Author Janet Holloway begins her story in a speck of a town in West Virginia that is so small it doesn’t show up on any map. Despite the tiny stage Sarah Ann, W.V., presented to her, the events that took place there, beginning in the early 1940s, set the course of her life. Writing of memories as best as Holloway can remember, she reveals her life in its colorful and sometimes torn detail, and her skillful use of words takes us to a time – and to circumstances – that compile her heart wrenching history.
In a series of stories we meet Holloway’s mother who ventured as far from a nurturing parental figure as can be imagined – but the innocent eyes of a young child didn’t recognize that reality. It was the strong and caring presence of her grandmother, Granny Bill, that offered Holloway what security she had, though an outwardly tender heart her grandmother was not. Writes Holloway of her efforts to support the many siblings and extended relatives who relied upon Granny Bill for their existence: “Although Granny completed only the third grade, she was as smart and cunning a business person as Leona Helmsley or Donald Trump, and she was used to getting what she wanted. Some of the things she wanted required skimming the law – paying off sheriffs and judges, buying and hauling votes, selling whiskey under the counter to known customers, and shuttling moonshine from the hills up to Chicago’s speakeasies...being madam of a house with a few working girls when times were really hard.”
Despite the questionable nature of Holloway’s upbringing and the “industry” the mountains surrounded her with, it was the mountains that brought her the most joy. “Magical” was the term she used as she describes the colors, smells and textures that she freely explored. It was a time of relative peace and though the chores and responsibilities given to her at an early age were rugged – she recalls the time with affection.
But her life changed when her father packed her and her brother up and took them to Florida as young teenegers. Her mother, off on yet another lark, was again not present and life in a city presented a challenge that taught Holloway the invaluable ability to adapt, pretend and ultimately survive. When her mother did eventually present herself, the recurring issues of her self absorption and selfishness led Holloway to realize, “I had begun to hate her.”
Jump ahead 30 years and Holloway is living in Lexington, running a successful business and publishing numerous pieces of her writing. The phone rings, and her mother’s name shines from the caller ID. “Words of concern wrapped in emotional daggers meant to punish me for the thousands of ways I’ve failed her,” Holloway writes. “That’s why I’d rather be the one to initiate the call; I can do it when I feel strong enough.” What follows is a new version of her old story.
In an unapologetic and starkly honest telling, the author recounts the days of her early life and, later, the circumstances that led her to mother’s last days. Amazing for the storytelling and the endurance that it demonstrates, “A Willful Child” offers another lesson as well. It is never possible to discern what a life has seen, how it has coped and how it has survived. Many in Holloway’s stories did not fare well and many did not survive intact. But some do survive – and go on to serve their communities and neighbors – and do it well.