Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis

I think I wish Vance had set out to write a true memoir. Hillbilly Elegy is at its best in those autobiographical moments – you really feel for teenage Vance, his poor sister/surrogate-mother and his matriarch figure of a grandmother. Many memoirs increase their narrative power by adding analysis, but in Vance's case, I think the result is less than the sum of its parts. When he switches to political or socioeconomic commentary he takes an extremely preachy tone, which I think is not necessarily warranted by the narrative.

Although I would consider this book a four-star work (all for the memoir portions), three sentences really detracted for me. It's highly unusual for me to have such a visceral reaction to a single sentence, much less more than once in a book, but here we are:

1. In the very beginning (and then repeatedly throughout), Vance talks about how “Hillbillies” are culturally distinct from African Americans as a way of justifying their poverty behavior, but not that of African Americans...and then thoroughly fails to prove that. Through years of serving the poor urban African American population as a physician, I found everything Vance talked about as unique to Appalachian whites to resonate about the subset of poor, urban African Americans well. I think the two populations are extremely similar in their Protestant ethics, historic participation in the labor portion of the workforce and disenchantment with the American Dream. I don't know why this bothers me so much, except that it really smacks of White exceptionalism – even when we're poor, we're special!

2. Vance talks about how patriotic he is and then says essentially that no one on the “Acela corridor” would ever understand that feeling. First of all, the generalization that the Acela corridor is all wealthy, white liberals needs to stop – I meet plenty of disadvantaged people right here in my Acela-ified city. But secondly, OK, I'm white, I'm Jewish, I've never been working class in my life, I went to a hippy liberal arts college and I'm a doctor, so I'm the epitome of the Acela corridor and I think I've figured out patriotism just fine, thanks.

3. He talks about the loss of American heros. True, the days of astronauts and politicians being the heros instead of teenybopper singers and actors are over (assuming the past was ever truly like that.) but then he brings up Obama. To me, Obama is the American hero of our generation – a brilliant, charismatic, young president, who pulled the economy out of a death spiral, brought healthcare to millions, brought about the legalization of gay marriage, doubled the number of female supreme court justices in the history of the country and did it all while keeping his nose incredibly clean. To Vance, Obama is an “alien.” Not because he's black, Vance hastens, but because he's well-spoken and highly educated. Yes, this is the complaint of someone who less than 50 pages prior said that what the Appalachians need is an American politician hero. But, apparently not a well-spoken, highly-educated (black) one. If you think there's racism between those lines, well, I'm with you.

I kept wondering if I'd cut Vance more slack if I didn't know that he was a Republican, but the fact of the matter is that overall, I felt like he didn't read between his own lines. He talks about his understanding of learned helplessness, but then is dumbfounded when his neighbors won't commit to jobs. He talks about how he believes culture drags down everyone in it, but then says that he thinks the best that can happen is placing a thumb on the scale for disadvantaged kids, rather than the evidence-based practices, like housing-first that's been shown to intervene on culture.

It's not all bad – some of Vance's comments are both critical and point out a recurrent problem I see in my own larger community: especially an unawareness of need-based aid for college by those who actually need it and the way that community college and other less prestigious institutions often cost more, rather than less for the working class and come with less of the unwritten benefits. Overall, I found Vance bracingly honest and reflective about his own experience growing up in the working class, but I wish he would think about generalizing his experience beyond the Appalachians.

As a memoir, this was a touching and well-written book. As socio-economic commentary, it completely lacks an economic lens and barely touches on the role race plays in a person's ability to achieve the American Dream.

I got an ARC of this book at BookExpo last year, read a few pages, and passed on it. Then came the rave reviews. Darn, I thought, and I put myself on the hold list at the library. #58, or something ridiculous like that. I'd check every few days, but the list really didn't seem to move much. Weeks went by. Months went by. Finally, last week the book finally came in.

Was it simply that anticipation built up my expectations? I don't know, but I walked away from this book thinking it was just another sad family story. J. D. Vance made good from an awful childhood, and that's something, but honestly the chief draw is the druggie mom and a succession of dad and dad surrogates. I must live in a hillbilly enclave; I see these sorts of families all around me in struggling-white-America. Relationship mistakes. Limited employment options. Too many kids to properly care for. A sad story, yes, but I would have wished for a bit more time to have passed so that our author was able to reflect more and write better.

I've noticed this book on a number of “must read” lists regarding “understanding the Trump victory.” Also, I heard the author on a few podcasts and was fascinated by his story. His engaging, fast-paced, funny and insightful memoir did not disappoint me. Although I live in Central Ohio, his description of the life and culture just to the south (in Kentucky) and to the west in Middletown (between Dayton and Cincinnati) was eye-opening. His thesis has stayed with me: While hillbilly life can be crazy and pridefully resistant to governmental “handouts,” everyone in this culture can use a “hand-up,” via strong, healthy, encouraging adult mentors like those that J.D. had growing up. Whether the anger and ills of the “white, working-class” can be solved this easily remains to be seen. Regardless, I am grateful for the illumination of this foreign (for me) culture presented by Vance.

Not sure why everyone is going bonkers over this book. I didn't think the memoir was that riveting and the author's sociological commentary is vague and poorly documented. I guess it came along at the right time when a lot of people were trying to understand the typical Trump voter, but all the book did for me was tell a story of one guy who happened to rise above his childhood poverty and trauma.

This is a story that I understand. I haven't lived it, but I have lived beside it. This is a voice that is needed to understand what is going on around us. There are no easy answers, but just sitting and listening to the story is a start.
But you have to wade through some huge assumptions by the author. So it is not as good as it could be.

I enjoyed this. It was a fascinating narrative of one man's life growing up between Ohio and Kentucky, and how he viewed the systemic problems that have caused working-class white folk in Appalachia to become disillusioned about their ability to create a better future for themselves. This book was both marketed as really political, and my brief description up there makes it sound really political too, but it really didn't feel like a politics-heavy book. Personally, I'm weary of reading about politics these days, but I will never not enjoy reading about “crazy hillbillies” (his words).

It did get a little repetitive at the end - Vance had a lot of opportunities that, as he described, most people in his community would never come close to - and it seemed like he felt he had to justify repeatedly how lucky he was and how many good people were rooting for him in life, but that's a small complaint about what was otherwise an enjoyable, compelling read.

What a tough book to read. Despite Vance's very compassionate portrayal of his family, he doesn't hold back on giving details that I'm sure they would prefer to remain private. It's even more uncomfortable after his explanation of the intense aversion “hillbillies” have to a member of the family even insinuating anything negative about his or her kin. And yet, here it is. A no holds barred look at a culture in serious distress.

It's a book that needed to be written. There's no way to understand this culture unless you either live in it or you get an up close and personal look at it. No amount of statistics about education, drugs, employment, or demographics can give you a clear picture. The Bible Belt is a real place with real people and unless America understands them, their already formidable problems will only intensify. The honor culture is very different from the dignity culture that you are probably part of and unless you get it, it is easy to vilify it or to try to fix it with simplistic solutions that only make it worse.

Maybe the toughest part of reading this was that I can see shadows of what he describes in my own extended family and friends. I was lucky enough to come from a very loving Southern family, but the attitudes of Vance's family members are very familiar to me. I always thought the things I saw were individual quirks rather than something more endemic, but clearly they are a pattern.

Vance is on a mission to help his country, his people, and by extension, my people. The approach he's taking is thoughtful, compassionate, and worthy of your attention.

Also worth checking out is Jonathan Haidt's book The Righteous Mind and the TV show Justified.

Makes some good points but the crude language was not pleasant to read.

Now that so many people are suddenly interested the white working class, J.D. Vance seems to have a knack for timing. But coming from rural Maine - another area of multigenerational rural poverty and little economic opportunity - I have always felt that our policy and discourse has let down, if not completely ignored, people from places like Appalachian Kentucky where Vance's family is from. Vance does an excellent job weaving sociological research in with his family's experiences, providing a touching portrait of a family struggling in the face of poverty, addiction, and trauma. This book expresses empathy for people facing so many structural barriers to their success, but it is also critical of the bitter defeatism and xenophobia that many in this setting have embraced.

A timely read that offers a unique view into the hillbilly mindset (and at times hit uncomfortably close to home). But it's ultimately lighter on the analysis than I had been led to believe from interviews with the author. I can see how/why many government programs aren't the answer to Appalachia's woes but would have liked more insight into how we can “put a thumb on the scales,” as the author put it. Without more concrete ideas about this, it left me feeling pretty pessimistic about US culture in general.

Less prescriptivist than most (to it's benefit), Hillbilly Elegy uses the saga of one Kentucky family to explain the societal pressures, pitfalls and opportunities (or lack thereof) faced by working-class whites. Surprisingly objective for a pseudo-memoir, Vance's appraisal of the sources of strife as multifaceted ring truer than most attempts to simplify it to “government,” “personal choice” or “culture” - all of which undoubtedly play a large role, but never an all-encompassing one. And despite a pretty dire personal narrative, the unique handholds in life that offered the author an opportunity to hold on and propel himself out of a bad situation undergird the book with an oddly uplifting, optimistic feeling even when at its darkest moments.

The story of someone who managed to transcend his white trash upbringing that includes a gun-toting grandma that once poured gasoline on his grandfather when he came home drunk once too often - then lit it, to his drug-addicted, 5-time married mother who once begged her own son for clean urine.

But it's thanks to the love of that same grandmother and some key mentors in his life, not to mention his time in the military that saw him graduate Yale Law and become a principal in a San Francisco tech-venture fund.

But Vance never comes off as boastful. It's not a “Look at how successful I've become” story. He's more an embedded journalist that lived for years amongst the disenfranchised, white trash, hillbillies. He shines a light on their learned helplessness and massive blindspots. He talks of folks blaming Obama for their jobless state but seeing them quit jobs because of the inconvenience of getting up early.

Meanwhile Vance's mind is blown at the sheer wealth of opportunity afforded him by simply being white and at Yale. A set of rules that was completely invisible to him before, opens doors effortlessly. He doesn't discount his own work and determination but he knows how lucky he's been.

I, like many people, became aware of this book after the author's viral interview on the American Conservative website. (Too lazy to link, but you can google it up.)

Essentially, this book doesn't add much. The main points are captured in the interview - in fact, even more nuanced points are captured - and he seemed more articulate there. This book is, instead, a so-so written memoir about a dude who has just come out of one of those uplifting, glorious “rags to riches”/”get out of the ghetto” stories: he grew up in a poor and broken home, in a community of poor white Appalachian migrants to Ohio, and managed to break free, move on up through Yale Law School, and he now shops at Whole Foods. He's 31? 32? Like, he just got out.

In a way, this is a standard heart-warmer about education setting you free and the glories of upward social mobility (yay). It's especially striking, though, because it made me confront how much class pervades my life - invisibly, but powerfully. As the author's grandma notes, prejudice against poor white people is accepted in a way that no other bigotry is: it's culturally and politically acceptable to mock and deride the poor white community, and Vance argues that a lot of the marginalization and resentment felt by that community (the marginalization and resentment that feeds the Trump monster) is in turn fed by that. (e.g. Obama's unfortunate comment that these are people who cling to guns and their religion.) There's an easy condescension which, I admit, I've also - almost always, almost instinctively - held. And that bigotry (my own bigotry) manifests itself in the awkwardness I feel when, for example, my Lyft driver says he's a former truck driver, or my airplane neighbor is a hunter from Wyoming. Suddenly, I feel a chasm: oh, this person must be... a Republican. And is probably an ignorant bigot, not enlightened like meeeee. Ah, the irony.

So it's nice that Vance is “bridging that gap” and humanizing a community that has long been vilified, and making this enlightened butthead buddha confront her classism. When Vance uses the Marines as a powerful springboard into a better life, I felt inspired (me! about the military!): they give him structure, discipline, a community. They help him buy a car. A car! This touched me so. I was reminded of what was - for me - the most touching moment in Hillary Clinton's DNC acceptance speech: “More dreams die in the parking lots of banks than anywhere else.” Gah. Hits me right in my economist heart. Financial literacy is important! As are social networks: another thing Vance notes, as he navigates (awkwardly) the Yale ecosystem. It's incredible.

What's even better is that Vance is a Reasonable Republican - and so, as a conservative, he's more likely to see individuals (rather than systems/structures) as the problems and solutions to things. In a world where Trump has hijacked the Republican Party, I've been especially hungry - desperate, even! - for bipartisan debate with nice conservative people. Vance's American Conservative interview is, thus, refreshing and challenging and great: it made this lifelong liberal think, and consider more conservative ideas - and that's good!

Bottom line: So-so writing. Uplifting story. Politically super relevant.

This book has forever changed the way I see lower-class, white culture. There's no way to read it without empathy for the kind of life experiences that J.D Vance and his family have gone through - the traumatic childhood events that would shape his expectations for adult relationships. But Vance doesn't want us to think that it's a “cycle of violence” or a forgone conclusion. He believes low expectations and a learned hopelessness are also causes, and pouring outside help in the form of things such increased money for public schools won't help kids who don't have a room in their house where they can't hear screaming and fighting. He believes it has to be an internal change within the community, and attributes the changes in his own life to the love of his Mamaw and Papaw, and the examples of a few family members in positive relationships.

One aspect that I wish Vance would have touched on more is the harmfulness of an “honor” culture, where “yo mama” jokes actually start huge fights, and getting threatened with a shotgun is a real possibility. Besides the amount of time wasted in defending honor, it removes control in one's life. (At any moment, someone could insult you, and then you'd be obligated to beat the crap out of them.) Vance mentions his new spouse helping him learn not to get of out of a car to confront the guy that cut him off, but it still seems like this is uncharted territory for him, and could perhaps deserve a closer look.

Goes a long way in describing white male anger, feeling “left behind,” and a cycle of abuse, poverty, and dysfunction. Now what?