LONE WOMEN

A woman heads to Big Sky Country with some unusual baggage—actual, metaphorical, and psychological.

As LaValle’s beguiling, genre-blending fifth novel opens, it’s 1915, and something so awful has happened to Adelaide Henry’s parents that she’s set the family’s California farmhouse ablaze with their corpses inside. With little but rumor to go on, she high-tails it to Montana, believing the state will be welcoming toward a young Black woman with farming skills and an urge to erase an ugly past. Early on, she seems proven right—the residents of Big Sandy are friendly, supportive, and not too inquisitive about what’s inside her unusually heavy steamer trunk. But in time the region’s secretive nature comes into view, starting with a woman with four blind children who prove to be at the center of a host of deceits. And once the contents of that steamer trunk are unleashed, Adelaide is further pushed into self-preservation mode than she already was as the sole Black woman in a very White and very cold place. LaValle is prodigiously talented at playing with stylistic modes, and here he deftly combines Western, suspense, supernatural, and horror—his prose is unfussy and plainspoken, which makes it easier to seamlessly skate across genres. But LaValle’s fluidity when it comes to style is balanced by a focused thematic vision: Through Adelaide (and that steamer trunk), he explores isolation and division across race, within families, and through communities. Her struggle to find her place is complicated by everyone being tight-lipped and eager to create pariahs. (“The silence is the worst part of this suffering,” as Adelaide puts it.) The closing chapters get somewhat knotted as LaValle labors to corral a Pandora’s box full of plot points. But the novel overall is a winning blend of brains and (occasionally violent) thrills.

Acrobatic storytelling, both out there and down-home.