In his first novel in seven years, Woodrell (Winter's Bone, 2006) returns to the Ozarks to tell the story of a catastrophe based on a real-life occurrence. Alek Dunahew is sent to live with his grandmother, the former housemaid Alma DeGeer Dunahew. Haunted by the death of her sister, Ruby, in the explosion of the Arbor Dance Hall in 1928, Alma's views of the cause of the disaster created a schism between her and one of her sons. But Alek is curious and listens carefully, tucking away Alma's stories of her drunken husband, her wild sister, and her affair with Alma's employer and the mysterious whisperings about mobsters and shootings. Told in meandering flashbacks with a lyrical cadence, the story is gripping and heartrending at the same time. Interspersed with Alma's memories are vignettes of some of the victims of the explosion and how they happened to be at the dance hall on that particular night. With this book, Woodrell confirms his place among the literary masters.--Dickie, Elizabeth Copyright 2010 Booklist

Entranced by grandmother Alma's vivid reportage of the 1929 Arbor Dance Hall fire, Alek Dunahew perceives Alma's assessment of blame to be as circumscribed as the maid's quarters she inhabits. Forty-two souls perished horrifically in that West Table, MO, explosion, including Alma's sister, local siren Ruby. Alma attributes the tragedy to a derailed love affair, but other entanglements and revelations among townsfolk-some unknown to Alma-supplement her viewpoint and intensify the pathos of Woodrell's (Winter's Bone) spare, compelling narrative. Narrator Brian Troxell imparts an enjoyably confiding tone and lightly drawling pace, successfully infusing rural ambience into this shifting, intrigue-laden yarn inspired by an actual event. VERDICT Alma's hoard of "known details, vintage innuendo and flat-out guesses" represents a fine introduction to Woodrell's work; also recommended for literary fiction readers and fans of -William Faulkner, Ron Rash, Kaye Gibbons, and Sharyn McCrumb. ["Woodrell returns ...with a story that feels less of a different time and more timeless-a stark, haunting tale of almost mythic power and sweep," read the starred review of the Little, Brown hc, LJ 9/1/13.]-Linda Sappenfield, Round Rock P.L., TX (c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

A grandson becomes obsessed with his grandmother's story about a small-town disaster from many years ago. Set in the Ozarks, the book is inspired by history and is far less noir-tinged than the author's earlier works (The Outlaw Album, 2011, etc.). Loosely based on the real-life West Plains Dance Hall Explosion of 1928, it centers on Alma DeGeer Dunahew, a maid with three children in fictional West Table, Mo. After years of bitter silence, Alma has chosen to unburden her story on her grandson, Alek. "Alma DeGeer Dunahew, with her pinched, hostile nature, her dark obsessions and primal need for revenge, was the big red heart of our family, the true heart, the one we keep secret and that sustains us," Alek says. Alma's younger sister Ruby may be a bit wayward, but Alma cherishes her. When Ruby is killed along with 42 other victims in the local Arbor Dance Hall, Alma is determined that the explosion was no accident. From these slim threads, Woodrell gives us many potential culprits, among them an Old Testament preacher and a gang of bank robbers, not to mention all the secrets and lies kept by the good people of any rural village. Short chapters reveal only the most telling and scarce details of Woodrell's lineup of characters, lending the story a spare, bitter charm. This may be a minor work for this major American writer, but no craftsman toiling away in a workshop ever fashioned his wares so carefully. A commanding fable about trespass and reconstruction from a titan of Southern fiction.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Woodrell's (Winter's Bone) evocative, lyrical ninth novel is deceptively brief and packs a shimmering, resonant, literary punch. In a grand "gesture of reconciliation" from his father, young Alek is sent to West Table, Mo., to spend the summer of 1965 with his grandmother, Alma Dunahew, a hardworking maid to a wealthy local. The bad blood between Alek's father and Alma stems from her opinion of what transpired just before the 1929 Arbor Dance Hall explosion, a tragedy that claimed her outspoken sister Ruby and 41 others. Who was responsible? Gypsies who threatened the townsfolk? The preacher who believed "[e]vil music, evil feet" deserved to be silenced forever? Or was it Ruby's controversial new (married) beau? Sections about some of those who perished fall between chapters detailing an engaging yarn of hidden secrets, but also one that fast-forwards decades to find an adult Alek addressing a memorial vigil, finally getting the chance to talk about what Alma confided to her grandson during the pivotal summer they spent together. From an economy of poetic prose springs forth an emotionally volcanic story of family, justice, and the everlasting power of the truth. Agent: Ellen Levine, Trident Media Group. (Sept. 3) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

Woodrell's exquisite ninth novel recounts the tragic tale of a fiery 1929 explosion at the Arbor Dance Hall in the small town of West Table, Mo. Forty-two dancers died, and the arsonist was never caught The narrator, Alek Dunahew, revisits this long-ago devastation after spending a summer with his eccentric grandmother, Alma DeGeer Dunahew, who tells him her version as they wander through the local cemetery and talk over dinners of chicken livers and corn pone: "We'd eat together in her snug quarters, an early supper, always, elbow to elbow, watching squares of sunlight lose their shape along the walls, and return to the unending topic while forks clicked on her best plates, 'What'd you learn today, Alek, and what use will you make of it?"' What Alek learns is mostly about his great-aunt Ruby, who died that night, and about the other accounts and rumors that have circulated over the years. Through Alma's memories and Alek's retelling, Woodrell constructs an expansive canvas of West Table and its surroundings in this rural corner of the Ozarks - Woodrell's Yoknapatawpha, which most recently lent its harsh beauty to the story collection "The Outlaw Album" (2011) and the novel "Winter's Bone" (2006). In "The Maid's Version," Woodrell orchestrates a captivating, almost operatic narrative of how tragedy and grief can transform places and people. "There were regulars in grief and tourist connoisseurs of the tragic and regulars again," he writes of the visitors who continue to arrive at the dance-hall site weeks after the explosion. "Some knelt in prayer, some recounted news of their day on this earth in an intimate babble of words directed to the crater, and others stood at the edge and gazed upward, seeking a flashed revelation in the twilight." With an economical brilliance similar to that of Denis Johnson in "Train Dreams," Woodrell delivers a stunning story of one small town, and all of its profound complexities and opaque mysteries. It's a considerable achievement, and a pleasure to read.