Tyrant Books, 200 pages, paperback, $14.95

Scott McClanahan. Learn that name. It’s synonymous with exciting books. When his memoir, Crapalachia, actually got the attention it deserved, McClanahan’s next book become something many reader awaited eagerly. So did I. Hill William, his first novel, turned out to be what I expected, and much more. You know — humor and sadness, but the way McClanahan is mixing them, rolling them in memories, and slathering them with pain, awkwardness, darkness, love, and the smell of wet Appalachian dirt is unlike anything you’ve read before.

Hill William might be a novel, but it’s written with the same brutal honesty as Crapalachia. It also feels just as real. My guess? It probably is. The narrative recounts some of Scott’s best/weirdest/worst childhood moments and mixes them with his present, which finds him married and trying to be somewhat normal while dealing with his pain and anger.

When talking about a book that operates beautifully on various levels, I normally peel away the layers one by one until I reach the heart of the narrative. However, I won’t be doing that this time around for two reasons. First, McClanahan’s writing is raucously funny, unbelievably sad, unexpectedly touching, and wonderfully strange…simultaneously and on the same level. Second, the whole book is full of heart, and the author wears his on his sleeve, so no digging is required in order to reach the juiciest, most important part of the narrative because it’s all there, bleeding and in the open.

Hill William is hilarious, but what might surprise some readers is its unexpected darkness. McClanahan’s prose is full of humor, even when his character is repeatedly punching himself in the face, but truly brutal passages are always right around the bend. How brutal? Brutal like carving your initials into the soft belly of a turtle, accidentally applying Vicks Suave to your genitals, or hitting a deaf guy with a stick and trying to force him to masturbate. Not enough? Try shattering furniture. Or rape. Still, the broken dreams are worse than the smashed furniture, like when Scott tries to meet Batman:

“I walked away and saw that Batman was just this stupid guy dressed up in a rubber suit, just as afraid as I was, and that I lived in a lost place inside my own heart, where even Batman couldn’t help me.”

Reading Hill William is a unique experience. McClanahan is plugged into the deepest veins of backwoods rural America, but what he takes out of there is somehow filtered through love and delivered in fast, unflinching, intense prose. His writing is heart-wrenching, but he’ll make you laugh out loud. He’ll tell you the truth and try to convince you that he’s lying. He’ll show you how awful people can be, but he also tell you that he loves you. You should love him back.

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Gabino Iglesias is writer, journalist, and book reviewer living in Austin, TX. He’s the author of Gutmouth and a few other things no one will ever read. You can find him on Twitter at @Gabino_Iglesias.