Treasure Hunting, The Southern Way

Once President of the United States, Andrew Johnson could be considered a forebear to a certain stereotype found in modern celebrity. Johnson had fulfilled the American Dream, rising from an illiterate tailor, working up the ranks of government to become president, only to fall to disgrace. Johnson was a racist and the first American president to be impeached. Though not a president held in high esteem by many, James Whorton Jr.‘s protagonist in Frankland just can’t seem to get enough of Johnson. One could say that John Tolley possesses a prevalent characteristic of modern times—the preoccupation with celebrity, especially those notorious for their exploits.

James Whorton Jr’s second novel follows Tolley, a young self-educated historian, in search for lost documents belonging to Johnson. Tolley proves to be a bit of character, socially challenged (especially with the women), with huge dreams muddled by big city life. Certain that he is on the cusp of great discovery, Tolley abandons all in New York and heads for Tennessee to find the missing papers; hoping that the discovery will propel him into the ivory towers of history academia. As in any true quest, Tolley is sidetracked by a string of unplanned events and is confronted by a group of offbeat characters. He finds himself entangled in town scandals involving the lottery and chicken fights, and discovers more than he anticipates about the state of local politics.

Now, what does this all have to do with Tennessee and Andrew Johnson? The reviewer is completely stumped. East Tennessee just seems to be a great place for small town misadventures. It is also a place where the comparison between city and country are prevalent. Whorton makes this clear in his characters’ behaviours and thoughts. People from the country play their role as eccentrics and city people are portrayed as status hungry neurotics. Notions of ‘ideal’ life differ for both factions: those from the city, like Tolley and the newscaster McBain, entertain visions of fame and publicity, while their country counterparts have more down-to-earth ideas of the ideal life. But what does bind them together is the means in which they plan to achieve them. Taking advantage of the weaknesses and foibles of others is a common agenda.

Frankland continues in the same genre as Whorton’s previous novel, Approximately Heaven. It retains the author’s genial and friendly tone that befits his blue-collar, small-town characters and their Southern sense of humour. The plot is witty, with twists and turns in all the right places to keep you interested, and yet, Frankland is a novel best read by those who possess some prior knowledge of American history and Southern life for what some would refer to as the total experience. Knowing how Andrew Johnson achieved office and having a general understanding of local American government allows the reader to draw parallels with certain storylines in the novel. Even the title of the book comes from a region in Tennessee, the state of Andrew Johnson, once named in honour of Benjamin Franklin in 1784.

An unfortunate result of lack of context is that the global reader is left feeling a little lost. For example, Frankland is referred to by some American reviewers as humorous; though humour is always ineffective for those who can’t recognise the punch lines. Stories that depend heavily on particular settings and stereotypes captivate global audiences through universal characteristics and struggle of their characters. This is the weakest facet of Frankland. Whorton’s novel is an entertaining read, but the story has loss a certain degree of intensity by overlooking the opportunity to get more out of its characters—which is unfortunate considering Frankland includes quite an interesting selection of inhabitants, no matter how stereotypical.

Regardless, Whorton, who lives in Tennessee, proves that he has a knack for depicting local landscapes. He has the region grasped in the palm of his hand, showing a real understanding for the people and their idiosyncrasies, while weaving them into simple plots of intrigue. The novel remains true to its homegrown roots. True, the view may not be Faulknerian, but its equivalent is kicking back with a cold beer on a warm night—which really, isn’t all that bad.