On a Slant: a Collection of Stories by Celia H. Miles
Infinity Publishing
$13.95 Paperback

Review by Byron Ballard
for WNC Woman

“Handra had never been pretty: she did not become pretty. Men on the island could not explain her attractiveness for them; in some cases, their wives were slimmer, lovelier, livelier...The plain fact is that the men who came to her in the afternoons, in the evenings, who strode to her door, who stumbled, who came in guilt or in sorrow, the men did not speak of Handra to each other.” from “Woman of the Stones”

There are fifteen stories in this little collection from Celia Miles. I’ve been a fan of her work since her book Mattie’s Girl: An Appalachian Childhood and I looked forward to reading this new one. I began in the middle of the book with “In the Shadow of Long Meg” and met Maggie. I jumped backward to “Topless in Estoril” and Maewee, as she observed the bathers and her life. Next was “Woman of the Stones” with quiet Handra on the Orkney Islands. Then I went back to the beginning—to the lovely “Alabaster’s Mill” and Shay—and read the book right through, even the ones I’d already read.

I love Celia’s characters. They are quirky, imperfect and exactly like people I know. Even the minor characters—or in the following instance, set dressing for the story—are drawn with such affection that the reader sees each one, complete. Look at this anonymous bather in “Topless in Estoril”—”The woman was big, not obese, but stout. Her stomach muscles had long since relaxed and rolled with gravity, and so had her breasts. She wore a reasonably cut bottom of a swim suit, not high cut...Topless, the woman appeared indifferent to the few people on the beach and to the cafe patrons...”

Or Grandma Malisse in “Dingy”—"Grandma was old, all grandmas were, but Grandma Malisse wasn’t real old. She wore her hair in a giant pile on her head and sprayed it to keep it there, and she wore purplish-brown eye shadow, even when she went walking up and down the two-lane paved road in her Easy Balance shoes.”

Celia has that peculiarly Appalachian gift of naming, a gift I appreciate as a fellow hillwoman. For every Lucy or Jack, there’s a constellation of Maewee or Muriel or Baby Bliss. Celia also has the gift of all good mountain storytellers—that canny ability to tell a tale that sticks in your ears (or in this case your eyes). Long after I’d left the Orkneys or the Grand Canal, I found myself thinking of the women I met in this book. Strong, odd and wonderful women whose lives had taken unexpected turns that had been negotiated with good grace and ready humor.

And there are surprises here—surprising language and settings, and those unexpected turns that took me a moment to understand. What happens after Josh confronts the snake in the title piece made me stop and reread the story for hints of the ending. And the disquieting ending of “Woman of the Stones” is exactly right, but disturbing nonetheless.

Go by your local bookstore and pick up a copy of this good book. You’ll meet some remarkable women—some of whom you already know. One of whom is Celia Miles.