Wild in the Hollow: A Book Review

I both began and completed the memoir Wild in the Hollow during the same week.

Yeah.  That timeline right there probably says plenty already.

(I can sense a headline from the mock news at The Onion —- Homeschooling Mother of Six Finishes a Non-Fiction Book in Under Four Days – And It Wasn’t an Audio Version.)

Amber Haines was a speaker at, yes – you guessed it – Allume.  Her talk was scheduled during one of the lunches and right there on our tables, beside that sweet tea, was one copy of her memoir – Wild in the Hollow – for each of us.

Of all the novels (and the stack was high) of free books given to attendees from the weekend, this one was easily my first choice for What To Read After Finishing Go Set A Watchman.

I was probably drawn to her book after listening to her speak. Maybe I found something relatable to me in her southern drawl and her search for home, coupled with her conversation about longing for the sense of place she came from with her steady family and rural upbringing.  (It already felt sort of like a story I had lived.)

This book is hard.  And true.  And it feels like both a confession and an offering conjured out of poetry and struggle and self-inflicted wounds and equal parts wandering and familiar fears.

It’s a memoir that needs a soundtrack and I think I heard Loretta Lynn playing in my mind as I read Haines’ words.

I like honest writing.  It’s the only kind I really care for, actually.  And although parts of her story don’t fit into my love of black and white and one plus one equals two, I think her thoughts are important.  I think her findings are worth talking about and her ideas are worth searching through.

This is what I have learned of words collected on pages:

Delete the pretense.

Rewrite until you are speaking in your own true voice.

Write what you know.

Truth is universal,

even in varying circumstances and shades.

Amber Haines absolutely does all of that in this book.  And more.  She writes with a sincerity and a vulnerability that is actually painful to read sometimes.  She really shares her stuff.

I underlined so many sentences and turned down so many pages that Piper Finnian grew concerned as she watched me progress through the work at night before bed.

“Momma – is that book yours?” she asked with genuine concern furrowing her eyebrows.

“Yes, it is,” I assured her.  She sighed, still uncertain.  (So much ink looked like rule breaking.)

Desire is a theme threaded through Haines’ entire narrative.  I read with interest how misplaced desire shaped her years and how redeemed desire took its turn to shape her days as well.

She writes:

This is the way of sin.  The fruit of its desire does not lead to life.  It does not lead to love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness or self-control.  This is how we know the difference between a desire that leads to death and one implanted by the Father of lights, who gives every good and perfect gift.  The fruit always tells.

If I shared everything I underlined, I’d practically be rewriting entire chapters here for you.  Her words on desiring control and allowing God to offer her self-control hit me square in the mouth because it is such an intimate struggle for me personally.

The other kind of control is self-control, a gift born by the Spirit of God to help us walk in the narrow way of life and to say no to things that pull us aside.  I had neglected the Spirit within me, the self-control given to me in him, and I had tried to claim control that wasn’t even possible for me to have.  Self-control is a rest in him and his way, and all other striving is an illusion of control that divided me in three, mind from body from soul.  Dropping the illusion propelled me to healing.

I’m going to have to stop myself from quoting more here so that you can read and experience this progression for yourself – it’s a ride worth taking, for sure.

It’s been quite some time since I’ve picked up a current memoir-style book – what a powerfully thoughtful one to jump back into this genre with.