The novel is narrated by thirteen-year-old Shuggie Akins, a heavyset kid who is constantly bullied by his father Red, who berates him and fat-shames him at any given opportunity. The Death of Sweet Mister is the literary equivalent of a fiery train wreck, telling the story of an extremely dysfunctional Southern family and their swift descent into depravity and murder. It’s then I tend to cry myself into a nap.Well, I won’t be able to scrub the ending of this book out of my brain for a long time. However when I finally stop moving, mowing, mucking stalls, reading, writing reviews and long descriptions for priceless pieces I'm selling on eBay and Etsy and have to actually think, my mind now drifts to this very disturbing scene of Betty in ICU. His fiction is almost as weird as my non-fiction. I can't recollect who wrote the forward to this but he was right saying that until and unless someone else comes around Woodrell owns the Ozarks. I remember one time when Betty was younger she asked me, "So what happened to your parent's relationship?" Since no adult had ever asked me that I had no idea how to tell a five year old that the grandmother she unfortunately never got to meet moved to LA in the 80’s to be near her boyfriend's prison.
I asked her name and she said with a wry little grin, "Six Killer." Seeing as how a gentleman doesn't ask and a lady never tells I just said, "They obviously had it coming." There might could be a few less Weinsteins in the world if we had a few more Six Killers around. I asked, "So how's your life been so far?" She simply looked up at me and said, "Hell." I retorted with, "Same" and we became fast friends. Words then came out of my mouth that never have before. Finally I spoke up when I realized someone should. This is till awkward to most humans but felt as natural as a 1977 Morning Dew to me. She is the first person to just unabashedly grab my hand and stare at my admittedly dank Navajo rings and did not speak for what felt like an hour but reckon was only 3 minutes.
We had an interaction unlike any I've had before. I like to muck their stalls while Betty rides but the last time I was over her 90 year old Cherokee grandmother showed up too. While moving out to our place in the country her and I call Turquoise Ranch, she’s befriended these old barrel racing champions who now let her ride their pony and want to see her more than most of our kin. She befriends older folks but isn't the best with non-equestrian civilians. She asks open ended questions and listens to the answers, is genuinely curious and remembers your answers forever. Unlike most humans she actually knows how to communicate. My six year old cowgirl Betty is one of the most interesting people I've yet to come across.
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