Audiobook Sample
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- Title: Book Woman of Troublesome Creek: A Novel
- Author: Kim Michele Richardson
- Narrator: Katie Schorr
- Length: 09:26:20
- Version: Abridged
- Release Date: 07/05/2019
- Publisher: Blackstone Audiobooks
- Genre: Fiction & Literature, Historical Fiction
- ISBN13: 9.78E+12
The moment Katie Schorr’s voice first crackled through my headphones with that distinctive Appalachian lilt, I was transported. Not just to 1930s Kentucky, but to a dozen similar moments in my own travels – sitting with Quechua storytellers in the Andes, listening to Griot historians in West Africa, or hearing my Oaxacan host grandmother spin tales by firelight. There’s a particular magic when a narrator doesn’t just read a story, but breathes life into its very soil. Schorr’s performance in “The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek” does precisely that, making Kim Michele Richardson’s already vivid prose bloom like mountain wildflowers after a spring rain.
Richardson’s novel unfolds like a well-worn path through the hollers – you can practically smell the damp earth and hear the creak of saddle leather as Cussy Mary Carter’s mule carries her on her library rounds. The historical details feel as real as the calluses on Cussy’s hands, from the precious weight of books in her pack to the suspicious glances from folks who see her blue skin before they see her heart. As someone who’s documented disappearing traditions from Patagonia to Papua New Guinea, I was particularly struck by how Richardson weaves together two nearly forgotten histories: the Kentucky Pack Horse librarians and the blue-skinned people of the region. It’s the kind of story that makes you want to hit pause and dive down research rabbit holes – if Schorr’s compelling narration didn’t keep pulling you forward.
The audiobook’s greatest strength lies in how Schorr captures Cussy’s dual outsider status – both as a book woman challenging gender norms and as a ‘Blue’ facing relentless prejudice. There’s a scene where Cussy reads to a malnourished child in a cabin, and Schorr’s voice shifts so subtly from the character’s practical tone to something tender that I had to pull over on a Montana backroad where I was listening, suddenly blinking away tears. It reminded me of watching a Moroccan grandmother teach children to read from a single battered Quran in the Atlas Mountains – that same quiet heroism in bringing light to dark places.
Richardson’s research shines through in sensory details that Schorr delivers with perfect timing: the acidic bite of moonshine, the sticky-sweetness of pawpaw fruit, the particular silence of snow in deep woods. As a travel writer, I especially appreciated how the audiobook makes you feel the geography in your bones – the way steep hills dictate social hierarchies, how isolation breeds both suspicion and fierce loyalty. Schorr’s mastery of dialect never veers into caricature, instead creating a chorus of distinct voices that feel as authentic as the oral histories I’ve collected in Appalachian communities.
Some listeners might find the pacing slower than modern thrillers, but that’s precisely what gives the story its power. Like the pack horse librarians themselves, the narrative moves at the speed of trust being built, of minds gradually changing. The few moments of violence land with shocking impact precisely because of this careful buildup. I found myself rationing listening sessions, not wanting to leave Troublesome Creek’s world too quickly – much like savoring small cups of strong coffee with Kazakh herders, where every sip tells a story.
Compared to other historical fiction audiobooks, “Book Woman” stands out for its unflinching yet compassionate look at poverty and prejudice. Where “The Giver of Stars” (another Pack Horse Library novel) leans toward romance, Richardson’s work maintains a grittier realism reminiscent of Cormac McCarthy’s border trilogy, though with far more hope. Schorr’s narration shares qualities with Barbara Rosenblat’s work on “The Alice Network” – that rare ability to make historical figures feel like living, breathing neighbors.
If the audiobook has any weakness, it’s that some secondary characters could benefit from more vocal distinction. There were moments when I wished for slightly more variation between male voices, though this is a minor quibble in an otherwise stellar performance. The production quality remains consistently excellent, with no distracting background noises or uneven volume – crucial for a story where whispered conversations carry as much weight as shouted slurs.
For fellow travelers through literature, this audiobook offers a particularly rich journey. It’s changed how I’ll approach my next project documenting rural librarians in Peru – with more attention to the quiet revolutions they spark. Whether you’re a historical fiction lover, an Appalachian culture enthusiast, or simply someone who believes in books as lifelines, Cussy Mary’s story will linger with you like the echo of a ballad sung in deep mountains. As the last notes of Schorr’s narration faded, I found myself reaching for my notebook, already planning a return trip to Kentucky’s hollers – this time with fresh ears to hear their stories.
With ink-stained fingers and a pack full of stories,
Marcus Rivera
