ࡱ> U bjbjnn .|aa-8$& $!$fR Or=)F0& $o$$& $B P: Home Is Where the Heart Is: Empathy, Art, and the Fiction of Marie Manilla By Dr. Sylvia Bailey Shurbutt, ϳԹUniversity Center for Appalachian Studies and Communities Souls need no finery. Wounds will do.Marie Manilla The Winding Road to Authorship In a 2020 interview called Driving by Her Own Headlights Marie Manilla said this about her writing: My work explores the human condition, in all our frailties and glories (Kinsey). A writer who has always been acutely aware of her West Virginia roots while at the same time feeling the occasional urge to escape them, Manilla has experienced both the burden and the boon of being Appalachian. These complex feelings have shaped her as a human being and as a writer, and they have evinced themselves in her stories as a champion of the underclass, the othered, the stereotyped and the scapegoated. Manilla grew up in a state where the images from popular culture and literature of the past, the residual aftermath from the Great Society, and a contemporary region plagued by a plethora of social problems, both real and exaggerated, left an indelible impression on the vision that she had of the region, of the state she grew up in, and even of herselfall part of the patriarchal impositions that are driven to dominate, limit, and impose upon the individual possibilities of both men and women. Yet there is also a satirical whimsy and hopefulness about her work at the same time that superimposes a wonderful joi dvivre over her bleak understanding about the nature of the beasts that we humans are, with our destructive and predatory habits, living among a diverse and fragile population and planet. Manilla was born in Huntington, West Virginia, to a German-Irish mother from Covington, Kentucky, Mary Elaine Kathman, and an Italian father, Charles Manilla, son of immigrant parents who found their way to work in industrial West Virginia. Charles Manillas father was an Italian stonemason who found work in the Nickel Plant in Huntington, where his son would also work as a metallurgical engineer after graduating from the University of Cincinnati. Marie was raised in the Gallaher Village neighborhood of Huntington. She recalls walking from the home where she grew up at 111 Forest Park Lane, to attend Catholic school at Our Lady of Fatima where her parents were founding members. That walk took her down Green Oak Drive, which would ice over in winter great sledding she recalls but treacherous for driving. In a paper delivered at the Mildred Haun Conference, Manilla described a natural spring that ran across the road and froze during the winter. At the top of the hill lived a recondite and querulous older couple in a palatial home. These neighbors would become models for La Strega in her novel The Patron Saint of Ugly, and the road to become propitious in driving her narrative. Manilla and her siblings were taught by nuns, her brothers altar boys. The nuns told the children stories of martyred saints, often tortured women trying to escape predatory patriarchs in pursuit of their chastity. Manilla has said that after twelve years of Catholic catechism, I can safely say that its one of the most macabre religions out there (Mildred Haun Conference). Family legends also fed her childhood imaginings. For example, her Sicilian grandmother Concetta Ferrara LaPelle Manilla was a red-haired spitfire, who escaped an arranged marriage to make her way to America and eventually to West Virginia. Manilla always felt a kinship with her Sicilian grandmother Concetta, who was a great cook and always busy with some craftwork or creative project. When Marie was a child her mother Elaine Manilla would tell her daughter, Youre just like Grandma Manilla. She always had some project in her hands. Concetta died shortly before Marie was born, but the family stories were vivid and left an impression on her granddaughter, and Marie always felt a special connection with Concetta. Maries father Charles was the son of Concettas second or third husband. Grandpa Manilla was from Calabria, at the very toe of Italy. He was shorter than his wife Concetta, a domestic tyrant who bullied both wife and children a little Mussolini. Manilla always wondered why her grandmother would marry such a man, but when it came time to write about such a character, she would invent a history for her Concetta. Manillas Italian grandparents always wanted their children to be Americans, to have an American education, and to learn American ways, so the Italian language and heritage was downplayed if not neglected (Mildred Haun Conference). Manilla also remembers that her father favored light features, like that of her German-Irish, fair-skinned, blue-eyed mother. Like her father, Manillas own features were darker and more southern Italian. There was a time when she harbored some resentment toward this seeming preference for fair-skin and blue eyes: The message was hammered into us all so thoroughly that dark-skinned people, whether they be African American, or Italians, or any deeply pigmented people were inferior (Mildred Haun Conference). Her sister was more like their mother, and was praised for her looks, but this too had a downside, sending the message that for women, physical beauty was the commodity to be valued above all others. All these conflicting messages were part of a beauty myth that dominated the times for the Manilla childrens growing up in the sixties and seventies. Certainly, as Manilla shared in her Mildred Haun Conference keynote, there was a high price of beauty, no matter on which end of the spectrum one landed. Growing up in Huntington offered Saturdays and languid summer days browsing in the Gallaher Village Library. However, as a child, Marie might more often be found playing near her home in the Gideon Woods, biking with neighborhood kids, or playing freeze tag in backyards. Before there were malls, she and her girlfriends would have found themselves at McCrorys, H. L. Greens, or Kresges. Like her father Charles, Marie attended St. Joseph High School. Her main creative interests in school were drawing and painting; she wasnt a writer at this point in her life, though she loved to read. She does recall how the St. Joseph city kids would make fun of the Wayne County rural students, because picked on kidsand adultsoften need someone to pick on (Friends of the Library). This human need to look down on others was a lesson learned early. After high school Manilla attended WVU to pursue a BFA, studying as a graphic designer; and like many young people in West Virginia, she hungered to see what was in the world beyond Green Oak Drive. However, during these years she was beginning to intuit, even if she didnt yet fully understand, the insidiousness of a patriarchal world that casts a greedy and controlling eye on girls. In an essay called Madness, Manilla writes about the Trans Allegheny Lunatic Asylum in Weston, West Virginia, and an adventure that she and five of her Catholic school girlfriends had at sixteen, a lark in her dads Skylark. Throughout the trip, as the girls whisk down the highway, they have occasion to see and think about all the ways that women might have found themselves incarcerated in the asyluma veritable historic roll call of patriarchal sins and gender discrimination: use of alcohol or cigarettes, demonstrating for political rights and the right to control ones body, domestic disagreement with a powerful spouse, exhibiting something other than feminine submissiveness. These griefs begin to mingle with others as the girls truck on. Then they pass a police car on the side of the road in what appears to be a suicide from the looks of the hose in the cars exhaust. The girls think it might be Joey, the sweet boy from their high school, and this thought brings a cascade of tragedies that have affected them all, from the neighbors car accident that killed a father and son to the 1970 plane crash that killed the Marshall football team. All these tragedies begin to merge as the girls ponder the Lunatic Asylum at Weston, and then they have an epiphany that connects each of them, as girls soon to become women in a world that will likely treat them as prey. Manilla writes: That night in the Skylark we didnt rein ourselves in, though hysteria could send you to the asylum. Stunted sorrow could too. Wed already had too many lessons on the polite behavior of women, but we didnt care. At that moment we were safely keening in the company of girls. We werent grieving just for Joey. We were mourning our past losses, the personal and collective, and the ones that would be. I started the car and drove girl after girl home, drunk on beer and release, toward futures we werent ready for: bad marriages and good ones, live births and still ones. Lost voices and choices. For one of us, an early death. Such lessons from the Patriarchy would stay with Manilla as she wended her way through life, and though she might not have a clear understanding at sixteen of their manifestations, a world of wonder and woe was opening its doors to invite her in. With BFA in hand and enough intrepidness to strike out on her own, Manilla headed for a corporate job in Houston. Texas she thought would be a different world from West Virginia, but as it turned out though the landscape would be flatter, the people were much the samethat is, exhibiting the need to find some other to put down or put in her place. Of the surface events of the decade of her twenties, Manilla responds this way in her Driving by Her Own Headlights interview: I moved to Texas after getting my BFA in graphic design from WVU. I spent seven years there, married and divorced. However, the experiences and events that filled those seven years would shape her writing . . . and writing is what she began to experiment with as a creative outlet when the corporate world fell short and lifes reality offered her a coming-of-age as a woman in a world where men call the shots and control the gaze. Manilla wrote of her Houston years: [In] Houston, I became not only an avid reader but an obsessive one. . . . I vividly remember the Saturday when I finished reading a short story and I smugly thought: Well I can write a story at least as good as this! So I wrote one story, and then another, and another, and though those first efforts were terrible, I loved creating whole worlds on paper. Manilla found that she could process and understand the world through her writing. She could come to terms with mans inhumanity to man, and try to make sense of it. Writing, she discovered, helped her untangle and clarify [her] thoughts about our messy human condition (Friends of the Library). She began taking writing classes at the University of Houston and writing about the underclasses, stereotypes, and predators she found all around herher characters as often Latino as Texan or West Virginian. Many of these stories and story seeds would find their way into her Still Life with Plums volume. In Houston, Manilla began to feel an identity with her Latino neighbors. She recalls loving the language, the colorful houses, the loud Salsa music and authentic food. She also remembers coming to disparage the social stratification that reminded her of what Appalachians enduredthe social pecking order in Texas that placed Latinos at the very bottom in menial jobs, heaping upon them that upper-class disdain and snobbery she was learning to loathe (Friends of the Library Lecture). She remembered meeting the cleaning lady in her office building who had been a teacher in Guatemala. Like so many coming to this country from Central America, she had fled violence and made the perilous journey to the United States as a last resort searching to find freedom and safety (Friends of the Library Lecture). Manilla uses the teachers story to inspire the tale Amnesty, a story about family loyalty, struggling in a new country at the bottom of the class barrel and left only with misty memories of a life before the terror and discord left behind. The narrator Ana has lived in Houston for seven years, in an overcrowded house with friends and family, working now as a janitor in a Houston art gallery, having been a valued member of her Guatemalan community before violence forced her to leave. A relative, Hector, who has been scarred both physically and emotionally by police torture has found sanctuary in America after being a political prisoner. Hectors wounds are deep, he doesnt speak or interact much with others now, but the kindness of family helps him slowly regain some semblance of peace and humanity. Following Ana one day to her job at the gallery, he finds refuge and solace through art, but he is not the only one healed. Ana too begins to come to terms with her lost past and with the new world she must carve for herself in Texas, a world that offers her refuge but forebears anything beyond simplistic stereotyping. On a night that Ana searches for Hector, she finds him in the gallery, and she knows though he will never regain his life fully, he has sanctuaryas she herself has found: Pushing outside I looked up into groupings of stars, bright planets, the edge of the moon, the same moon that sliced the Guatemalan sky. For the first time I was remembering my family instead of imagining them. . . . [On] the porch swing . . . [my] daughter snuggled at her fathers right side clutching her frayed blanket. My son curled at his left. . . . Felipe would make up stories about Rose the goat in a rhythmic voice that would lull his children toward dreams. . . . And suddenly I could see myself stepping up onto Mangos porch . . . swing[ing] along with my ghosts, and discuss[ing] his fertile garden, my green thumb, and trade secrets well into the night. (60) As Manilla worked in Houston, endured the break-up of a bad marriage, and studied the way of the world, she found that the social pecking order and cruelty were ubiquitous. After seven years in this experiment of working and living away from home, she packed her bags and her stories, returned to Huntington, still trying to come to terms with what she called a regional identity crisis that made her feel as if she had lived under the cloud of derision since birth, a cloud that cast her as an ignorant yokel (Mildred Haun Conference). Manilla has often spoken about the rich and troubled history of West Virginia and derogatory stereotypes of Appalachians, which she calls a bit of a shapeshifter. She explains, Were the southernmost northern state, and the northernmost southern state, so we often struggle with identity. The unique history of West Virginia exacerbates the problem: We may have been Yankees during the Civil War, but we often feel more like the defeated south. However, she adds, this identity crisis makes excellent fodder for writing (Mildred Haun Conference). With visions of starting a new life, maybe in Vermontfreedom and unity flickering in her consciousnessshe decided to take her fathers advice and remain in Huntington for a while to see where she really wanted to land (Kinsey). So she enrolled in an MA program in literature at Marshall University, which gave her a more solid fix on this new fiction vocation emerging in her plans. At this point in the early 1990s, she was accepted in the prestigious MFA writers program in Iowa, and she seemed committed to a new and very different course for her life and work. Second chances often come with recognizing a segment of ones life is over and accepting the new stage and a new label that might go with it. Manilla shares this idea in a poignant 2017 story called Learning to Write, published in Still, the Journal. In the story the speaker has just moved back to West Virginia from Texas, trying to come to terms with the finish of one life and start of another. She says, Id gotten the Toyota in the divorce and used it to move from Texas back to West Virginia. A month later I drove into the Virginia mountains to camp beside the Appalchian Trail. In the quiet of the forest, she tries to gather her equilibrium, writing in her journal about the difficult process of letting go. I was taught to swallow emotions, put up with, endure. Thats what good wives do. Right? Stand silently, stoically by. Coming to terms with loss, is not always easy, as she continues, I also scribbled the awful truth that I still loved this man who didnt know how to love back. It was an unhealthy allegiance, maybe even addiction. Letting go would not be easy. The next afternoon, a father and his five-year-old son settle into a nearby camp site, the little boy excited over his new kitten. The campers share a meal and a dry space in the narrators camper when a June downpour begins. The reader learns that the father is an attorney from D. C. newly divorced himself, trying to figure out how to tell his son that his mother has left for a job in New Mexico and didnt ask to share custodythis perplexed dad not knowing just how to share the news with his son. The narrator of the story then understands the reason for the new kitten. The next morning, as she is preparing to leave, the attorney and the narrator wish each other luck. She thinks about the little boy while driving back to West Virginia, Perhaps the yearning for his mother would diminish. Kids are adaptable that way. However, before wending her way back through the Shenandoah Valley toward home, she writes a final phrase in her journal, a new word for myself: ex-wife. The writing itself for the narrator seems to bring closure and coming to terms with the need to start fresh with no looking backwardan intrepid movement forward. Committed now to becoming a writer and with an English Studies MA in hand, Manilla left Huntington for Iowa to attend the Iowa Writers Workshop and get her MFA. While the opportunity to meet and work with a range of talented writers was appealing, she knew that as a West Virginia author, there would be expectations that she was not fully content to deliverthe Appalachian stereotypes finding their way even to these far-flung Iowa cornfields. Manilla recalls, in an address to the Cabell County Public Library, that one of the Iowa workshop leaders James Alan McPherson, who had also taught West Virginia writer Breece Pancake, encouraged her to strive for the same earthy, gritty Appalachian stories. However, he was asking for a voice, she thought, that really wasnt hers. She reflected on all the typical stories associated with Appalachia, tales of the mine wars, of a rural landscape and people from a time gone by, and the writers who did such a superb job at telling these stories. However, she had lived in Huntington and her characters were not coal minersher characters grappled with urban issues, not rural ones, and frankly this was the Appalachia she knew and the Appalachia that today is no less interesting. Manilla recalls, I once submitted a story to an Appalachian-themed journal and the editor sent back a note saying: I love the writing, but could you send us something more Appalachian? The interesting thing about Manillas fictional world, and that of Frank X Walker, Crystal Wilkinson, Silas House, and others of a new generation of Appalachian writers, is that their writing reveals an unexpected understanding of the un-stereotypical, not necessarily gritty and not necessarily white. Manilla addresses this question of identity when she writes that not everyone in West Virginia and in the region is a hollow-dwelling, coal mining character. Once one traverses beyond the stories of John Fox, it is clear that this question of identity runs throughout the Appalachian literary canon, though the literary establishment outside the region appears to have missed this idea, preferring only the white hillbilly image. In a March 7, 2012, paper delivered at a Berea Womens Studies Conference, Manilla shared in a talk called Claiming Our Cultural Selves her thoughts about how the prevailing stereotypes compel young people to leave the region. She writes about what she calls the cultural loathing that runs rampant among young West Virginians, all those cultural barbs that dehumanize Appalachians making it so much easier to steal our timber, our coal, and our very souls. This cultural loathing also causes Appalachians to bury our rootsincluding our accents and it propels us to escape in ways that also include the alcohol- or drug-induced stupor. Too many West Virginians buckle under this national belittling as backward, uneducated, dim-witted, and hillbilly. Manilla also bemoans the class system within the state between urban and rural dwellers, between northern centers and southern coalfield hamlets, and between townies and gownies, and sadly, she says, even between some college professors and their Appalachian students. Cultural loathing is something many Appalachians, including herself, are still trying to shake off (Claiming Our Cultural Selves). As far as her own stories are concerned, Manilla is fascinated by these inner conflictsthat is, as she says, writing about the conflicts going on inside of me. She admits, Often my characters are grappling with identity, with what it means to be an Appalachian, but little of that reality fits neatly into the casual stereotypes foisted upon the region (Friends of the Library). Manilla is ambivalent about her own personal West Virginia diaspora, remembering the Iowa Writers Workshop of the 1990s as a super-competitive place, and not in a good way. She recalls, I dont think my confidence ever fully recovered (Kinsey). However, one lesson she did take away from her MFA experience was the skill of being a good critical reader of her own work, or as Pulitzer Prize and Orange Prize-winner Marilynne Robinson, one of her teachers in the workshop, told her, The goal is to teach you to drive by your own headlights (Kinsey). Indeed, the steady stream of short stories that began to flow from Manillas pen would be collected in her first published volume Still Life with Plums (2010), finalist for both the Weatherford and ForeWord Reviews Book of the Year awards. One of the most interesting stories in the collection, The Wife You Wanted, is in some sense an Appalachian apologia. The story is a dramatic monologue of sorts about a woman who has fled both her Appalachian home and her first love, Tommy, a red-neck mechanic whom she could not value beyond the stereotype. In town for a visit, she hears that Tommy has passed away. His funeral is convenient to attend, so she goes. Old acquaintances who havent seen her for some time are pleased that she has come to pay her respects; even Tommys wife says, Its strange, but it means a lot to me that you came, to know that he still means something to you. The speaker asks if he were a good father, knowing that fatherhood and family were really what Tommy had always wanted. Yes, he was a wonderful dad, is the response from the wife that took her place (158). We learn that the speaker went through three husbands, always chasing some elusive thing [that] tumbled [her] from Dallas to Denver, Seattle to Chicago, she thinks. The belief that if I just run fast enough I can reach 90 mph and lift off as I crest over hills (159). The fact was, she understands finally, Tommy chose to eschew a fancy career for home and hearth, though he was certainly no easy rider. At the same time, the speaker, who eschewed Tommy, still yearns to flee still desperate, utterly frantic, to fly (159). One of the most deliciously satirical and at the same time poignant stories in the Still Life collection is the title story, Still Life with Plums. The narrative is about Natalie, a writer invited by her academic friend and old college roommate from years past, Beth, to be the keynote speaker at a writers conference in Arizona. While Beth has had a series of pop culture and pulp fiction successes, Natalie has enjoyed a serious, one-time publication success and Oprah Book Club favorite with the enticing title of Mixed Metaphors, a book she fears may have been a fluke, . . . a one hit wonder (84). Natalie arrives with a boatload of baggage, from worries about her only son Nathan in Iraq to the writers block that settled in after such unaccustomed acclaim and a fruitless womb now removed forever, a poignant parallel to her dearth of literary creativity. Natalie says to Beth as they prepare for the conference, Youre disgustingly prolific, to which Beth responds, I just plant my ass in the chair two hours a day . . . Its not magic (81). The writers who have come to the conference are mostly male, all hyper-competitive and opinionated. Natalie has already read their manuscriptsplenty of self-absorbed struggling writer vignettes that make her wince (83). The first evening at the conference opening dinner, Natalie meets the rest of the faculty, with their scholarly leanings . . . all that lit crit and theory, post-post this, meta-that, hyper-whatever that she has long grown bored with. Such a weird subculture, Natalie thinks. A carnival circuit for writers and she wonders what sideshow freak that makes her: tattooed lady; one hit wonder; wordless woman (84). There is among the attendees, however, one writer that stands out, Hannah Pasqual, whose The Lemons Are Crying evinces gorgeous words, sentences, whole paragraphs packed with lush metaphors ripe with meaning. The following day as Natalie gets down to business with these budding young writers, she asks by way of introduction for each to share the reason he or she writes. When it comes to Hannah, she says almost in a whisper, Because words have colors and when I write its like painting (89). Echoing in Natalies mind as she listens to Hannah are the words of her father who encouraged her authorship so that she could write down his stories and her mother who was silenced by his patriarchal and domineering disdain for any opinion she ever offered. As the workshop continues, the students all posturing and showing off, the males so opinionated and pontificating, she thinks them a veritable gabby bunch of testosterone over-reachers (90). As the group reads and offers critiques of their own creative work, the few female attendees are only barely tolerated in their scalding reviews. Nothing happens, says Brad of attendee Peggys story. Its just an old lady bumbling around in her house. Then Hannah defends her classmate, What do you mean nothing happens? . . . . She owns a peach orchard. Shes surrounded by peach trees dripping with life. Another pontificate responds, All she does is look at them through the window and can plums. And she hates plums, to which Hannah counters, Thats exactly the point. The rest of the day, Natalie sees plums in her minds eye, which turn to lemons when she phones her husband James to see how he is faring mom-sitting back in West Virginia, her long-demented mother now seldom ceasing her doddering chatter. On the final conference night billed as dinner with the author, Natalie finds herself across the table from both Hannah Pasqual and Peggy the court reporter turned author. Suddenly, the masculine energy in the room becomes nauseously potent, Natalie wistfully thinking of those matriarchal societies of old. The dinner ends with an open mic and readings, which turn boisterous when Hannah takes to the stage. Natalie wants to hear but cant, and Peggy shouts to no avail, Will you all be quiet? (98) Finally, Natalie walks up to the mic and to Hannah and plants a firm kiss on Hannahs lips which suddenly banishes sound and captures all those masculine eyes in astonishment. Natalie floats above the sexism and the din turned to silence, thinking that she is happy her mothers voice was finally free and scattering plums and lemons to the winds of fictionfiction which must ever capture the fodder of our daily lives. The story thus functions as a solid piece of criticism to reveal the heart of Marie Manillas ideas about fictionthat is, that the stories that she is interested in come from the content of her life and from the universality that content possesses. Shrapnel and The Patron Saint of Ugly Shrapnel (2012), winner of the Fred Bonnie Award for Best first Novel, is a journey tale following the winding road of Manillas own journeyfrom Texas back home to West Virginiaand positing most of the themes and ideas simmering both before and after she hopped onto the highway of authorship: the wrong-headedness and limitations of patriarchy with its propensity to dominate and wage war, the stereotypes that limit human potential, the overweening swagger and lack of empathy that too often leads both individuals and nations to colossal mistakes and wrong judgement. All of these ideas are placed within the framework of the archetypal journey of the hero, a paradigm articulated by Joseph Campbell and anchoring Manillas story in the classic pattern of the separation, the propitious and event-filled journey, and the return with knowledge that will make the hero a better person, and indeed all of us who share his journey through storytelling. Bing Butler, the books protagonist, has raised a family in Texas and still possesses that knowing swagger of a life lived conservatively and confident of his own narrow understanding of the world and his patriarchal place of prominence within it. Bing has been fairly sure of his moral positions and certain that within his narrow sphere he has remained the center. He sent a son Roger off to the Vietnam War and a rebellious daughter Susie off to graduate school. He enjoyed the devotion of his wife Barbara for 52 years until she dies of cancer, and now Susie has invited him to join her family in West Virginia, where she and her professor husband Glen teach at the local university and are raising two teenage children, daughter Reenie and son Brian. Bings gut tells him he has to do this one last thing before surrendering to old age (9), so he gathers the stuff accumulated in his life, has a yard sale, tells his best friends and neighbors Tootie and Dilliard goodbye, and packs his heart medicine and a few essentials from his past into his car to drive north to West Virginia and to a new life. On the way, Bing stops by Mammoth Cave, a tourist destination that Barbara had wanted to see: Two weeks before Barbara died, when she was back in the hospital for good, they had watched a TV documentary on Mammoth Cave. Enthralled, Barbara said, Next summer, I want to go there. Sure thing, Bing said (17). Bing stops there on his way to Huntington, mistakenly asking for two tickets as he waits in line for the tour. The descent into the cave, Bings becoming separated from the crowd, and then his becoming lost serve as the defining metaphor of the journey he has commenced. Giving up ever being found, he falls asleep only to be startled when at last discovered, one of his rescuers saying, Shit . . . we thought you were dead. Bing responds, Arent I. And so, his journey toward redemption for the omissions, the misconceptions, and the guilt of his past begins with a defining separation from his old life and a symbolic death. What Bing finds when he arrives at Susies that his new life in Huntington, to his mind, is going to be more than casually challenging, filled as he is with his own moral notions and judgements about what is correct, sensible, and right. West Virginia itself is jarring to Bings sensibilities, even as it surprises him. He had voiced his skepticism when Susie had followed Glen to Huntington to live but now Bing is surprised that West Virginia struggled through the same highs and lows, advances and retreats as the rest of the country . . . not on a twenty-year delay as he always believed. They had immigrants and robber barons; the WPA and CCC; coal mining, yes, but also steel industry and the glass works and chemical plants; race riots and Vietnam War Protests (125). Nonetheless, it isnt long before Bing declares to himself, What the hell have I done? . . . relocating to Huntington . . . . Stuck in a house filled with crystal and jade and housekeepers and meth labs and a granddaughter who hangs out of windows. Susie and Glen too caught up in their own frazzled lives to care about drug-addicted, school-skipping children, never mind the old man in the basement (141). Even the cleaning woman Aldine drives him to distraction with her mad vacuuming. He thinks to himself, little noticing the irony of his patriarchal musing: If Barbara got paid for all the house-work she did, he could have retired a wealthy man. He senses there is a flaw in that reasoning but doesnt bother to find it (90). Eventually, Bing settles into a routine, becoming the official walker of the ancient canine Frida, learning to tolerate the vacuuming and even enjoying the occasional chess game, gifts of food, and friendship of Ellen Foley, Susies next-door artist neighbor, who initially seems to him both a master chef and veritable woman of all seasons. But adjusting is hard for someone who has been at the center and is now cast to the fringe, or into the basement as the case may be. On one of Bings walks with Frida, attempting to escape the cleaning fury of Aldine, Bing strays well beyond the confines of the neighborhood, finds a bar and some lively local eccentrics, and becomes lost on the return trip. Just about to lose all hope and reeling from a beer too far, Bing releases his frustration: I had a life, he thinks, staggering backward into a wooden bench. He sits and props his elbows on his thighs, cups his face in his hands, feels a hardened scab of shaving cream on the back of his jaw . . . and flings it toward his feet, shakes his head at the odd feeling in his gut, the hollow realization at what he has been reduced to: a drunken, dirty old man (106). He is rescued by Ellen who drives by and asks if he is lost. Though Bing protests, Heck no, she drives him and Frida home, cleans him up from his over-indulgence and despair, and offers a sympathetic ear. When Bing later learns, to his horror, that Ellen is gay, he steers clear of this lesbian who had seduced him unknowingly to friendship. However, Ellen will serve as the mysterious female who guides him on his journey to enlightenment, and they will eventually reconcile. On another adventure, Bing encounters two of his erstwhile bar-mates Ricky and Johnny Ray, who commandeer his car and take him on a wild trip into the backwoods and then to the dog races in Charleston. Ricky and Johnny Ray are charlatans and con men, two dangerous buffoons reminiscent of the duke and the king in Huckleberry Finn, and they seriously endanger Bing, sending him home with a shiner and a deflated sense of confidence when he finally escapes; but they also introduce him to Odell, the father of one of their cronies, an old veteran with plastic tubing draped across his bed chaining him to an oxygen tank. Odell is a war hero (whose kin and situation Bing will later contrast with his own), now lying in his cave of a room, staring at the fuzzy TV and surrounded by a horde of cats, his only real company (231). The image of Odell will haunt Bing, and when he eventually eludes Ricky and Johnny Ray to miraculously find his way back to Huntington to the welcome relief of the family, including Reenie and her junkyard boyfriend Junior, Bing is deeply affected and changed by the adventure. He is haunted by an irrational fear that hounds him after his run-in with Ricky and Johnny Ray (245). Bing discovers first his personal vulnerability and secondly his surprising sense of relief to be home. While he was missing, Glen and Reenie had done his laundry and straightened the boxes and chaos of his room in the basement that he had left. Susie asks him, You want to tell me what happened, but Bing politely declines. Susies eyes rove his face, and Bing can tell shes trying to read his mind. Fair enough, she says, perhaps remembering all the teenage interrogations she endured when she traipsed home at two in the morning (230-31). Eventually, Bing begins to think that his unruly kin are perhaps not so bad after all, as he watches Susie and her rebellious daughter Reenie enjoying an afternoon raking leaves together and later they experience the first snowflakes of winter, a seeming miracle for a Texan. When Bing finally gets the nerve to go into Reenies room, he discovers, rather than the meth lab he had conjured, only wedding magazines of a girl with visions of conventional life with her boyfriend Junior, whom Ellen had admired for his intelligence and good judgement of art in the roughthough Junior was not necessarily Susies and Glens choice, disdaining, as it were, Juniors family junkyard business that he has opted for rather than college. However, it is foodits preparation, consumption, and the fellowship it engendersthat brings Bing, Junior and Reenie together one evening, just as it had initially brought Bing and Ellen together before he thought to shun her for being a lesbian. Bing is beginning to rethink many of his assumptions, including his judgement about his grandson Brian, who confides in him his wish not to go to college but to join the military instead, like his Uncle Roger had done. Bing is both conflicted at this news, knowing Susie and Glen are opposed to that decision, and plagued with his guilt about the past. For he is now beginning to understand that his goading of his own son Roger to join and fight in Vietnam was in some part responsible for Rogers deathsuck it up he had cruelly told Roger when the boy shared his fear of going to war. For years, Bings estrangement from Susie over the Vietnam War and the profound hurt inflicted on Barbara from Rogers death were things that Bing simply didnt deign to assume ownership of. Now that Brian had confided in him, he could, on the one hand, respect his gung ho vigor, his invincible innocence, but isnt that the point? Isnt that why countries send their young men to do the fighting for them? Theyre too green to fully know the cost (257). Bing had never admitted that his country might be wrong, but there it is: a belief that the U.S. had no business in Vietnam, fighting for vague, ballooned threats that werent worth the lives of American sons, all sixty-thousand of them. He harbors similar doubts about Iraq (258). This is a revelation for Bing that he comes to understand and now articulate. However, Bings greatest epiphany specifically concerns Barbara, discovered as he searches for Barbaras recipe for corn pudding to share with Reenie and finding a perplexing obituary notice which leads him to make a deeply distressing discovery about his wife and ultimately about his own life and lack of understanding of those close to him. All of these revelations and anxiety come to a disturbing climax on the night of Brians unwanted Birthday bash planned by Glen and Susie. In the dramatic narrative denouement, the pain of Bings guilt over Rogers death in Vietnam, the revelations about Barbara, and his worry about telling Susie of Brians imminent enlistment all collide in one gigantic whoosh of emotion for the heretofore taciturn, unemotional and unconcerned Bing Butler. The stunned partygoers stop short when the grand swoosh occurs; everyone in the family is amazed and seemingly unable to speak, with the exception of Ellen, who places her hand on Bings wrist, neither embarrassed nor put off by his sobbing, and merely whispers, Let it all out (310); and Bing Butler does just that. He lets go of his anger and disillusionment over his wife, his guilt about his son Rogers death, his rigid judgements of Reenie, Junior, Ellen, and all those whom he felt morally superior to; but mostly, Bing lets go of his failure to empathize with others in their hurt and pain, as well as his shallow and narrow understanding of the complexities of life: . . . at this moment, in one freeing whoosh he had released himself from a lifetime of self-satisfied incomprehension, and as Ellen brings him some water laced with whiskey, Bing thanks her and promises to help her with her welding the next day. It is also clear that the bond Bing has forged now with Susie and her family comes from a different place than before, a more profound bond built upon an understanding that evolves from sympathy rather than judgement, and from a comprehension of the wide range of wounds possible from the shrapnel of daily living in world fraught with minefields that affect us all. Bing Butlers knowledge gained from his journey is an unexpected gift and ultimately his salvation. The Patron Saint of Ugly (2014), winner of the Weatherford Award, recaptures many of these fundamental ideas in Manillas canon but goes a step further by unfolding them within the framework of satire, magic realism, and, despite the serious and even dire happenings in the narrative, gift-wrapping all in a language that sparkles with wit, exuberance, and the seducing joi dvivre of a scintillatingly jaunty style. While the book is above all a brilliant work of satire, Manilla also makes clear a fundamental need that humans have, particularly in a patriarchal culture, for someone to kick (15), a sad but true quality of our status as top animal on the planet. Added to her excavation of toxic masculinity, Manilla unfolds the story narrative through a series of tapes that her protagonist Garnet Ferrari records for a representative of the Vatican attempting to research the Catholic Churchs canonization of Garnet. Because so much of the story is perceived from Garnets point of view as a child, Manilla has the opportunity to likewise explore the pernicious dishonesty and betrayal of adults. These ideas all unfold brilliantly utilizing the literary frame of magic realism, which is wonderfully compatible with the satire and wit of the narrative. This unique unfolding of the story utilizing the Vatican tapes allows some narrative distance and mitigates against the outlandish magic realism and fairytale elements of the story, as well as our skepticism as readers concerning Garnets verisimilitude as narrator. We are thus more willing to suspend our disbelief of such fantastical happenings, as Coleridge would say, with such a narrative mode. It would do well before exploring The Patron Saint of Ugly to examine a 2016 essay Manilla wrote called Arrows, published in The Cossack Review, and through the essay candidly assess with Manilla womans worth or value in a patriarchy. Manillas essay is a variant of a theme posited more than twenty years ago by Naomi Wolf in The Beauty Myth. In her book, Wolf references feminist activist Lucy Stone, who wrote in 1855, It is very little to me . . . to have the right to vote, to own property, etcetera, if I may not keep my body, and its uses, in my absolute right (qtd. in The Beauty Myth 11). Wolfs thesis is that every woman is at the mercy of patriarchal control of her person through societys slavish abeyance and deference to the beauty myth and all of those rituals, customs, and habits in our everyday lives that center around the objectification and sexualizing of womenand the negative enculturation of both women and men to accept a myth which makes a commodity and object of women for the predilection and consumption of men. Manillas 2016 Arrows essay presents a series of vignettes where girls are prey and metaphorical arrows happily mark each target. Whether she is an office worker, a professional, a teacher, or a prostitute . . . the arrow always points the way and every woman is fair game. In the essay Manilla references her first failed marriage to a wounded man who loved to wound. She says that on one of her escapes from him she moved into a duplex in the gay section of Houston. It was a lovely brick street with lovely gay neighbors who let me use their pool when the heat was unbearable. When she finally fled Houston, barely alive, she writes, she swore off sex for several years. She continues, I started having anxiety attacks that acted as a different kind of protection. Just the thought of intimacy had me heaving over the toilet. Religion was a protection, too. She had gone through puberty and young adulthood with that arrow (certainly not Cupids arrow or perhaps a revealing re-visioning of that patriarchal myth) aimed straight for her as the marked target. Manilla closes the essay by saying, It took a while to find a decent man and when I did, it took a while longer to let him in. Predators, she writes, are drawn to the neon light, the hum, but Im better at fending them off, shutting it down before it goes too far. Still she adds, when I see girls, younger and younger every year, on the cusp of lost innocence, I want to shield their eyes. . . . Especially the ones with hunched shoulders and red arrows trying to punch through the spines like molars. For these girls are the easiest targets, and the beauty myth provides the music for the dance. As Garnet Ferrari unfolds her story in The Patron Saint of Ugly, which is really many stories all connected to the same idea, a kind of theme and variations of this essential proposition of patriarchy is posited on tape two: [A]s my years on the planet have taught me, everyone needs someone to kick. Thus Northern Italian Tuscans spat upon Neapolitans, who razzed southern Calabrians, who scorned Sicilians. . . . [E]ven in West Virginia, where the northern half of the state thumbs its panhandles at the southern-coalfield kin (Patron Saint of Ugly 15). It is this binary mindset of patriarchy that thrives on negative juxtapositions and thus becomes the controlling image that drives Manillas story. The two concepts that bookend the principle, that everyone needs someone to kick, are fear and power, both of which are intimately connected. In the first tape, as Garnet relates the tale of her namesake and fellow saint Garnet del Vulcano, these two interrelated ideas are presented. The 15th century legend of Saint Garnet of Sughero tells the story of the red-haired daughter of goat-herding parents, pursued by the wicked and immensely unpleasant marquis who sees her at the market, wants her, and when she and her family decline his advances, he orders her to be tortured and tied to the side of fiery Etna, close enough to be pelted and burned by fire and ash. Garnet is not killed, but she is singed and disfigured to the degree that even the wicked marquis no longer wants herher body tattooed by God with images of His Creation: . . . in order to save her, God had hidden her beauty deep inside, like a pearl in an oyster (11). And so, we have the premise for a book: that life is neither fair nor certain and there is always someone who feels it is his right to kick another and fail to see the inner beauty just below the surface. Garnet Ferrari does her best to convince Archbishop Gormley (Archie), who has been assigned the task of determining her sainthood, that she is absolutely no saint; and along with her beloved and slightly ditsy Nonna Diamante Ferrari, who is absolutely convinced that her granddaughter is indeed a saint, Garnet relates all the many facets of her story. In one sense Garnets story begins with Diamantes marriage to Dominick and journey from Sicily to Sweetwater, West Virginia. Diamante had planned to marry Dominicks younger brother Angelo, whom she loved, but the vision of her red hair from across the bay had determined for Dominick that he must have her for himself. When Angelos goats destroy their uncles vineyard, Angelo is forced to give up the steerage money he has saved for Diamantes and his new life in America, and Diamante is forced to give up herself to the older brothertheir uncle having determined that Dominick, rather than Angelo, should receive the steerage money and the red-haired naiad Diamante. A school of dolphins serves as a sign to Diamante that she must trade one brother for the other, and she determines to turn into a dutiful wife so [she] can-a survive this marriage (100). Survive Diamante does, and when their second son Angelo (who will bear an unfailing resemblance to his uncle Angelo rather than his own father) falls in love and marries protestant Marina, the stage is set for these family ties to work their wonders, both for good and ill. Angelos marrying non-Catholic Marina sets off a flurry of counter actions by Diamante, through ungodly potions and portafortunas to address the malocchhio of Angelos unseemly choice of a wife. However, Angelo and Marina produce two grandchildren for Diamante, now the irrepressible Nonna: a virtually perfect, encyclopedia-reading son Nicky and the port-wine marked and equally irrepressible as her grandmother, Garnet, who becomes Nonnas favorite due to Garnets supposed healing powers of dolls, children, and wayward priests. For a time, Garnet herself thinks (hopes) her special healing powers might be true, for she dearly strives for her fathers attention who clearly favors, as do all but mother Marina, the perfectly perfect Nicky. For a time, Garnet dresses in her childs rendition of a home-made nuns habit and does her best to please the adults, who more often than not either betray or ignore her, but the vicissitudes of life and the patriarchal dynamic of the family soon produce a healthy skepticism on Garnets part that she has any healing power, though she seriously considers that the power might actually be Nonnas. Garnet begins to intuit the hopelessness of this off-balanced caste and gender system which her Uncle Dom, her grandfather Dominick, and even her own father who cannot bring himself to go against either of the two domineering Dominicks and whose slavish devotion (or fear) of the family patriarch causes him to grow ever shorter in the eyes of wife Marina, who is convinced that so much God Hooey is the root cause of this corrupt system and for all these troublesome men and their delusions of grandeur and self-importance (220). The tyranny of Grandfather Dominick is readily passed on to his son and namesake Dom, who is the favored son since suspecting Nonnas indiscretion with the original Angelo. Despite Marinas attempts to protect her children, both little Nicky and Garnet are wounded, though in different ways from this family and gender dynamic. Garnet is always at the mercy of Grandfather Dominicks intervention for any small infractionfor example, the faux pas and humiliating spanking resulting from who would receive the well-done steak at Angelos failed cookout. Each time Angelo succumbs to his father bullying, he literally shrinks in size and moral stature in the eyes of Marinaand such unseemly shrinking triggers his own indiscretions with their neighbor Annette Funicello, who has set her eyes (and other body parts) on Marina husband. Sadly, son Nickys sense of entitlement, encouraged by the gender system that favors males, prompts some snobbish behavior and his failure to act heroically, when Radisson, the African American chauffer of their neighbor La Strega, is set upon by the neighborhood Stooges or bullies. Nicky also fails the test of civility when he, Garnet, and Marina are having tea with La Strega, who has donated a bell to the church and has invited Nicky to enjoy her library and full set of encyclopedias. In the midst of their tea party, Nicky snaps haughtily at Radisson, I told you I wanted mini-marshmallows! Cant you ever get it right, Nigger Toe? Marina is horrified at her sons rudeness and stops the tea party, dragging both her children home, convinced that the entitlement of both the rich and the toxic masculinity that dominates their family are the culprit. Garnet, on the other hand, comes to Radissons defense when the Stooges attack him, and the heroic favor will be returned many times over in future years. All comes to a head when Garnet discovers her bullying cousin Ray Ray, obnoxious stepson of Aunt Betty and Uncle Dominick, sexually abusing the bookish Nickyfor no one is safe from the patriarchal and hierarchical sense of entitlement that engenders abuse even among children. When Garnet tells her mother what has happened to Nicky, Marina has had enough, and Angelo who begins to grow taller exponentially with his outrage at his family, accompanied by Nicky, seeks revenge. It was definitive bravery, says Garnet in tape thirteen, and Mom knew it too. By the way she stared at Dad, I could tell that he appeared a foot taller (188). As Marina hands the car keys to Angelo, he and Nicky pile into the family station wagon with visions of justice, and . . . skidding on the icy road to wreak revenge on Dominick, both are killed in a car wreck. This family tragedy brings havoc to all: Marina is riddled with guilt over giving Angelo the keys to the car, as is Garnet, who had earlier removed Nonnas portafortuna from the glove compartment before the wreck and taking away all their good fortune: and when the priest appears to blame Angelos and Nickys deaths on Marinas lack of Christian faith, Nonna breaks with Marina, announcing to all that Marina is a-dead to her (217). Garnet is heartbroken to lose the one person besides her mother, whose love and faith in her were always unswerving. At this point, Marinas wealthy mother Iris of the Mayflower Caudhills swoops in to whisk the two back to her mansion in Virginia, where Garnet befriends African American servants Opal and her daughter Cookie and children. Iriss hoity-toity and materialistic lifestyle, which Marina had tried to escape by marrying into Angelos Italian family in the first place, is all-consuming, and as Garnet reacts through actively countering her grandmothers racism and materialism, Marina retracts into a deep, drug-induced sleep managed by Iris. All comes to a head, however, at the birthday party Iris throws for Garnet, her flawed skin properly covered in make-up Iris had providedthe party in reality all about celebrating her dead brother Nicky, whose portrait Iris unveils in the dramatic climax. Garnet thinks, The presumed superiority of the male offspring was alive and well, as was the preference for beauty over, well, me. How easily they would have chosen to slip me into the front seat of the station wagon that day and tuck my brother safely between his sheets (258). Appalled, Marina wipes the make-up from the face of her daughter for all to see, ungarnished and in full display: This is my daughter. Mom gripped my chin and twisted my face toward the guests so they could all get a good look. I tried to wrench free but Mom held me tight as she yelled at the spectators, and Grandma, Isnt she beautiful? Isnt she! . . . [With that outburst,] Cookie dashed up and pried Moms hand from my face. Leave her be! It was the first time I heard her voice raised. Mom looked at her hand still in a claw, makeup smears on her arms, her sweater. She looked at me, really looked at me, and understood. Garnet, she whispered, but I cowered behind Cookie, the only person I could trust. (259) With this outburst, Marina falls back into her deep sleep, which Muddy the butler fears she will never recover from. Grandma Iris, on the other hand, stands solidly with Dr. Trogdon, with a look that was neither distressed nor fretful; it was pure content. Iris had finally won in the battle to get her daughter back from those lowly Ferraris (261). A decade passes before Garnet is able to return to Sweetwater and make peace with Nonna and Aunt Betty. In the interim, Garnet discovers a remarkable secret about Iriss African-American help, Opal and Cookie, and she is sent off to private school by Iris who insists she continue to cover her body from head to toe in make-up designed to obscure her colorful port-wine global designs across her body. In college she meets a remarkable rebel and feminist named Yvette Guillaume, who like Garnet has suffered from a lack of her fathers acceptance and love but who does teach Garnet to accept herself as she is and embrace her beauty within. Garnet, on the other hand, encourages Yvette to throw away her fathers hurtful letters and free her own self, and the two declare their independence from the patriarchal bondage that traps women as debilitatingly as the bound feet of a Japanese geisha. One night Yvette pulls a tiny American flag from her robe pocket, [sticks] its toothpick pole into a wad of chewing gum, and [plants] it on Garnets colorful and geographic solar plexus. The two assert: One small step for womankind, . . . but it was a giant leap for Garnet, and both girls are set free (281). Garnet returns to Sweetwater after graduation to live in La Stregas mansion, having received La Stregas wealth and home through an inheritance from Radisson, who died just minutes after his mistress when the two are in an accident and who himself, for a moment of time, had inherited La Stregas wealth in order to pass it on to Garnet. Radissons gift is for Garnets unselfish courage and kindness years before when the Stooges had attacked him. Garnet eventually locates her mother in a rest home arranged by Iris, and Marina, through the magic of Nonna, as well as her forgiveness, rises from her deep sleep determined to finish her education at Smith College, attended by Cookie, now much more part of this family than the help. However, the grand finale occurs when Aunt Betty and Nonna declare their own declaration of independence as the two Dominicks give one order too many and all the women have had enough: on demanding more ice for his drink, as Grandpa Dominick and Uncle Dom sit in Garnets inherited estate hoping to partake of the spoils, the revolution occurs. When Garnet tells Dominick to get his own ice, he is ready to slap her face but instead shoves Nonna causing her to fall. With that, Garnet tells him, You son of a bitch. I want you out of my house! Then Grandpa Dominick yells to Nonna Diamante! Get-a you ass out here right now! and Dom echoes his father, Betty! Get your ass in the car! Garnet steps up to say, no; and addressing her aunt and grandmother, she says, You live up here with me now . . . Both of you. Please stay (295). Nine months later, Iris is killed in an automobile accident, her car crashing into a sewage-treatment plan, Grandpa Dominick trips over a rake and expires, while Dom runs off with a waitress from Dinos Lounge, and the new matrilineal side of the family is united foreverthe women to construct new legends with a decidedly different cast of characters. What is so splendid about this tale, aside from the clever narrative mode and unforgettable characters, is the jaunty way it is unfolded, engaging the reader with each magical turn of the page. The story has the exuberance of Laurence Sternes 17th-century Tristam Shandy and the jocose joi dvivre of Virginia Woolfs Orlando, particularly in the delightful scene where Garnet and Yvette declare their affection for one another and their independence from the patriarchy. In the style of Orlando, Manilla gives us two pages of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (276-77). Then in the following chapter, tape nineteen, Garnet greets us with First of all, I am not a lesbian, followed by Okay, maybe I was, for thirteen days, but I chalk it up to those experimental college yearsthough she adds that it was entirely possible that enduring a decade without a warm embrace or a kiss good night might also have had something to do with it (278). Yvettes words Youre beautiful just the way you are mean more to Garnet than Marinas embarrassing declaration at the birthday party and even more than Nonnas words about beauty below the surface. Yvettes manifesto of freedomYou dont have to hide anymoresets Garnet free. Indeed, every reader is set free with this grand and wonder-filled story about valuing oneself and others as they are, and when we have turned the final page of the book, we are certain that this is the real truth behind the quest to discover Garnet Ferraris sainthood . . . and the genuine miracle of The Patron Saint of Ugly. Works Cited Kinsey, Connie. Driving by Her Own Headlights. Interview with Marie Manilla. 11 July 2020. Online. Manilla, Marie. Arrows. The Cossack Review. October 2016. ___________. Claiming Our Cultural Selves. Berea College Womens Studies Conference, 7 March 2012. ___________. Friends of the Library Lecture. Cabell County Public Library, Huntington, May 2011. ___________. Madness. WestVirginiaville.com. 11 July 2020. Online. ___________. The Patron Saint of Ugly. NY: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014. ___________. Shrapnel. Montgomery: River City Publishing, 2012. ___________. Still Life with Plums. Morgantown, Vandalia Press, 2010. ___________. Who Tells Our Stories: History, Haints, and Happenings. Mildred Haun Conference Keynote, 2-3 February 2018. Wolf, Naomi, The Beauty Myth. NY: Harper, 2002.      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Where the Heart Is: Empathy, Art, and the Fiction of Marie Manilla                  2 n0   @Elephant--- G2 i(0 By Dr. Sylvia Bailey Shurbutt, ϳԹ       2 ^ 0 University  P2 .0 Center for Appalachian Studies and Communities       2 0   @Garamond---  2 0   @Garamond--- G2 (0 Souls need no finery. Wounds will do.    2 0   2  0 Marie Manilla    2 +0   @Garamond--- 42 `0 The Winding Road to Authors        2 .0 hip    2 D0   @Garamond--- 2 ` 0 In a 2020  2 0   &2 0 interview called   2  0 Driving b  _2 W80 y Her Own Headlights Marie Manilla said this about her        2 `0 writing:   2 0   G2 (0 My work explores the human condition, i    M2 ,0 n all our frailties and glories (Kinsey).   2  0 A writer    a2 1`90 who has always been acutely aware of her West Virginia ro     =2 1!0 ots while at the same time feelin    2 10 g the   "2 L`0 occasional urge  2 L0   2 LN0 to escape them, Manilla has experienced both the burden and the boon of being     k2 g`@0 Appalachian. These complex feelings have shaped her as a human     82 g0 being and as a writer, and the  2 g0 y   42 `0 have evinced themselves in   2 !0 her  2 50   e2 =<0 stories as a champion of the underclass, the othered, the    2 `0 stere A2 ~$0 otyped and the scapegoated. Manilla   2 e0   A2 h$0 grew up in a state where the images     +2 E0 from popular culture      42 `0 and literature of the past,  2 0   O2 -0 the residual aftermath from the Great Society    )2 0 , and a contemporary   2 0   2 0 region    q2 `D0 plagued by a plethora of social problems, both real and exaggerated,   2 0   ;2  0 left an indelible impression on    22 `0 the vision that she had of  2 0   2  0 the region 2 @0 ,  2 G0 of  72 Y0 the state she grew up in, and   2  0   2  0 even  2 .0 of  2 ?0 herself  2 i0  2 y0 all  2 0 part of  2 0 the    /2 `0 patriarchal impositions     (2 0 that are driven to      ;2  0 dominate, limit, and impose upon         2 k0   2 t0 the  2 0   2  0 individual   2 $` 0 possibilities  2 $0   +2 $0 of both men and women     2 $F0 . 2 $J0   %2 $R0 Yet there is also   2 $0   O2 $-0 a satirical whimsy and hopefulness about her     @Garamond------ Y2 ?`40 work at the same time that superimposes a wonderful     --- 2 ? 0 joi dvivre---  2 ?0   72 ?0 over her bleak understanding  2 ?0 about   2 Z`0 the natu %2 Z0 re of the beasts  2 Z0 that we   2 Z'0 humans   2 ZX0   2 Z[0 are  2 Zn0 ,  2 Zr0   2 Zu0 with  2 Z0 our  I2 Z)0 destructive and predatory habits, living   2 Z0 a 2 Z0 mong   L2 t`+0 a diverse and fragile population and planet  2 th0 .  2 tl0     2 `0  0 "2 0 Manilla was bor   >2 "0 n in Huntington, West Virginia, to    2 0   2 0 a German    2 0 - 2 0 Irish m  +2 C0 other from Covington,    2 0    2 ` 0 Kentucky,  2 0 Mary  2 0 Elaine   2 0   2 0 Kathman   %2 50 , and an Italian  "2 0 father, Charles   2 0   2 0 Manilla  2 + 0 , son of  %2 ^0 immigrant parents   2 0    ,2 `0 who found their way to    2 0   &2 0 work in industrial   2 q0   2 v 0 West Virginia  =2 !0 . Charles Manillas father was a    2  0 n Italian  2 0    2 `0 stone 2  0 mason who fo   k2 @0 und work in the Nickel Plant in Huntington, where his son would        2 v0 also  2 0 work  2 0 as a   2 `Q0 metallurgical engineer after graduating from the University of Cincinnati. Marie       2 `0   %2 e0 was raised in the   2 0    #2 !`0 Gallaher Village    2 !0   #2 !0 neighborhood of  2 !: 0 Huntington  2 !0 . She  O2 !-0 recalls walking from the home where she grew        :2 <`0 up at 111 Forest Park Lane, to     2 <!0 attend  2 <L 0 Catholic sch  2 <0 ool at  2 <0   (2 <0 Our Lady of Fatima     .2 <?0 where her parents were    2 W` 0 founding  2 W0 member    2 W0 s z2 WJ0 . That walk took her down Green Oak Drive, which would ice over in winter           2 W0   2 W0     2 r`0 great sledding  2 r0   2 r 0 she recalls  2 r0   2 r0 but  2 r# 0 treacherous  2 rl0   2 rr0 for  2 r0   X2 r30 driving. In a paper delivered at the Mildred Haun    "System0ny ܪny p Dv--  00//.. ՜.+,0 hp  ϳԹUniversityz   Title  !"#$%&'()*+,-./0123456789:;<=>?@ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ[\]^_`abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz{|}~Root Entry FQr=1Table$WordDocument.|SummaryInformation(<DocumentSummaryInformation8CompObjr  F Microsoft Word 97-2003 Document MSWordDocWord.Document.89q