Customer Reviews

It Isn't Murder If They're Yankees

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The novel is in a class by itself. It is especially timely even though much of the planning seems to have been done before 9-11. I think the Quiet Man is a Jedermann gone berzerk and maybe finds a dark spot deep in all of us There once was a guy with an alarm living across the street from me whom I wouldn't have minded blowing up.

Jerry Stratton's It Isn't Murder If They're Yankees is a brilliant blend of Tom Robbins style wit with Thomas Hardy style story telling. Once I started it, I could not put it down. It is definitely one of my top ten favorite books.

The genre of the book is hard to pin down. Like Tom Robbins' Still Life with Woodpecker, the politically savvy humor and out of the ordinary wit make the writing style of It Isn't Murder If They're Yankees unexpectedly thought provoking and entertaining.

The plot revolves around several well developed characters including a Virginian school teacher and an unlikely serial killer. The setting of modern day Virginia acts not only as a backdrop but is incorporated almost like a character in the novel, reminiscent of Thomas Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd.

Gracefully laced with shreds of history, Stratton's classic work is a masterfully woven tale of modern humanity. Traces of despair and hope cycle rhythmically in each of his characters as they confront the reckless fragments of frivolity, fury and fear, immersing their fates into meshed abandon. With each swift stroke of evocative absurdity, Stratton brilliantly addresses the arduous dilemmas of the day, which are thickly rooted in days gone by. Of course, "Root causes are never talked about in public," he explains.

Much like the characters in his story, who catapult from the ashes of their ancestors, Stratton's style is carved uniquely from the echoes of greats such as Harper Lee, Lewis Carroll, and Ernest Hemingway. These influences surface elegantly from the depth of his characters and flow into the uncharted river of his words.

Beckoning Shakespeare's undaunted thought, "Whether `tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them," the protagonist and former pacifist, Carolyn, is destined to embrace the paradox of her plight and indeed take arms. Her femininity and evolved feminism converge, becoming both her strength and her tragic flaw.

Deftly depicting an impressionistic perspective of America's adolescence, Stratton dips into a pulsating palette, mixing the murky shackles of confederacy, the amber hues of civil rights, and the vacillating shades of justice incited by our founding fathers. His enemy, the Quiet Man, is constructed from this blend. Satirically intertwined in the lives of his victims, the Quiet Man's mission accentuates the fluctuating hypocrisy of American society.

"...government bodies are hell bent to teach every citizen that they have a moral responsibility to ignore bad laws."

In his quest to squelch "stupidity," the Quiet Man embodies the rippled perceptions of a nation fractured since its very inception.

"Too often, polls are used to end discussion, to mark the battle won or lost."

"...56% of the public approved of the Quiet Man's campaign against stupidity."

The finer lines of freedom's fraudulence are painted in the thoughts of endearing narrator, Tom, master of the open road and open mind. Subconsciously aware of the weight of sadness, Tom cradles the innocence in each of us as he rolls up the unsuspecting sleeve of his naivety for a shot of merciless serendipity.

Recreating the labyrinth of his vision, Stratton's looking glass makes us privy to sermons in bars, clinging corporate immobility, political benedictions, and an array of seductively sinister snippets of life's sparring partners. A new "Lost Generation" is born from broken bridges and stranded spirits, and the term "terrorist" defines us, becomes us.

Cleverly crafted wit and cynicism acknowledged, it is Stratton's transcending imagery which strikes the core, conjuring our fragility and common desire to connect with our universe and with each other:

"In the bright moonless winter sky behind Carolyn as she drove home, Mars hung high over the Allegheny Mountains of the Blue Ridge, piercing the side of Gemini in a long, slow, ecstatic dance to the finish."

Vividly reflecting a culture possessed by juxtaposition, Stratton's heights and depths stand at the crossroads of clamor and calm, of confusion and clarity, allowing the reader not to make a choice, but to experience the intoxicating cocktail he creates. He provides us with a convincing case that we can neither drive far enough from the past nor ride fast enough into the future to escape the subliminal impact of our origins. Hatred and ignorance, clearly the adversaries, confront the avenging angel, wingless and wheeled by the same winds of futility. His characters are all of us. His story is timeless. This is a recommended read for all who care to contemplate the evolution of the psyche and a mandatory read for all who don't. Drink up.