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A review by abbydee
Fools Crow by James Welch
After a few of his books, I’ve got a bead on James Welch at this point–his misfit men who have trouble understanding why they feel so unsettled with living. I don’t enjoy the novels much but I keep coming back for his descriptions, for unexpected moments that bring the cold and clarity of the northern plains straight into your mind. And I have a soft spot for befuddled misfits too. But something about a setting in pre-colonial North America can make people forget everything they know about writing. This one starts out with so much exposition, such strange speech and behavior between people who know each other, that I was filled with dismay at the prospect of the next three hundred pages.
But Welch remembers how to write in the next three hundred pages, and there is plenty of the detail–textures and temperatures, complex and mysterious emotions, tics and habits–that I was hoping for. With Welch, hope comes and goes as unpredictably as despair. Emotions are forces of change but are not always tied to something specific. There is an opacity to the psychology that can either be annoying or kind of appreciated, considering how many novels tend to spell things out. Historical fiction always has its oddities, but overall this is one I can get behind.
But Welch remembers how to write in the next three hundred pages, and there is plenty of the detail–textures and temperatures, complex and mysterious emotions, tics and habits–that I was hoping for. With Welch, hope comes and goes as unpredictably as despair. Emotions are forces of change but are not always tied to something specific. There is an opacity to the psychology that can either be annoying or kind of appreciated, considering how many novels tend to spell things out. Historical fiction always has its oddities, but overall this is one I can get behind.