On the Savage Side

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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So, you can tell from the title of this post [on my blog, it's called "A Funeral for Dreams"], that this is not a happy tale. The other big hint along those lines is the author’s name. I’m sure that Tiffany McDaniel is perfectly capable of writing a fun romp of a novel—I just have no evidence that she’s interested in doing so.

When you do see her name on a cover, you know a few things going in—the book is going to feature some sort of childhood trauma; the beautifully stylized dialogue (that doesn’t even pretend to be realistic); and prose that can only be described as gorgeous.

Everything else may differ from book to book, but the above are pretty much a given at this point.

What’s On the Savage Side About?

We meet 6-year-old twin sisters Arc and Daffy on the day their father died. Believe it or not, this is likely the best their life is going to be for the rest of this book. They spend most of their childhood in a home with their mother and aunt (I’m very carefully not saying they were raised by their mother and aunt), prostitutes who spend what little money they have on drugs—heroin, primarily. There are brief periods where the children are taken care of by their grandmother—who is kind, loving, and able to take care of them—but those are brief.

We see them age—struggling to separate themselves from their mother and aunt, and eventually following in their footsteps in addiction and profession. As adults, Arc’s focus is her (more fragile) sister’s safety and well-being. It’s because of Daffy that she finds a rehab facility, there’s a (probable) serial killer out there leaving women’s bodies in the river, and Arc is determined to not let Daffy become the next. Hopefully, she can prevent her friends from being the next, too.

Interspersed with chapters describing their lives (with some time jumping involved), we get some selections from their mother’s diary—back when she was capable of keeping one. We see her struggle with addiction and knowing the danger she poses to her daughters (and I was so glad when the book gave us that—it was the first maternal action I saw from her, but we didn’t get to see it for a long time).

We also get chapters describing the point-of-view of the river that flows near their town. How it reacts to being where the bodies of women are discarded, along with its thoughts on other things as well. It’s these chapters—particularly early on—that give the novel its depth and perspective. It feels to me like those chapters are McDaniels speaking with the least amount of artifice. The river feels like her voice unfiltered through the devices she uses the rest of the time.

Chillicothe, Ohio

Until I started this book, I knew Chillicothe, Ohio as the birthplace of Archie Goodwin of Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe books. I half-assumed it was a fictional location, and never bothered to look it up. Now I know that it exists, and I’m going to have a hard time reestablishing the positive associations I had with the name. It feels like a great place to be from, not a great place to be. I’m sure that it’s a perfectly fine place in reality, but the small city does not come across very well in these pages.

So, what did I think about On the Savage Side?

This was just a brutal read. Every time you get a glimmer of hope, a glimmer of a feeling that things might be okay for some of these characters—something snuffs it out. But there’s another source right around the corner. But, to go back to that line from the novel I borrowed above—the book is full of funerals for dreams.

But there’s beauty in the darkness. And a drive to keep persevering shared by the reader and the characters. I wondered more than once why some of them kept trying—but they did. The mother of one of Arc’s adult friends is a strong vision of enduring love and hope—she’s always ready to help her daughter no matter how tight the grip of addiction is on her at the time. She’s always trying, always striving to give her daughter the care she needs—even when (especially when) there’s no reason to think it’ll do any good.

I mentioned a serial killer above—it’s not a serial killer novel, though. It’s a novel about the women that may be his target and their fears about it. But people looking for a Thomas Harris read will be disappointed. Actually, people looking for most things you find in typical novels will be disappointed. Many of the looming questions in our characters’ lives are left unanswered. But you don’t walk away frustrated that you don’t get the answers like you would from other novels—because we’re given answers to questions we never thought to ask. Some of those are more important, too.

Like always, Tiffany McDaniels delivered a book that’s going to stay in my subconscious for a while—lurking there, making me rethink what I read from time to time. It’ll probably stay there until her next novel comes along (Betty‘s been there for a couple of years, and really only was dislodged by this one—and The Summer that Melted Everything is still there all these years later). It’s somber, it’s sober, and it’s difficult to read. But it’s so worth it in ways I cannot adequately explain. It’ll make you think. It’ll make you feel.

I’m having a hard time articulating exactly why you should read this without getting into the details—if you’ve read McDaniels before, you know what I’m saying. If you haven’t—it’s time to.