Donald Ray Pollock

the nine-year-old boy’s knees.

Unless he had whiskey running through his veins, Willard came to the clearing every morning and evening to talk to God.

his father had fought the Devil all the time.

and the last person in the world the boy wanted to offend was his father, even though that seemed like a losing battle at times.

the prayer log,

The way she saw it, too much religion could be as bad as too little, maybe even worse; but moderation was just not in her husband’s nature.

He hoped that maybe someday, when he was a little older, he would find out exactly what that meant.

“I’m thinking it best if we keep this between us, okay? No sense gettin’ your mom all upset.”

“No, she don’t need that.”

For a long time, Arvin would often think of that as the best day he ever spent with his father.

All that people seemed to eat here was grease and more grease