Customer Reviews

Holy Roller: Growing Up in the Church of Knock Down, Drag Out; or, How I Quit Loving a Blue-Eyed Jesus

5 star:		(5)
4 star:		(10)
3 star:		(4)
2 star:		(5)
1 star:		(6)

 

 

There is a certain amount of pleasure to had in reading stories of people your mother told you not to associate with--and writer Diane Wilson serves it up in a heaping helping with her portrait of her hard-scrabble childhood, complete with itenerant preachers, junked cars, and irate grandmothers. But in truth the stories aren't the main attraction here: its the tone of voice, which is witty, idiomatic, and distinctly wry, tossing off memorable turns of phrase with tremendous authority and aplomb.

Drawn from memories of her childhood, the central stories concern revolve around a struggle in the family's church--a struggle that leaves an opening for the so-called Rev. Dynamite, who steps in with a call to repentence. Unfortunately, the Reverend's church is of the "Written In Heaven" variety, a phrase that usually denotes snake handling; when he is bounced out of one church, he sets up his own on the edge of a misquito-ridden swamp. At the same time, one shrimper has been killed and another has gone missing; not only does Diane become involved in the search for the killer, she also gets involved with the snake handlers too.

It may be difficult for mainstream Christians and Americans to believe that such sects exist, but they do indeed--and while Wilson doesn't attack them per se, neither does she make them seem less unsavory than they actually are, laying it on the line in no uncertain terms. As for the murder, it proves a largely unresolveable affair, but the pleasure is in the journey and the way Wilson writes it. Recommended.

GFT, Amazon Reviewer

In "Holy Roller", Environmental and Social Justice Activist and Code Pink co-founder Diane Wilson has penned a profound memoir of deep insights, high comedy, and everyday human strengths and failings. Raised on the Gulf Coast in rural Texas in a fourth-generation family of shrimpers, Diane's tale unfolds in the hothouse environment of Pentecostal fundamentalism and the raw natural world of sea, sky and earth.

"Holy Roller" is populated by a set of hilarious characters straight out of central casting and reflects the hardscrabble existence of blue collar folks struggling to make a living, while at the same time attempting to give meaning and purpose to their lives in the larger world and cosmos. Diane's narrative is a window into a world of Americana 50 years ago - of a little girl trying to make sense of hard working, hard loving, hard drinking and hard worshipping family and extended relatives rooted (or not) in a Biblical tradition of black/white, good/bad, salvation/damnation, world/heaven and Jesus and the Devil.

"Jesus had found my hidey-holes so I slid to the floor and laid my head flat against the picture-show chair and the tears welled from my eyes and pasted my face to its red oily surface. I could taste the salt in my mouth. Then God or Jesus or, I don't know, maybe the Holy Ghost poured me into a little heap of useless powder on the floor and warned me if I moved an inch without getting myself born again, he would blow me into a fiery furnace. The time was now. The time was now. Nine years old don't mean nothing to God."

The message contained for me in Diane Wilson's rollicking memoir of magical realism is that of inclusivity and interconnectedness. Diane has become a grown woman of fearless activism who stands up and defends the sacredness of the natural world and justice for common folk. She has taken her family's traditions of hard work, dreaming and imagination (her Grandfather dreams and speaks with spirits) and expanded this lineage to include all beings and the earth itself. We see in "Holy Roller" how she was influenced by this rich tapestry of labor, love, worship and magical thinking and how she both honors her ancestry and ultimately grows beyond it later in life. This to me is the key to this wonderful work of mysterious memoir - people cannot help but be influenced and conditioned by the matrix of the world and family they grow up in; they can see and accept that world for the beautiful quality of being that it is (warts and all), and they can honor that world by expanding and acting upon its visions.

"Holy Roller" offers us a glimpse of the foundations on which Diane Wilson's adult life of activism was built - a world of humble origins, extreme contradictions and a core of self-reliance, common sense and profound justice. Diane has been praised as one of the best Southern writers of her generation and this outstanding book is highly recommended.

Shake my family tree and numerous holy rollin' preachers, - and preachers' wives, missionaries, and plenty of acting out preachers' kids -a few snake handlers, and plenty of back sliders will fall out. That's one of the reasons why I recognized so much in Wilson's wacky, seemingly implausible (but, trust me, it isn't) memoir.

This is a book that requires you to sit back with a glass of tea, turn off your brain, and just enjoy. There aren't deep revelations here. Wilson's childhood can be described as chaotic, but filled with love. Her relationship with Chief, her paternal grandfather, is touching, and the family members, neighbors, visiting missionaries, and shrimpers that populate her memories are interesting and somewhat crazy and somehow believable.

Wilson introduces readers unfamiliar with the holy rollin' life to the wonders of speaking in tongues, rogue snake handlers, and people whose faith is unshakable even in the face of contrary "evidence." The sinners sin big and the believers look for miracles. This is a fun, touching little book, and although there are no deep secrets revealed, I enjoyed reading about Wilson's experiences in her church and community and especially within her unique family. I do have to say that I wish Anthony Perkins would pop up and let us know what he thinks of his place in this story. I think he'd be pleased.

Imagine a book that squeeeEEE daddle diddly danced all around, BAM! This way and that, like a mynah bird in a bubblegum tree, BAM! In a small, sweet, slow, syrupy shhhh whisper then a BAM! SQUEEEEEaal all of a sudden like a polecat in a barn fire Whooo!

If you can imagine what it would be like to read an entire book like that, then you can imagine why I put this one down after a few chapters, unable to continue. The book reads as if a little girl told it to Ken Kesey, and Ken was too stoned to hold a pen, so he got Hunter S. Thompson to write it down for him. It sounds like something Rip Torn might have recited while coming out from under general anaethesia after having a few gallstones removed. Reading it feels like riding a kiddie roller coaster with fourteen catgirls, Gilbert Godfried, and a 24-pack of Mountain Dew. Need I say more?

I ordered this book based on some of the great positive reviews. I was looking for an entertaining, tongue-in-cheek memoir in this vein. I thought this would be great. Well, I was immediately in for a shock.

I found nothing in this memoir to be even mildly entertaining. The style of writing is best for an audio CD/narration. Too many compound sentences - the ramblings of a young child. I couldn't stay focused on the story. Perhaps if you are from the general area in which this story takes place (in the South), it might be easier to follow the narration, but I just could not. It was excruciatingly hard for me to finish this story. Frankly, I even got confused with the characters a bit. I found myself having to re-read certain sections/paragraphs to get the full meaning from the rambling sentences.

When I finished reading the book, I was left with the following thoughts:

1. What did I just read?
2. What was the purpose of this story and where was it supposed to take me?

I think this memoir could have had a more entertaining or profound meaning had the author written it in a more traditional or more easily understood style. Save the money. Get it from the library or a book swap.

Gather the likes of Garrison Keillor, Molly Ivins, Clyde Edgerton, Mark Twain, and the next evangelical bible-thumping missionary who appears at your door--and you'll have Diane Wilson in all her rollicking, metaphor-bustin' glory.

Wilson speaks a down-home language that--once ye've developed an ear for it--will speak to your heart, true and pure, and you'll want her to go on speaking and writing in her sweet, sassy, honest voice. She's that rare, as a person and writer.

Here's hoping you'll give us a third book, Diane Wilson, about your teenage years and early adulthood, which would surely be quite as spectacular as this one.

Unlike some of the other reviewers, I had no problem following Wilson's writing... although I can see where some folks might. Indeed, the first editorial review from Publishers Weekly notes that Wilson's "stylized cadence" is one that "readers will either take to or not."

I took to it.

Does the book "go" anywhere? I suppose not. A memoir of my life wouldn't "go" anywhere either, nor would those of the people I love most in my life, but they would be full of laugh-out-loud moments just like Holy Roller.

So many of the crazy characters in Holy Roller remind me of the family and friends I grew up with in New Orleans and its environs. As I giggled my way through the book, it felt so familiar... I KNOW these people! I read several excerpts to my husband - a fellow Gulf Coast southerner - and he felt the same way.

I grew up in a small town outside of New Orleans and went to a church very similar to the Church of Jesus Loves You. I *remember* that revivalist... I wanted to be a missionary, too, and I knew so many crazy grannies who sent every dime to far-away evangelists and hoped for the Rapture of the Saints.

Perhaps nostalgia is to blame but I really like this book.

A lot.

If you're looking for an in-depth discussion of Pentecostalism, this book isn't for you. If you want a fun and often poignant peek into the lives of a random Gulf Coast family of shrimpers... it is.

Recommended.

Holy Roller is shrimp boat captain Diane Wilson's follow up to her 2005 memoir, An Unreasonable Woman. Wilson's first book, which has been called "one of this nation's greatest works of nonfiction," detailed her response -- taking on chemical plants and the multi-billion dollar Formosa Plastics -- to learning that her Texas county was the number one toxic polluter in the United States. As a shrimper it is important to her that the water be clean and toxin-free. While her approach to writing as people speak in Eastern Texas can become grating, her story was compelling and the writing style went with the tale.

So I expected great things from Holy Roller and was unfortunately disappointed. In this memoir Wilson takes us back to her childhood among the holy rollers of the Southern United States, where bad things happen to people who don't believe in God strongly enough. When Wilson's uncle, Archie Don, is murdered on his shrimp boat, her grandfather Chief enlists the little girl in his search for Don's killer.

Wilson was an impressionable girl who took everything literally, which a scary thought for someone growing up in a family that is part Baptist and part Pentacostal. She attends a Pentacostal church (the Church of Jesus Loves You) and witnesses the typical New Years Eve service involving,

"Preaching, praying, singing, testifying, speaking in tongues, healing all sorts with cloths soaked in olive oil and placed on your head, midnight suppers in the fellowship hall, two a.m. victory marches around the church, foot washing (men only) at the altar, reenactments of Baby Jesus's birth with teenage boys in borrowed housecoats and cute little kids in cardboard angel wings singing 'Silent night holy night' to a young girl holding a baby doll in front of a makeshift curtain made of two bedsheets, and, once (this under the direction of a visiting evangelist wearing a light blue, three-piece polyester pantsuit) an elaborate reenactment of hell."

Add in the rattlesnake handling Brother Dynamite, a preacher who opens a competing church out of his rental house, and you have quite a place for a girl's imagination to grow.

This should make for a great book, but the writing falls flat. First off, the East Texas speaking style when translated through the mouth of a young girl is just plain annoying and difficult to follow, especially for an entire book. One gets tired.

Second, other than the preachers and the women close to her most of the characters are not well developed enough to follow through the confusing writing. I literally just got tired and stopped caring after a while. When I finally managed to figure out who killed Don, I just didn't care any more.

Holy Roller is a book about a woman and her misadventures growing up on the Texas Coast to a daddy who made a living as a shrimper and a mother who was a religious fanatic of the highest order. Always on the lookout for Satan, the author's mother, grandmother, and others were determined to protect their youngsters from any type of temptation. You never knew where evil could be hiding and it was important to exterminate its very presence and stop it dead in its tracks before it began to spread like an out of control virus.

A book with a title like this holds a certain degree of promise and when I first heard about this book, I expected it to offer some intelligent reading about growing up in a fanatical household. I was prepared to read a memoir full of confusion, fear, escape, and resolution. I expected some life lessons from a woman who matured and learned that the world wasn't really so black and white as her religious influences had led her to believe. But after a few pages, I quickly learned that Holy Roller is not that type of book. In fact, it really isn't any type of book. It is labeled as memoir, but the material doesn't present a comprehensive summary of the author's life experiences or even a partial summary. The book also doesn't offer any continuity, doesn't present any self- examination on the part of the author, and doesn't offer any remedies or advice. It is a hodgepodge of nothingness; a book that is scattered, senseless, uninspiring, and often painful to read.

Among the book's many flaws, the first is its horrendous writing. It was intended to mimic the way people from the Texas coast talked back when the author was young and while those who grew up on the Texas coast back during that time might understand it and find it entertaining, everyone else will likely consider the writing sub- par at best and atrocious at worst. Bad grammar, missing commas, excessive and's, poor sentence structure, incomplete sentences, excessive exclamation marks, and a thousand other writing flaws are scattered throughout the book. There are also far too many similes and other tools of so- called creative writing. A few comparisons every now and then are okay and at first, these similes seem colorful. But they get old very quickly. Is it really necessary to compare so many things and events to something else? It is a case of creative overkill and it grates on your nerves after a while.

The second major problem I have with this book is its content. Like I said, the title of this book makes it sound like it would be an interesting read about the author's struggles with religion and how she learned to cope as she matured. I was expecting some intelligent discussion and some analysis of the religious life that the author was forced to live. But there isn't an ounce or even a milligram of intelligent thought or discussion to be found in Holy Roller. From the book's misleading title (it isn't focused solely on religion- it also talks about the shrimp business) to its inclusion of a murder situation and a supposed encounter with Anthony Perkins, the discussion never reaches even a semi- intelligent level, even though many of these events would be worthy of some intelligent thought and reflection. You finish it wondering exactly what the point was when the book was written. Was it to present a humorous account of living this type of life? Was it to get the reader to sympathize with the author? Was it to educate the reader on life in a strictly religious family? I'm not sure, but I can certainly say that the book fails on every one of these counts. As I read, I started to wonder if this was really a fictional novel- and not a very good one at that.

I like the occasional humorous book, even when a normally serious subject receives a lightened- up treatment. But there is little humor in Holy Roller, no real story, and no clear direction. It is deceiving in its choice of title and it delivers nothing of any real value. Poorly written and without any purpose, this book is a definite throwaway and it ranks as one of the worst books I have read in a long time.

Wow---reading this memoir is an experience! You get tossed straight into the world of the author---the Texas gulf coast in a shrimp fishing community. You aren't introduced around---you just gradually figure out the relationships. I moved at 7 from suburban life to a small lobstering town in Maine and it was a lot like reading this book!

The main story here, which you gradually figure out, is that of a double murder, of the author's uncle and another man. There are millions of distractions, though---mostly times in church, where different types of religious leaders fight for the faith of the townspeople. Finally, a snake handler provides sort of a resolution to both strings of the story.

I liked this memoir, and felt it was certainly unique writing. However, I couldn't help getting a bit confused at times, and wishing now and then the tangled relationships were somehow explained better. It took me a very long time to even understand that a main character, Chief, was the author's grandfather.

I also sort of wished for more parts of Silver's (Diane's) life to be covered. What was school like? Exactly how many kids were in her family? What even was the decade we were dealing with her? I guess life where she grew up was somewhat timeless, and that is reflected here. I can't really want this book to be what it isn't, because it wouldn't be the same book. But it takes some getting used to, and it's for that reason a bit of a challenging read.