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"Move over, John Green; Zentner is coming for you." —The New York Public Library
“Will fill the infinite space that was left in your chest after you finished The Perks of Being a Wallflower.” —BookRiot.com
“A brutally honest portrayal of teen life . . . [and] a love letter to the South from a man who really understands it.” —Mashable.com
“I adored all three of these characters and the way they talked to and loved one another.”—New York Times
Named one of the Most Anticipated YA Books of 2016 by Paste Magazine and Popcrush.com
Dill has had to wrestle with vipers his whole life—at home, as the only son of a Pentecostal minister who urges him to handle poisonous rattlesnakes, and at school, where he faces down bullies who target him for his father’s extreme faith and very public fall from grace.
The only antidote to all this venom is his friendship with fellow outcasts Travis and Lydia. But as they are starting their senior year, Dill feels the coils of his future tightening around him. Dill’s only escapes are his music and his secret feelings for Lydia—neither of which he is brave enough to share. Graduation feels more like an ending to Dill than a beginning. But even before then, he must cope with another ending—one that will rock his life to the core.
Debut novelist Jeff Zentner provides an unblinking and at times comic view of the hard realities of growing up in the Bible belt, and an intimate look at the struggles to find one’s true self in the wreckage of the past.
“A story about friendship, family and forgiveness, it’s as funny and witty as it is utterly heartbreaking.” —PasteMagazine.com
- Sales Rank: #56894 in eBooks
- Published on: 2016-03-08
- Released on: 2016-03-08
- Format: Kindle eBook
Review
PRAISE FOR The Serpent King:
• "As the novel, Zentner's debut, builds to a shocking act of violence that shatters the friends' world, this sepia-toned portrait of small-town life serves as a moving testament to love, loyalty, faith, and reaching through the darkness to find light and hope." --Starred Review, Publishers Weekly
• "Characters, incidents, dialogue, the poverty of the rural South, enduring friendship, a desperate clinging to strange faiths, fear of the unknown, and an awareness of the courage it takes to survive, let alone thrive, are among this fine novel's strengths. Zentner writes with understanding and grace--a new voice to savor." --Starred Review, Kirkus Reviews
• "Recommended for fans of John Green and Rainbow Rowell." --School Library Journal
• Indies Introduce for Winter/Spring 2016 debuts
• "A musician himself, Zentner transitions to prose easily in his debut, pulling in complex issues that range from struggles with faith to abuse to grief. Refreshingly, this novel isn't driven by romance--though it rears its head--but by the importance of pursuing individual passions and forging one's own path. A promising new voice in YA." --Booklist
• "The Serpent King gripped me in its coils and kept me turning pages late into the night. A triumph of love and dignity." --Stephanie Perkins, New York Times bestselling author
• "The Serpent King is a book you won't be able to resist or forget. The Southern boy in me savored every syllable and the reader in me fell in love with every page." --John Corey Whaley, National Book Award finalist and Printz Award winner
About the Author
JEFF ZENTNER is a singer-songwriter and guitarist who has recorded with Iggy Pop, Nick Cave and Debbie Harry. In addition to writing and recording his own music, Zentner works with young musicians at Tennessee Teen Rock Camp, which inspired him to write a novel for young adults. He lives in Nashville with his wife and son. The Serpent King is his first novel. You can follow Zentner on Facebook, Instagram, and on Twitter at @jeffzentner. The author lives in Nashville, TN.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
Dill
There were things Dillard Wayne Early Jr. dreaded more than the start of school at Forrestville High. Not many, but a few. Thinking about the future was one of them. Dill didn’t enjoy doing that. He didn’t much care for talking about religion with his mother. That never left him feeling happy or saved. He loathed the flash of recognition that usually passed across people’s faces when they learned his name. That rarely resulted in a conversation he enjoyed.
And he really didn’t enjoy visiting his father, Pastor Dillard Early Sr., at Riverbend Prison. His trip to Nashville that day wasn’t to visit his father, but he still had a nagging sense of unformed dread and he didn’t know why. It might have been because school was starting the next day, but this felt different somehow than in years past.
It would have been worse except for the excitement of seeing Lydia. The worst days spent with her were better than the best days spent without her.
Dill stopped strumming his guitar, leaned forward, and wrote in the dollar-store composition book open on the floor in front of him. The decrepit window air conditioner wheezed, losing the battle against the mugginess of his living room.
The thudding of a wasp at the window caught his attention over the laboring of the air conditioner. He rose from the ripped sofa and walked to the window, which he jimmied until it screeched open.
Dill swatted the wasp toward the crack. “You don’t want to stay in here,” he murmured. “This house is no place to die. Go on. Get.”
It alighted on the sill, considered the house one more time, and flew free. Dill shut the window, almost having to hang from it to close it all the way.
His mother walked in wearing her motel maid’s uniform. She looked tired. She always did, which made her seem much older than her thirty-five years. “What were you doing with the window open and the AC on? Electricity’s not free.”
Dill turned. “Wasp.”
“Why you all dressed to leave? You going somewhere?”
“Nashville.” Please don’t ask the question I know you’re going to ask.
“Visiting your father?” She sounded both hopeful and accusatory.
“No.” Dill looked away.
His mother stepped toward him and sought his eyes. “Why not?”
Dill avoided her glare. “Because. That’s not why we’re going.”
“Who’s we?”
“Me. Lydia. Travis. Same as always.”
She put a hand on her hip. “Why you going, then?”
“School clothes.”
“Your clothes are fine.”
“No they’re not. They’re getting too small.” Dill lifted his skinny arms, his T-shirt exposing his lean stomach.
“With what money?” His mother’s brow--already more lined than most women’s her age--furrowed.
“Just my tips from helping people to their cars with their groceries.”
“Free trip to Nashville. You should visit your father.”
You better go visit your father or else, you mean. Dill set his jaw and looked at her. “I don’t want to. I hate it there.”
She folded her arms. “It’s not meant to be fun. That’s why it’s prison. Think he enjoys it?”
Probably more than I enjoy it. Dill shrugged and gazed back out the window. “Doubt it.”
“I don’t ask for much, Dillard. It would make me happy. And it would make him happy.”
Dill sighed and said nothing. You ask for plenty without ever actually asking for it.
“You owe him. You’re the only one with enough free time.”
She would hang it over his head. If he didn’t visit, she would make it hurt worse for longer than if he gave in. The dread in Dill’s stomach intensified. “Maybe. If we have time.”
As his mother was about to try to drag a firmer commitment from him, a bestickered Toyota Prius zoomed up his road and screeched to a stop in front of his house with a honk. Thank you, God.
“I gotta go,” Dill said. “Have a good day at work.” He hugged his mother goodbye.
“Dillard--”
But he was out the door before she had the chance. He felt burdened as he stepped into the bright summer morning, shielding his eyes against the sun. The humidity mounted an assault even at nine-twenty in the morning--like a hot, wet towel wrapped around his face. He glanced at the peeling white Calvary Baptist Church up the street from his house. He squinted to read the sign out of habit. no jesus, no peace. know jesus, know peace.
What if you know Jesus but have no peace? Does that mean the sign is wrong, or does that mean you don’t know Jesus quite as well as you think? Dill hadn’t been raised to consider either a particularly good outcome.
He opened the car door and got in. The frigid air conditioning made his pores shrink.
“Hey, Lydia.”
She grabbed a worn copy of The Secret History off the passenger seat before Dill sat on it, and tossed it in the backseat. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not sorry.”
“Of course I’m not. But I have to pretend. Social contractual obligations and whatnot.”
You could set your clock by Lydia’s being twenty minutes late. And it was no use trying to trick her by telling her to meet you at a time twenty minutes before you really wanted to meet. That only made her forty minutes late. She had a sixth sense.
Lydia leaned over and hugged Dill. “You’re already sweaty and it’s still morning. Boys are so gross.”
The black frames of her glasses creaked against his cheekbone. Her tousled smoky-blue hair--the color of a faded November sky streaked with clouds--smelled like honey, fig, and vetiver. He breathed it in. It made his head swim in a pleasant way. She had dressed for Nashville in a vintage sleeveless red gingham blouse with black high-waisted denim shorts and vintage cowboy boots. He loved the way she dressed--every twist and turn, and there were many.
Dill buckled his seat belt the instant before her acceleration pressed him into his seat. “Sorry. I don’t have access to AC that makes August feel like December.” He sometimes went days without feeling air as cool as in Lydia’s car except for when he opened the refrigerator.
She reached out and turned the air conditioning down a couple of clicks. “I think my car should fight global warming in every possible way.”
Dill angled one of the vents toward his face. “You ever think about how weird it is that Earth is hurtling through the black vacuum of space, where it’s like a thousand below zero, and meanwhile we’re down here sweating?”
“I often think about how weird it is that Earth is hurtling through the black vacuum of space and meanwhile you’re down here being a total weirdo.”
“So, where are we going in Nashville? Opry Mills Mall or something?”
Lydia glared at him and looked back at the road. She extended her hand toward him, still looking forward. “Excuse me, I thought we’d been best friends since ninth grade, but apparently we’ve never even met. Lydia Blankenship. You are?”
Dill took advantage of the opportunity to take her hand. “Dillard Early. Maybe you’ve heard of my father by the same name.”
It had thoroughly scandalized Forrestville, Tennessee, when Pastor Early of the Church of Christ’s Disciples with Signs of Belief went to the state penitentiary--and not for the reasons anyone expected. Everyone assumed he’d get in trouble someday for the twenty-seven or so rattlesnakes and copperheads his congregants passed around each Sunday. No one knew with certainty what law they were breaking, but it seemed unlawful somehow. And the Tennessee Department of Wildlife did take custody of the snakes after his arrest. Or people thought perhaps he’d run afoul of the law by inducing his flock to drink diluted battery acid and strychnine, another favored worship activity. But no, he went to Riverbend Prison for a different sort of poison: possession of more than one hundred images depicting a minor engaged in sexual activity.
Lydia tilted her head and squinted. “Dillard Early, huh? The name rings a bell. Anyway, yes, we’re driving an hour and a half to Nashville to go to Opry Mills Mall and buy you the same sweatshop garbage that Tyson Reed, Logan Walker, Hunter Henry, their intolerable girlfriends, and all of their horrible friends will also be wearing on the first day of senior year.”
“I ask a simple question--”
She raised a finger. “A stupid question.”
“A stupid question.”
“Thank you.”
Dill’s eyes fell on Lydia’s hands at the steering wheel. They were slender, with long, graceful fingers; vermilion-colored nails; and lots of rings. The rest of her wasn’t ungraceful but her fingers were affirmatively and aggressively graceful. He relished watching her drive. And type. And do everything she did with her hands.
“Did you call Travis to tell him you were running late?”
“Did I call you to tell you I was running late?” She took a turn fast, squealing her tires.
“No.”
“Think it’ll come as a surprise to him that I’m running late?”
“Nope.”
The August air was a steamy haze. Dill could already hear the bugs, whatever they were called. The ones that made a pulsing, rattling drone on a sweltering morning, signaling that the day would only grow hotter. Not cicadas, he didn’t think. Rattlebugs. That seemed as good a name as any.
“What am I working with today?” Lydia asked. Dill gave her a blank stare. She held up her hand and rubbed her fingers together. “Come on, buddy, keep up here.”
“Oh. Fifty bucks. Can you work with that?”
She snorted. “Of course I can work with that.”
“Okay, but no dressing me weird.”
Lydia extended her hand to him again--more forcefully, as though karate chopping a board. “No, but seriously. Have we met? What was your name again?”
Dill grasped her hand again. Any excuse. “You’re in a mood today.”
“I’m in the mood to receive a little credit. Not much. Don’t spoil me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“In the last two years of school shopping, have I ever made you look ridiculous?”
“No. I mean, I still caught hell for stuff, but I’m sure that would’ve happened no matter what I wore.”
“It would. Because we go to school with people who wouldn’t recognize great style if it bit them right on their ass. I have a vision for you, planted in rustic Americana. Western shirts with pearl snaps. Denim. Classic, masculine, iconic lines. While everyone else at Forrestville High tries desperately to appear as though they don’t live in Forrestville, we’ll embrace and own your rural Southernness, continuing in the vein of 1970s Townes Van Zandt meets Whiskeytown-era Ryan Adams.”
“You’ve planned this.” Dill savored the idea of Lydia thinking about him. Even if only as a glorified mannequin.
“Would you expect less?”
Dill breathed in the fragrance of her car. Vanilla car freshener mixed with french fries, jasmine-orange-ginger lotion, and heated makeup. They were almost to Travis’s house. He lived close to Dill. They stopped at an intersection, and Lydia took a selfie with her cell phone and handed it to Dill.
“Get me from your angle.”
“You sure? Your fans might start thinking you have friends.”
“Hardy har. Do it and let me worry about that.”
A couple of blocks later, they pulled up to the Bohannon house. It was white and rundown with a weathered tin roof and wood stacked on the front porch. Travis’s father perspired in the gravel driveway, changing out the spark plugs on his pickup that had the name of the family business, Bohannon Lumber, stenciled on the side. He cast Dill and Lydia a briny glare, cupped his hand to his mouth, and yelled, “Travis, you got company,” saving Lydia the trouble of honking.
“Pappy Bohannon looks to be in a bit of a mood himself,” Lydia said.
“To hear Travis tell it, Pappy Bohannon is in a permanent mood. It’s called being a giant asshole, and it’s incurable.”
A moment or two passed before Travis came loping outside. Ambling, perhaps. Whatever bears do. All six feet, six inches, and 250 pounds of him. His shaggy, curly red hair and patchy red teenager beard were wet from the shower. He wore his signature black work boots, black Wranglers, and baggy black dress shirt buttoned all the way up. Around his neck, he wore a necklace with a chintzy pewter dragon gripping a purple crystal ball--a memento from some Renaissance festival. He always wore it. He carried a dog-eared paperback from the Bloodfall series, something else he was seldom without.
Halfway to the car, he stopped, raised a finger, and spun and ran back to the house, almost tripping over his feet. Lydia hunched over, her hands on the wheel, watching him.
“Oh no. The staff,” she murmured. “He forgot the staff.”
Dill groaned and did a facepalm. “Yep. The staff.”
“The oaken staff,” Lydia said in a grandiose, medieval voice.
“The magic staff of kings and lords and wizards and . . . elves or whatever.”
Travis returned, clutching his staff, symbols and faces carved on it with clumsy hands. His father glanced up with a pained expression, shook his head, and resumed work. Travis opened the car door.
“Hey, guys.”
“The staff? Really?” Lydia said.
“I bring it on journeys. ’Sides, what if we need it to protect ourselves? Nashville is dangerous.”
“Yeah,” Lydia said, “but it’s not dangerous because of all the staff-wielding brigands. They have guns now. Gun beats staff in gun-staff-scissors.”
“I highly doubt we’ll get in a staff fight in Nashville,” Dill said.
“I like it. It makes me feel good to have it.”
Lydia rolled her eyes and put the car into gear. “Bless your heart. Okay, boys. Let’s do this. The last time we ever go school shopping together, thank the sweet Lord.”
And with that pronouncement, Dill realized that the dread in his stomach wouldn’t be going away any time soon. Maybe never. The final indignity? He doubted he’d even get a good song out of it.
2
Lydia
The Nashville skyline loomed in the distance. Lydia liked Nashville. Vanderbilt was on her college list. Not high on the list, but there. Thinking about colleges put her in a good mood, as did being in a big city. All in all, she felt a lot happier than she had the day before the start of any school year in her life. She could only imagine what she’d be feeling the day before next school year--freshman year of college.
As they entered the outskirts of Nashville, Dill stared out the window. Lydia had given him her camera and assigned him to be expedition photographer, but he forgot to take pictures. He had his normal faraway affect and distinct air of melancholy. Today seemed different somehow, though. Lydia knew that visits to Nashville were a bittersweet affair for him because of his father, and she’d consciously tried to pick a route that would differ from the one he took to visit the prison. She spent a fair amount of time on Google Maps plotting, but to no avail. There were only so many routes from Forrestville to Nashville.
Most helpful customer reviews
15 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
Sharp, smart, and thought-provoking
By Kelli Spear
I feel like I need to mention something before I delve into my thoughts on this book. I am not a religious person. I won't go into just how much I do or don't believe, but I truly despise anyone or anything preaching to me about God, Jesus, etc. So, yes, I was worried about The Serpent King quite a bit.
However, I was worried for almost no reason at all. While there are religious themes present, they aren't projected at the reader in a preachy way. If anything, it shows the struggle some have with blind faith — especially on the heels of a life-altering event.
This story is a remarkable portrayal – and truth – of small town life and how it can shape, make, or break its community. It is told from three different points of view, a trio of friends: Dill, Lydia, and Travis. Each of their lives are different from the other two; some are sadder and more desolate as well. These three are outcasts in their town and at school, but they try to rise above. Dill's preacher father is in prison for a crime that stunned me and he's most likely going to be stuck post-graduation, paying "family" debts. Lydia is a popular fashion blogger looking to get out of her oppressive town. Travis prefers a life of fantasy novels to his real one. Apart, it probably seems as though their friendship shouldn't work. Together, nothing else makes sense; they are right.
... If you're going to live, you might as well do painful, brave, and beautiful things.
I'm not going to lie. It took me up until about 10 - 15% before I really got sucked into the story. But mainly I think that was my issue. I was so worried about the possibility of this book preaching to me that I forgot to just sit back and read. Once I ignored that piece of my brain, I became invested in the lives of these teens.
Dill was the one I felt the most for. I hated how he was treated for his father's transgressions. I hated how people looked at him as though he would follow in his footsteps. Or maybe even lied to save his own a*s. It's scary how small-minded people can be, and scarier still how a mob mentality can affect another human being. I knew he deserved more, but it was obvious this tortured boy didn't feel the same way. Not for a long time. And there was a seed of darkness in him that was only awaiting its chance to thrive.
Lydia is a brilliantly written female. I loved her wit, humor, sarcasm, and mentality. I loved that she defended her friends' honor while giving zero f**** about her own. But don't think she was perfect. There were several instances throughout the book when I almost wanted to throttle her. Of course she wanted out of her small town life. And she absolutely deserved it and have every right to want it. It was just tough to watch someone else struggle with the reality of losing her and how she handled THAT really grated on me at times. It's completely unfair of me, but I just needed her to open her eyes and see what she was missing. Not to mention her complete disregard for the feelings of her friends and their lack of presence on her blog...
Travis. This gentle giant is possibly even sadder than Dill. He may play it off by focusing on his fantasy novels, but it was clear he was dealing with far more than he let on to his friends. Once we get a picture of the disturbing home life he has, the heart breaks and you want him, too, to get a better life. But he doesn't have the aspirations of the other two. He's content to live a good life in town, working for his father. He deserves more, but feels it's unattainable.
This story is magnificently written. Jeff Zentner truly has a gift with words. I grew quite attached to these kids and wanted to see all three succeed and live their lives how they wished. There are many times I figured this wasn't possible. As things progress, your heart begins to feel lighter. Everyone is making changes. They have plans that may not be perfect, but work well enough to ensure some happiness. And just when you get used to the idea of it all, you're blindsided by another horrific catastrophe. One that I kind of saw coming, but not in the way that it did. I actually had several scenarios chosen in my head, but the truth of it hit me in the heart. The unfairness of it all.
And the parents! Aaaahhhhhh! With the exception of Lydia's parents and Travis's mother, I hated them. Especially Dill's. His parents are the complete opposite of every other parental unit in any story. Ever. I couldn't imagine encouraging your child to drop out of high school and ask them to take a full-time job that won't pay well to pay your debts. Then there was their extreme religious view --- it's both scary and fanatical. As adults, they were too busy claiming to be victims and guilting their son into a life he didn't want to see the dark path he was headed down. And his mother was too busy to care enough to help him. As for Travis's dad... Well, he was just a Grade-A jerk. He was stuck mourning his dead son and bashing the surviving one. It's absolutely no excuse for his behavior, though. My heart stopped each time he was presented on the page.
I highly recommend The Serpent King for everyone. It's a humbling look into the lives of those who struggle to just live. An honest look at the unglamorous lives of people who want to get out, but don't always have the means. It's a hopeful story of the possibility of dreams coming to fruition.
4.5 stars
18 of 20 people found the following review helpful.
Sharper than a serpent's tooth...
By E.M. Bristol
Dillard "Dill" Early is the only son of a disgraced former Bible Belt preacher who is currently serving prison time for downloading child pornography. He and his mother exist on a shoestring budget (although Dill does have a working cell phone), and she wants him to leave school early so that he can work full-time. She's also convinced that he was the one who downloaded the porn in the first place, so things are chilly between them. At school, he's a target of ridicule, and has only two friends: Lydia, who authors an insanely popular fashion blog, and Travis, who is obsessed with a literary fantasy world and whose dad may be physically abusing him. Travis also has no prospects beyond graduation, although Lydia is headed to college out of state, possibly in New York. In true young adult novel tradition, Dill also has a longtime crush on Lydia, which is unrequited because he's too shy to say anything and because their futures look so different. Dill is haunted by the memory of his grandfather, nicknamed The Serpent King, and fears he may one day become as unbalanced as the other men in his family. The topics of child molestation, homophobia, bullying, brainwashing and snake handling are addressed, as we get to know Dill and his friends.
Wow. That's a lot of angst! Fortunately, it's handled well. "The Serpent King" offers three well-developed main characters with whom the reader is able to sympathize, which isn't necessarily the case in YA books today. The book does an excellent job of portraying the isolation and inertia a teenager in that situation might feel. The parents in the book, except for Lydia's, are not likeable, but their perspective does offer a look at how Christianity can be twisted to suit one's own agenda.
I felt that the remaining part after Lydia and Dill finally got together was rushed, and at some point, I wanted them to stop bantering, though I really liked their "Pathetic Prom." Another major tragedy also seemed to come out of nowhere and did not really fit with the rest of the events in the book. Overall, this is a very well-written book and an impressive debut.
7 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
A book that will stir your emotions
By Neal Reynolds
This is a mature YA adult that deals honestly with several issues. At the center are the three friends although they are each so different from each other, it's difficult to picture them as friends. I accepted the idea that they were friends because nobody else would have them as friends. Each of the three is tolerant of the other's peculiarities
Dill is the main character who we are concerned with. His father is a fanatical minister of a snake handling cult, in prison at present for downloading child pornography.
The sharp characterizations of each are what lifts the book into literary excellance. These are kids we come to know and care about. Yes, it is a YA novel, but it's deep enough to interest adults also. Strongly recommended.
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