Clemenceau's Daughters

This was a short read or maybe I just zipped through it in one long night because there was no putting it down. The story begins on a summer day when "Little Debbie" is 5 years old, and leaves us when she is only 13. I wish there had been more, I would love to know what kind of woman she turned out to be. Anyway Debbie at the start of the story is 5 years old and looking forward to starting the first grade when summer ends. She loves books, and imagines herself in the bible stories she reads. She hates being left with "Fat Sarah" the glutinous babysitter who spends more time stuffing her face than caring for Debbie and her baby brother while her parents are working. They live in a small rented house too close to a dangerous road where people tend to drive like maniacs and throw beer bottles out the windows. Debbie is wise beyond her years and later in flashbacks we learn of the heartbreaking story of her ancestors. I don't want to give away too much so I will stop here. This was a well written story full of heartache and hope.

There’ve only been a few books that have hooked me completely after only reading their preface. I usually need to immerse myself in the action, to reach the feeling that I need to go on further.

It’s not the same case with this book.

"They say the sins of the fathers can be visited upon the sons through seven generations. The sins of the mothers know no such bounds. They are nurtured, protected, and handed down from generation to generation, world without end. They are inescapable and liberating, hoking and cathartic, tomorrow and yesterday."

I don’t even think these words were a hook for me. Rather said, I was hooked by a real harpoon here.
From the beginning of the story, I was happy to meet Debbie and the oak tree that she was hiding in. I have to admit that a huge influence over my choice to read “Clemenceau’s Daughters” was the book’s cover. It exercised an interesting fascination over me. Therefore, you will not wonder too much if I say that meeting the girl and her tree brought a certain sensation of happiness inside my heart. It was as though… I knew I would find inside the book, exactly what attracted me beforehand.

The moment when “Papa’s head thumped as it struck the corner of the bottom step and split open.” left me motionless. Breathless. I had to take a break and pray for a happy ending.

"Tell me he’s not dead!’ shouted Mommy, shaking uncontrollably, as Papa’s gray matter oozed into her lap. She knew the truth. Daddy knew the truth. Debbie knew the truth."

And I knew the truth… At that moment, I hated the author!

Sounds weird to say but whenever an author succeeds to make me hate him or her, that moment is like a revelation for me as a reader. I know that the book I have in my hands is the creation of a great writer. And the hate transforms into admiration and gratefulness. What a great writer can give you as a reader, can’t be compared with anything else… it’s a mix of fantasy, real and unreal, hate and love, curiosity and worry, action and reaction, beginning and end… it’s all that your life may lack at that moment.

But even if I knew that was only fiction (due to author’s statement), Debbie’s travels through space and time looked more than real to me.

The author definitely knows what a good description is. For sure the author knows when to stop when to continue and when to begin again. You find yourself in a multitude of events, actions, thoughts and interpretations that keeps you very busy following the scenery.

I will not reveal the plot, nor the details. I leave that up to you, the reader, the pleasure to grab a book that doesn’t give you a chance to feel any boredom.

Between a first funeral and a last one, I immersed into the main character’s internal and external struggles, into a world in which the truth is no longer simple, and cruel intentions transcend generations.

Between a harpoon preface and a mysterious epilogue, I let myself be dragged into Rocky Porch Moore’s fiction, where Debbie must face the insidious legacy that haunts the women of her family, one by one.

"Our names define us and our names cling to us. They cling to our daughters and granddaughters like cobwebs cling to a corner. We may sweep them aside, but they will stick to the very broom, binding themselves to the fibers. They bind us. They heal us. They destroy us."

The Ballards have lived at the base of July Mountain since the days of the Great Depression and since that time they have been the subject of gossip, ridicule and superstition. Debbie Ballard is just five years old and looking forward to first grade, she doesn’t understand that people fear her, or that people tend to die around her. She has no idea of the curse that haunts all the women of her family. Beautifully written, like a song to the mountains, earth and sky