Review
Jason Jack Miller has single-handedly cornered the market on Appalachian
Noir fiction, and deservedly so. The Devil and Preston Black is a
page-turner laced with an audiophile's longing for the days when music
was genuine, and the storytelling reminded me of a strange array of
similar stories -- High Fidelity, Crossroads, Justified... -- yet it
stood out from the pack as fresh, thanks to Miller's authentic
Appalachian voice. Any lover of guitar music or the history of the blues
will instantly see themselves reflected in the story, filtered through a
noir fuzz pedal, amped up with the electricity of dark fantasy.
-Michael A. Arnzen, winner of five Bram Stoker awards.
"With the photographic clarity of a beat poet's metaphor and the soulful twang of a bluesman's axe, Jason Jack Miller draws the reader down a trail of folksong breadcrumbs to the haunted backwoods of Appalachia, where the worst devil of all may be the one that stalks our hopes and dreams."
-Christopher Paul Carey, co-author of THE SONG OF KWASIN
"With the photographic clarity of a beat poet's metaphor and the soulful twang of a bluesman's axe, Jason Jack Miller draws the reader down a trail of folksong breadcrumbs to the haunted backwoods of Appalachia, where the worst devil of all may be the one that stalks our hopes and dreams."
-Christopher Paul Carey, co-author of THE SONG OF KWASIN
Product Description
Alex must've been desperate if she came to me for help.
I could protect her from bullets and knives and the wild mountains themselves, but not the dark Appalachian magic I barely believed in.
The only way to save the woman I loved was to head home and end the hundred-year blood feud between her family and mine. I'd kill every last Lewis and bury every last witch in the coal-dusted soil of West Virginia, even if that meant facing them all again in hell.
This is a tale of star-crossed lovers and civil revenge by uncivil hands, written in blood that is barely thicker than water.
From HELLBENDER:
She squeezed me, fully letting herself embrace the little bit of shelter I offered. She sniffed, and said, "He had a gun, Henry. He held it up to my neck."
I held her as tight as I could. "It's over. Didn't you see what just happened?" I pointed to Darren with his head resting against the truck's toolbox.
She said, "He told me that Charlie Lewis knows now. He said I didn't run far enough away."
I could protect her from bullets and knives and the wild mountains themselves, but not the dark Appalachian magic I barely believed in.
The only way to save the woman I loved was to head home and end the hundred-year blood feud between her family and mine. I'd kill every last Lewis and bury every last witch in the coal-dusted soil of West Virginia, even if that meant facing them all again in hell.
This is a tale of star-crossed lovers and civil revenge by uncivil hands, written in blood that is barely thicker than water.
From HELLBENDER:
She squeezed me, fully letting herself embrace the little bit of shelter I offered. She sniffed, and said, "He had a gun, Henry. He held it up to my neck."
I held her as tight as I could. "It's over. Didn't you see what just happened?" I pointed to Darren with his head resting against the truck's toolbox.
She said, "He told me that Charlie Lewis knows now. He said I didn't run far enough away."
