Little, Brown and Company, 176 pages, hardcover, $25.00

It has been seven years since Daniel Woodrell’s last novel, Winter’s Bone, was published, but The Maid’s Version, his latest release, is definitely worth the wait. Woodrell is the uncrowned poet laureate of the broken and beaten, the top chronicler of life on the wrong side of the tracks in the Ozarks, and a man who can turn pain, loss, and suffering into literature that’s actually a joy to read. With The Maid’s Version, the author will give loyal fans more of what they crave, but the novel’s depth, shifting point of view, and historical atmosphere will also earn him many new devotees.

The Maid’s Version centers around the mysterious explosion of a packed dance hall in the small town of West Table, Missouri, back in 1929. At the time of the disaster, which claimed 42 souls, Alma DeGeer Dunahew, the mother of three young boys, worked as the maid for a prominent citizen and banker, Mr. Arthur Glencross, and his family. Alma’s sister, Ruby, led a slightly more comfortable and much more scandalous life than her sister. Alma works hard and gets no help from her mostly absent husband. Ruby, however, leads a more comfortable life by using her charms to get money and gifts from men. When Ruby died in the explosion, Alma was convinced she knew who was responsible, and it had to do with one of her sister’s dangerous love affairs, one she knew very well. Sadly, her pursuit of justice made Alma an outcast, estranged her from her son, and destroyed her spirit. Despite her certainty, everyone else wondered who could be responsible for the catastrophe. With an angry preacher promising eternal damnation to anyone who danced, mobsters showing up in town, and an unhappy group of local gypsies, there were too many suspects and not enough answers. Years later, the mystery is still unsolved, but Alma tells her  grandson the story in a way that makes it all too clear, even if it might be wrong.

There are no weak entries in Woodrell’s bibliography, so saying this is one of his most ambitious novels to date is not a statement that should be taken lightly. The fantastic prose, sharp dialogue, and superb plot are all in place, as usual, but The Maid’s Version feels larger in scope than previous novels. For starters, the plethora of points of view manage to keep the disaster wrapped in inscrutability until the end. Also, the narrative jumps back and forth in time with ease, something not many writers can pull off. Last but not least, while crime itself only shows up a few times, the number of people killed in the explosion and the way they died make this one Woodrell’s bloodiest work:

“Throughout that summer human scraps and remains were discovered in gardens two streets, three streets, four streets away, kicked up in the creek by kids chasing crawdads, in deep muck at the stockyards halfway up the hill. That fall, when roof gutters were cleaned, so many horrid bits were come across that gutters became fearsome, hallowed, and homeowners let a few respectful leaks develop that winter rather than disturb the dead.”

The Maid’s Version intertwines the life stories of many unique characters who are relevant to the story and offers the gloomy atmosphere that characterizes Woodrell’s work. The narrative deals with loss, injustice, death, infidelity, obsession, and various manifestations of love and the concept of family. This is a well-built, lyrical, relatively short novel that deserves to be read. Woodrell is at the top of his game here, and the result is outstanding. You should read it now even if it’s just to be ahead of the pack when it starts showing up on year’s-best lists and everyone wants to talk about it.

—

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.