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All over everywhere on the bookshelves and windowsills they had painted statues carved out of wood, almost like done by kids, but much better: smiling bear, Adam and Eve, IRS guy getting swallowed by a whale. Mr. Armstrong said he was a collector of those. People called it folk art, hillbilly art, self-taught, he called it just art.
In Chapter 51, Demon observes the painted statues in Mr. Armstrong’s home—works often dismissed as “folk art” or “hillbilly art”—and notes how Mr. Armstrong insists on calling them simply “art.” This shift in terminology is a powerful act of reclamation, challenging the pejorative framing of Appalachian creativity. By rejecting labels that segregate Appalachian contributions into a lesser category, Mr. Armstrong reclaims the dignity of the culture and its people. The dismissal of “hillbilly” or “folk” as qualifiers aligns with the novel’s broader critique of the narratives imposed on Appalachia. These terms, while sometimes worn with pride, are often weaponized to marginalize rural communities, reducing their contributions to stereotypes and their struggles to personal failings rather than systemic injustices.
The mention of sculptures like “IRS guy getting swallowed by a whale” underscores the humor, ingenuity, and cultural relevance of Appalachian art, which reflects the lived realities and struggles of its creators. By simply calling it “art,” Mr. Armstrong asserts that Appalachian culture deserves the same respect as any other, reframing its narratives from marginalization to centrality.
It started with my long-ago idea of Neckbones. With Tommy’s permission, I did some of our famous local histories through the eyes of skeletons. Knox Mine disaster, Natural Tunnel train wreck. I also messed around with the idea I’d had in my saddest days with Dori: The Incapables, a strip about a junkie couple trying to keep house. The guy was Crash and the girl was Bernie, two teenagers trying to raise themselves. They grilled hot dogs on their car engine while driving around to find their connect, and did household repairs with bongs and roach clips. To the best of my abilities, I made it sad and true to the laughable mess of addicted youth. Also bitter. In one of my strips, Crash is filling his pill-mill scrip and the pharmacy lady leans over to warn him, “This one’s strong, hon. The Purdue rep takes it so he can sleep nights.”
This quotation in Chapter 63, which occurs as Demon reflects on his work creating the webcomic The Incapables, illustrates the theme of reclamation of cultural narrative. Through his art, Demon transforms his personal experiences of addiction and neglect into a narrative that critiques the forces perpetuating these cycles. By portraying Crash and Bernie as “sad and true to the laughable mess of addicted youth,” Demon captures both the absurdity and tragedy of lives shaped by addiction. His tone is biting and bitter, exposing the predatory nature of pharmaceutical companies, epitomized by the pharmacy lady’s ironic remark about the Purdue representative.
This passage underscores Demon’s use of storytelling to reclaim the narrative around addiction, shifting blame from individuals to the systems that exploit them. The dark humor of the characters’ makeshift lives—grilling hot dogs on a car engine, repairing with bongs—contrasts with the deadly seriousness of their situation, drawing attention to the absurdity of cultural stereotypes about "junkies." Demon reclaims the narrative by highlighting not just the personal failings of addiction but the systemic failures that fuel it, such as predatory pharmaceutical practices. The line about the Purdue representative turns the industry’s culpability into a direct indictment, forcing readers to confront how these crises are not accidents but the results of deliberate greed. Through his art, Demon rewrites the cultural narrative, offering dignity and critique to those dismissed as “junkies” while holding powerful institutions accountable.
Practically from our first meeting, she’d been after me to write a recovery journal. I told her I don’t write, I draw. She said this would be for myself only. I could share it, but only if I chose to do so. The idea being to get clarity and process some of my traumas. On that particular ball of yarn I didn’t know where to start. She suggested pinpointing where my struggles had started with substance abuse, abandonment, and so forth. She said many people find this is a helpful tool for reclaiming their narratives, and in fact wasn’t this what I was doing with my comic.
In this quotation, which occurs in Chapter 63 as Demon reflects on his recovery journey and the suggestion to write a journal, the passage also echoes the novel’s opening lines—“First, I got myself born. The worst of the job was up to me.”—framing the entire book as a reclamation of narrative. By revisiting his beginnings and tracing the origins of his struggles, Demon takes ownership of a story that others, including society at large, have tried to define for him.
The act of writing—or drawing—becomes a means of reclaiming agency over his identity and history. Through this reflection, Demon reasserts that his story, no matter how painful or complex, belongs to him, transforming it from a narrative of victimhood into one of resilience and self-determination. The entire novel, structured as Demon’s account of his life, becomes a testament to the power of reclaiming one’s narrative, not just for personal healing but for redefining the cultural stories that have long marginalized communities like his.
