Book Review – Hell at the Breech by Tom Franklin
A Bloody Fictionalization of the Mitcham Beat Battle of 1897
With Tom Franklin’s debut novel Hell at the Breech (Harper Perennial, ISBN: 0060566760, 2003) he expands upon the condensed violence and exquisite storytelling found in his 2000 short story collection, Poachers.
The impetus for Franklin’s staggering brutality is the murder of local Mitcham Beat storekeeper and political hopeful Arch Bedsole, and what follows is a story of a sheriff’s final hurrah, one man’s destructive insecurity, an omniscient midwife’s grace, and a boy who learns quickly what it means to be a man. Death after death occurs in this book, starting with several drowned puppies in the opening chapter and not relenting until the inevitable bloodbath at the end.
An Architecture of Violence
As Franklin builds the story about death, the deaths become the most memorable parts of the book. This is not only because they’re perfect examples of Franklin’s ability to turn a single paragraph into a harrowing example of violence, but because as the characters begin to fall, the power shifts from side to side.
Though that observation may seem fairly obvious, Franklin’s ability to embody both numerical and emotional importance in each character deserves to be acknowledged. Nobody falls in this story without a purpose.
The Real Mitcham Beat Battle of 1897
The story itself, beyond the characters in it, is a highly fictionalized account of an actual occurrence. Much in the same way Julius Caesar was terribly slanted by Shakespeare’s rendition of the end of his days, Franklin took creative liberties with this war of a southern city.
Tooch Bedsole and Billy Waite were real people in the real Battle of Mitcham Beat, but they weren’t how they are portrayed in Franklin’s novel. A reader of historical fiction would be unwise in opening up this book expecting more history than fiction. With such efficient prose and authentic people, dislike the book from, at the very least, a literary point of view, seems quite unlikely.
Hell at the Breech is a Must Have
It’s amazing how lean Franklin’s fiction is at all times. His wife’s poet-eye must have either rubbed off on him or helped him greatly, as there are no wasted words here. Or perhaps he’s just lazy, as the writing doesn’t work any harder than it has to. Either way, it’s impressive.
As far as liking or disliking the novel beyond its literary merits, there’s no reason why this shouldn’t appeal to anyone who can handle the violence. It has devices, symbolism, and other qualities of fine literature, but there’s enough mystery to keep the pages turning, too. While the first two-thirds of the book are able to be put down (not for good, of course), the last third is not: all the ends come together, snaking back together at the last minute. Hell At the Breech is a fine movement into the longform, and while it’s not suggested over Franklin’s Poachers, it’s just as well-written and just as worthy of being read.
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Hell at the Breech, Tom Franklin
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