had also struggled with drugs and alcohol, but eventually encountered Jesus and cleaned up. Vance lived with him for a while as a teen. He appreciated but could not embrace the strict Pentecostalism of his father and his new family.
Although Vance grew up with and mostly lived with the one older sister, he figures that when he counts half-siblings and step-siblings, there are probably around a dozen people he could call brother or sister.
For many kids [of working class families], the first impulse is to escape, but people who lurch toward the exit rarely choose the right door. This is how my aunt found herself married at sixteen to an abusive husband. It’s how my mom, the salutatorian of her high school class, had both a baby and a divorce, but not a single college credit under her belt before her teenage years were over…Chaos begets chaos. Instability begets instability. Welcome to the family life of the American hillbilly. (229)
Sadly, Vance notes that the class of people who are most pessimistic about the future are members of the white working class.
Well over half of blacks, Latinos, and college-educated whites expect that their children will fare better economically than they have. Among working-class whites, only 44 percent share that expectation. Even more surprising, 42 percent of working-class white—by far the highest number in the [Pew Economic Mobility] survey—report that their lives are less economically successful than those of their parents’. (194-195)
How did Vance overcome this? Partly because of the influence, however erratic, of his grandparents. Yes, they could be rough and crude, but he knew they loved him. What education in practical living he received in his youth was from them. For example, when he was nine the school presented a lesson in what today might be called gay grooming. He wondered if he were gay. After all, his friends were all boys, and he really had little use for girls other than his sister. Mamaw straightened him out on that very simply and directly. You have to read it in her words to appreciate it. A current meme making the rounds these days says something similar—the only thing an eight year old boy needs to know about sex is that girls have cooties.
His grandfather encouraged him to go into the military, which he did. Although he could have gone to college after graduating well in his high school class, he decided to join the Marines and ended up in Iraq. He tells how that experience matured him and helped him become a man, and a stable one at that. It also provided G.I. Bill support for going to college afterwards.
I can attest to that from my own experience in the military. Now, I did not join till after college, but that was when I really matured, no longer just a boy, or what they now call a man-boy. It was also there when I learned about the law and about authority. And significantly, it was where I became part of something bigger than myself, and something I might have even been willing to give my life for.
Vance also noted that as an undergraduate in college, he heard people talk about war and the military when they really had no idea what it was like.
For all my grandma’s efforts, for all of her “You can do anything; don’t be like those [idiots] who think the deck is stacked against the” diatribes, the message had only partially set in before I enlisted. Surrounding me was another message: that people like me weren’t good enough; that the reason Middletown [his hometown] produced zero Ivy League graduates was some genetic or character defect. I couldn’t possibly see how destructive that mentality was until I escaped it. The Marine Corps replaced it with something else, something that loathes excuses. “Giving it my all” was a catchphrase, something heard in health or gym class. When I first ran three miles, mildly impressed with my mediocre twenty-five minute time,1 a terrifying senior drill instructor greeted me at the finish line: “If you’re not puking, you’re lazy! Stop being [deleted] lazy!” He then ordered me to sprint between him and a tree repeatedly. Just as I felt I might pass out, he relented. I was heaving, barely able to catch my breath. “That’s how you should feel at the end of every run!” he yelled. In the Marines, giving it your all was a way of life. (176-177)
Occasionally a student would ask me what I thought of going into the service. I would say I believe every young man should do it unless he is physically disqualified or the Lord is earnestly leading him in a different direction. What Vance wrote above shows one reason why.
As I say when I review many books, there is so much more. Hillbilly Elegy is raw and intense. It grabs the reader, and most readers will grab it until, like my non-reading friend, they finish it. Besides the language, there is a lot of alcohol and drug abuse described.
As I said, while this is primarily a memoir and not a political book, the author clearly has become involved in politics. I knew very little about Vance until I read this book. Donald Trump picked Vance as his running mate in his successful attempt at getting re-elected. Their backgrounds could not be more opposite: Trump an wealthy son of a very wealthy man compared with a poor “hillbilly” who somehow made good. President Clinton had done something similar. In his case, he was the lower class son of a single mother who went to Yale Law and made good and his running mate, Al Gore, Jr., was the elite son of a U.S. Senator. Whatever you think of either Trump or Clinton, they both came up with a winning combination.
N.B. The 2018 edition of the book which we reviewed includes an afterword that was not in the original edition. In it Vance reflects on the success of the book and its reception among many varying groups and individual, including those he grew up with.
Note
1. To put a little perspective on this, I ran cross-country in high school. Our hilly course was about 2.7 miles. We all tried to finish in under 17 minutes; the best runners could do it in under 16 minutes. Granted, we were dressed differently and not carrying anything, but that might give the reader a bit of perspective.