Worst Father Ever?

Carl Ott and our father have two of things in common. They are both married Caucasian men and they both own a tool set.* That, I am glad to say, is where their similarities end. While I haven't read everything, I feel confident in saying Carl Ott is probably the worst father in the history of American Literature. If you ever feel bad over missing your kid's t-ball game or forgetting to pick up your daughter after her violin lesson, read Tom Franklin's Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter. Unless you are an abominable person, you'll finish feeling pretty okay about your own mediocre parenting skills.

Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter concerns the friendship of two boys, one black and one white, in late 70s Mississippi. They're friends for three months before circumstance pulls them apart (understatement of the year, but I don't want to spoil anything). Later in high school, Larry Ott, the white boy, takes a girl out on a date in high school and she is never seen again. No crime is ever proved to have taken place, but the small town gossip imprisons him more neatly than any jail cell could have. He slowly transforms into one of the sad loners who populate his beloved Stephen King novels, staffing his family's garage (once run by the aforementioned Carl, now dead) that the townspeople avoid like the plague. Meanwhile, his former friend Silas blossoms into a star athlete in high school and later a police constable. Silas moves back to their small town just as another girl disappears and attention turns back to Larry and the girl who disappeared twenty-five years earlier.

First of all, my favorite genre is probably Mysteries Involving the Unsolved Crime From the Past and How that Crime Ties Into The Awful Events of the Present (see also The Thirteenth Tale, In the Woods and Case Histories), so I am an ideal reader for this book. But here the mystery is secondary, as Tom Franklin plumbs what it means to be all those important things: a good friend, a good child, and a good citizen of your world. His writing is gorgeous; a scene where a carburetor is removed from the car is so meticulously described you want to throw the book across the room and give a slow clap. Fair warning, the scene where Carl Ott earns his Terrible Father Award is so devastating that it would test Kerry's Brave Reader Status (although, truth be told, I don't know how she's going to get through Dark Places).

I should mention that one of the great joys of this book is how awesome the dialogue is. Franklin captures the individual voice of its disparate characters, regardless of age, race, class, or gender. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed going around asking for a "Co-Cola" after reading The Help last summer. Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter reminded me of that simple pleasure, and also added saying "Enjoyed it" after every meal to my lexicon.

*Carl Ott's tool set is neatly arranged and cleaned daily. Our father taught us that a butter knife was preferable to a screwdriver and that when wood glue somehow ends up coating the tool box and most of the work bench in the basement, don't freak out about it. Wood glue never hurt anything. Chill out and let it be.