Book Review: The Memory of Old Jack

Finished my first book of 2010: The Memory of Old Jack by Wendell Berry.


The novel is set in a small Kentucky town in 1952 and centers on Jack Beechum, a 92-year-old farmer nearing his death. We are introduced to the fictional town of Port William, as well as a few characters in the town. As Old Jack remembers his life, we see the development of both the town and some of its inhabitants. Through these, we are given a look at a part of America that is disappearing or being forgotten: the small farmer and the tight-knit small community.

Old Jack was born just before the Civil War, and indeed the war plays an integral part in his childhood. 2 of his older brothers are killed in the war, and soon after his mother dies, largely from grief. His father hangs on to the family farm (passed down from his father) until his death when Jack is 18. From then on, Jack works the farm until a few years before his own demise. He marries, has a daughter, and lives a simple, hard, noble life. His marriage is not perfect, his daughter refutes his country lifestyle, but Jack passes on his love of his land to his neighbors and friends.

The book is short on dialogue because Jack seems to understand things on an unspoken, emotional level: his relationship with his wife, other women, his neighbors and even an employee who doesn't last for long. He just knows and feels things, and people respect him for it. He is the embodiment of the strong, silent type.

While there is not much plot to this novel, that is not the point. Berry's prose is the star of this book. His descriptions of Jack's mind slipping into the past and his memories are astounding. Berry's words to illustrate how we remember things are perfect. They give us a wonderful visual sense of Jack's life.

But even more, Berry gives us a visceral depiction of Jack's connection to his land. Where Jack feels most at home is in his fields, using his animals to work his crops (mostly tobacco, but countless other domestic products). He lives simply, but beautifully. There is a nobility, an honor in Jack's fierce individualism, his hard work, his trust in his own hands to plow a life out of the rich Kentucky soil. Jack asks for no help save that which is necessary to reciprocate come harvesting time. He is the steward of his little piece of earth, and he takes his role seriously.

It is nearly impossible for a single farmer to remain economically viable today. Industrial agriculture and government-subsidized corporate agrobusiness rule the land. The Old Jacks of America have all but disappeared. Yet there are signs of a resurgence of small, responsible agriculture; cooperative farms have sprung up across the country.

It is possible that Berry romanticizes the old way of life too much. Yet it is hard to argue against something that has been human for thousands of years: living off of what a person can make sprout from the hard earth. As with so many things, perhaps one can't truly appreciate it unless one has done it. But Berry brings me as close as I've ever gotten.