The Death of Sweet Mister

by Daniel Woodrell

Book Overview

Shug Akins is a lonely, overweight thirteen-year-old boy. His mother, Glenda, is the one person who loves him -- she calls him Sweet Mister and attempts to boost his confidence and give him hope for... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Hardcover
• Language: English
• ISBN: 0399147519
• ISBN13: 9780399147517
• Release Date: May 2001
• Publisher: Putnam Adult
• Length: 196 Pages
• Weight: 0.75 lbs.
• Dimensions: 0.8" x 5.3" x 7.8"
• Age Range: 18 years and up
• Grade Range: Postsecondary and higher

Customer Reviews

Astonishing

This book is excellent. A short book and a quick read, it packs a wallop. Woodrell is good, but this book was a real surprise. One of the best books I've read in a while.

Rural Oedipus Rex & a bit of James Ellroy

Daniel Woodrell's last novel, Tomato Red, was about classism experienced by poor whites in the author's native Missouri Ozarks. Woodrell's latest, his seventh novel, The Death of Sweet Mister, has a tighter focus--more psychological, less sociological--that yields a jewel of a literary noir: Think of Oedipus Rex set in the backcountry, seasoned with a bit of James Ellroy. This is not an easy story to tell. Themes about incest among poor whites can easily lapse into the degrading stereotypes of genetic insufficiency attacked in Jim Goad's The Redneck Manifesto, and elsewhere. No, Woodrell has all the compassion for his characters that any literary master knows they need to live on the page. Although excellent, be warned, however, this is one of those "and they didn't live happily ever after" tales.With Shuggie Akins, a obese, lonely, thirteen-year-old adrift among adult misfits, Woodrell again creates a first-person voice that convinces: The people, the place come alive wholly from inside--moreover, because of--Shuggie's language: "Our house looked as if it had been painted with jumbo crayons by a kid with wild hands who enjoyed bright colors but lost interest fast." Inventive linguistic genius of this sort goes on page after page and if at first a surfeit of these gems seems to slow the reading, don't worry: The voice creeps up on you and stays as an agreeable companion. Like a "Thunderbird (that) seemed to instantly comb the bumps from the road ahead to keep the ride always gentle," The Death of Sweet Mister reads smoothly.At first, Shuggie's story seems about the rite of passage a teenage boy takes to manhood. But opportunities for Shuggie to bond with his petty criminal and abusive dad, Red, seem invariably to have two outcomes: stupefying disillusionment or, worse, schooling for a desperate life of crime. A fishing outing with Dad ends when Shuggie sent to wade in the river sees Red and girlfriend Patty engage in some "nasty clutching" inside the truck cab. And Shuggie's legal standing as a juvenile makes him Red's pawn for a series of burglaries to steal prescribed narcotics from the sick and doctors' offices.Woodrell's fitting metaphorical logic for this tale of doom makes Shuggie and Mom Glenda the working caretakers of a cemetery. Shuggie steals "dope" from the sick, who later end up in his "bone orchard." With no real role models to make his transition to manhood a success, Shuggie falls into misdeeds on his own. We see character corruption, we see "the death of Sweet Mister"--Glenda's nickname for the son whose failed male bonding appears to seal his Oedipal fate.Compared to Tomato Red, The Death of Sweet Mister is a darker tale because the characters do not dream a better life for them exists elsewhere. If the dream of escape kept characters in Tomato Red moving, for Shuggie, it's life with no exit. His only dream of another place, oddly enough, is Norway because that is where Vikings live. Certainly he was thinking of

Unsettling and Haunting

My first impulse when finishing Daniel Woodrell's disturbing yet exceptionally written book was to take a shower. Told from the point of view of a overweight thirteen year old Ozark boy who with his flirtatious Mother and mean spirited and violent Father barely stay afloat in the muck of poverty.A short small book at under two hundred pages it races like a freight train towards a tragic and unforgettable conclusion than resonates even stronger because of the choice of his narrator.Woodrell offers no easy answers or solutions, but instead paints a sometimes hilarious, but more often upsetting depiction of desperate lives pushed to severe and drastic measures. Lives that by the end of the novel, converge like a modern day spin on a classic Shakespearean or Greek tragedy.