Review: Blackwater

You are likely familiar with the late Michael McDowell’s work, even if you don’t know the name. As the screenwriter for Beetlejuice and The Nightmare Before Christmas, his storytelling formed the foundation for two deeply beloved films that are still popular today (my daughters, born well after the original release dates, adore both films.) Beyond film, though, McDowell was a prolific author of paperback originals and was best known for his horror tales, most of which were published from the late seventies through the mid-eighties. Sadly, this work never achieved the popular acclaim it deserved, and fell out of print by the end of the decade. Still his name remained revered amongst genre fans, who recognized his writing ability to be well above the norm. No less than Stephen King called him the best writer of paperback originals in the era, and after reading several of his books, I’m understanding why. Thanks to the fine folks at Valancourt Books, his work is being made available again and I hope this time it finds the audience it deserves.

I want to talk today about Blackwater, which I just finished last night and which is one of the most purely enjoyable reads I’ve experienced in recent memory. Originally published as six novellas over a six-month period in 1983, this story of the Caskey family ranks among the finest achievements the genre has produced. The Valancourt edition gathers all six volumes into one nearly 800-page novel, and I think this is the way to experience the story. I have to wonder if it wouldn’t have faired better had it come out as one full-length novel in 1983 (it’s not like the 80s were strangers to bloated paperback novels—not that Blackwater is the least bit bloated.) I read it over the course of a month, letting in unwind its spell a little more each day.

This is a quiet horror novel, and in fact you could almost argue that it’s not horror at all, save that the main character may or may not be a river monster of some sort. Blackwater is the story of Elinor Dammert, discovered after a major flood in the only hotel in Perdido, Alabama by Oscar Caskey. The saga of the Caskey family, Elinor’s entrance into it and her gradual ascension to the role of matriarch make for the first half of the tale, with the second half focusing on what happens to the family once she becomes the matriarch. Taking place over roughly 70 years, the tale does not focus on Elinor alone, though she is clearly the engine and never far from mind. It’s a Southern family saga, part soap opera, part horror tale, part small town portrait. The characterizations are deep and exquisitely rendered, and this is where the book shines. The supernatural elements are largely in the background, integrated into the story and only occasionally claiming the spotlight. You could argue it’s more of a dark fantasy novel than anything, but even this feels wrong—the supernatural elements are never the point of the story, yet they are essential in a completely unassuming way, if this makes any sense. This book falls into several genres while belonging to none. That was probably a hard sell.

But it is a horror novel, and one that may be too quiet for the modern reader. There are scares, and they are effective. However, your mileage with Blackwater will entirely depend on whether you fall in love with the Caskeys, with the gentle Southern rhythm of their lives, and if you enjoy going along even when “nothing is happening.” I did, and this is why the novel is a masterpiece to me—because I rarely cared if “something” was happening, I was too busy enjoying my time with these folks. During the day, at work, I’d find my mind drifting, wondering what the Caskeys were up to. Complex characters all, and even the ones you aren’t supposed to like are charming in their way. By effectively foregrounding the family story, it makes the occasional note of horror much more terrifying and jarring. The horror can feel amoral, even though you come to understand that these acts were done for love. Yet Blackwater is truly all about the family. As a portrait of a matriarchal family over several eras, well, I’ve read none better.

It’s not perfect. In his wonderful introduction to the Valancourt edition, Nathan Ballingrud points out that African-American characters are given short shrift, even in their most important moments relegated to reacting to the events of their white employers. This may be accurate for the time period portrayed, but, given how subversive the book is on many other levels, not giving a better-developed, more complex role for these folks is a missed opportunity. There are also a few points where it feels like McDowell may have rushed a bit, not fully developing certain situations and plotlines (I wonder if the publication schedule had anything to do with that.) One thing that I suspect may be a stumbling block for some is that Blackwater never really reveals what, exactly, Elinor is. Oh, we certainly come to understand that she’s not human—honestly, you’re gonna know that within the first pages—but in an era of origin stories and overexplaining, I appreciate not having that filled in. It’s a far more powerful experience that engages one’s imagination on a deep level. If McDowell had not been such a talented author, the approach would likely fail. But he was, and it does not, at least for this reader.

As the story reaches its climax in the latter 100 or so pages, it does so with a grace that I can’t do justice to here. I found myself dreading the end, because I didn’t want my time with the Caskeys to end. These characters had become close to me, and I had to stop reading at one point last night because my eyes were full of water. Just a speck or two of dust, I’m sure. Blackwater is a grand achievement, a wonderful, wonderful book and it’s going to be hard for anything else to top it this year. The Valancourt comes with a beautiful, entirely appropriate cover. Please consider purchasing it if you’re able. It’s well worth it and supporting projects like this ensures more worthy but overlooked authors won’t be lost to the sands of time.