Writing a New World

FEATURED AUTHOR—JEFF MANN Writing a New World__________________ Edwina Pendarvis Jeff Mann and I met at a Hindman Writers' Workshop in the early 1990s. I have a faint recollection of sitting with him and others late one night on the porch of the topmost cabin at Hindman. Laura Bentley, Ron Houchin, and George Brosi were there. Jane Hicks, too. I think it was the night Sharyn McCrumb told a scary story, daring us to steal it. Seems like Jeff had his guitar with him. Anyway, we became friends then. That means we haven't been friends long, as Appalachian friendships go, but long enough for me to find out he's one of our best contemporary writers and that part of what makes him a good writer is the almost reckless courage that informs everything he writes. Like most of the country, Appalachia is having a big argument about whether being gay is, as Seinfeld says, "okay." I guess the good thing is that at least now there's an argument. Nevertheless, it's still risky to be brazen enough to "tell" in this "don't ask, don't tell" climate. At a time when individuals' privacy rights are being trampled and religious fundamentalism is gaining converts, for a man not only to admit he's gay but to celebrate his sexuality in his writing, takes what some people seem to think gay men lack. Jeff stands up for himself and his right to love whomever he pleases. He does so with joy and humor as well as conviction. More importantly, his writing reflects the complexity of being who he is, given the rural society he grew up in. His work is honest and strong; it never falls into cynicism, despite the embattled condition in which he must often have found himself. Not surprisingly, there's usually a tinge of sadness in his work, forming a quiet accompaniment to the sometimes exotic, sometimes homely, experiences he creates for his readers. This sadness is especially evident in the poetry collections, Mountain Fireflies and Flint Shardsfrom Sussex. In a way, he seems more southern than many Appalachian writers. From the time he met us, he has called Laura Bentley and me, "Miss Laura" and "Miss Eddy." The way he says it makes me feel like I've known him since he was a child. Like I was his piano teacher or a friend of his mother's. If other people called me "Miss Eddy," I'd probably gag; but it's funny when it's coming from someone who sports an earring, a Vandyke beard, and a shaved head—well, I guess 22 shaved—I'm not clear on whether men who are so smooth-pated become that way naturally or have to achieve that look. These days he's usually wearing cowboy boots and sometimes a waxed canvas jacket (a less dramatic version of the full-length, spaghetti-western duster), topped off by a baseball cap—with a "Butch Built" logo. The reason he's able to carry off this mixed metaphor of southern, cavalier, and redneck fashion statements is that he's bold. He strides into a room, squinting his eyes in a slight frown, but a smile's always imminent. Given his character, nobody should be surprised at the prolific, crazy-quilt nature of his work. He has written in many different genres: suspense stories, political essays, memoirs, poetry, and a novella about a vampire. Though like most Appalachian writers, he tends toward realism in his work, Jeff seems completely at home with the gothic, as his novella, Devoured, makes clear. I attribute this partly to his long acquaintance with being among a ten percent minority—that ten percent comprising people who consider themselves gay or bisexual. Not that being gay is either necessary or sufficient to be a gothic writer; but living a life surrounded by hidden threat could surely put you in touch with the kind of horror associated with the gothic. Jeff's vampire, though, like Jeff himself, is somewhat unorthodox, as he's gay and Appalachian. At his reading at Marshall University recently, Jeff read from his most recent book, Eoving Mountains, Loving Men. I...