Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier Fraziers novel is a deeply moving story that at its core is about the individuals search for his or her soul. Frazier asks the rhetorical question early on: Why was Man born to die? The answer lies in the fates of two star-crossed lovers and the subsets of fascinating separate relationships they develop in the closing days of the Civil War (Smirnoff, 79).
The novel Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier should appeal to lovers of the carefully measured word, artfully turned phrase and powerfully crafted imagery. It is spare and slow, yet rich and unforgettable. It is a feast for the minds eye, the heads ear, the souls heart, and the mouths palate, delectable in every morsel. The book is peppered with memorable characters worthy of Geoffrey Chaucers tales, each representing all that is quintessentially good and evil in the American experience. The weak, starving Inman comes upon each in sequence, and – like pin balls sprung by an invisible hand – they collide and spin the narrative, the reader and Inman himself into netherworlds of intrigue, mystery and introspection. Deeply touched by every encounter, Inman remains unable to shake the vision of his pre-war love, the fragile Ada.
The memory of her love gives him the strength to live, defines his very existence, and offers his only salvation as he seeks Cold Mountain (Piacentino, 100).
Meantime, the wistful Ada transforms herself from a vapid city-bred Southern society ingenue into the archetype of the American Pioneer Woman. Faced with a world turned topsy-turvy by the ravages of war, where money and status are worthless and mere survival eked from the soil is a 50-50 bet, she flees the city and, nose literally in the dirt, rebuilds her life on the farm at Cold Mountain that she inherited from her father (Piacentino, 101).
In Inmans absence she leans on the rough-hewn, rural-bred Ruby, who becomes her alter ego, balm, and icon. When she has the time to pause in her own multi-layered, complex battle for survival, Ada delicately wipes the sweat from her now weather-beaten brow and listens to the wind in the trees, trying to decide if it’s the sound of Inman returning, or a signal to move on with her new life with Ruby (Piacentino, 102).
Frazier takes these universal themes and what could be regarded as a predictable premise, and brings them to life with passion, erudition and skill that could only be born of a missionary zeal. The book has been received with some of the most impressive critical accolades ever accorded a first novel. Yet, a handful of critics have complained that in places the pacing of the narrative is too slow. The latter bunch can also wallow in their ignorance as far as this reviewer is concerned (Gifford, 92).
The pacing certainly is slow in parts, but intentionally and effectively so, not unlike the protagonists convoluted and frustrating trek. Perhaps a more seasoned writer could have crafted the book better in that regard, but it is doubtful that they could have put so much of themselves into what clearly was a work of the authors heart that gives this book its magic (Gifford, 93).
Charles Frazers book may be equated with the John Steinbecks The Grapes of Wrath in a sense. Both books tell stories of how the American experience was forged by magnificent suffering, and how the beauty inherent in overcoming tragedies like the Civil War (in Cold Mountain) and the dustbowl (in Grapes of Wrath) built a national character and identity out of chaos, famine, even madness. Cold Mountain is gritty, real, romantic, and violent. It smacks of Cosmic Truth, yet it is deeply grounded in the Primal Mud, a welcome lack of pretense given its thematic reach that is testimony to Fraziers deft touch and talent.
Sources used: Terrain, Character and Text: Is Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier a Post-Pastoral Novel?, Terry Gifford (Winter 2001-02), 87-96. Searching for Home: Cross-Racial Bonding in Charles Fraziers Cold Mountain, Ed Piacentino (Winter 2001-02), 97-116. Born to Die Hard, Marc Smirnoff, Oxford American, No. 17 (1996), 78-80..