“Hillbilly Elegy” by JD Vance Misses the True Appalachian Crisis

I began reading JD Vance’s 2016 memoir “Hillbilly Elegy” on election day, 2020. This wasn’t a conscious choice; the book arrived that day because I had been asked to review the film, and figured I should read the book first for context. Until then, I had avoided the memoir, which has resurfaced in the news following Donald Trump’s announcement of Vance as his running mate. My reluctance was due to my familiarity with the culture Vance deemed to be “in crisis.” I grew up on Muddy Creek Mountain near Alderson, West Virginia, a small town cradled in the Greenbrier River valley, just southeast of the coalfields.

Though I was somewhat prepared for the eugenics-tinged genetic arguments present in the text and clichéd tropes in the film, I was shocked at a major omission: despite the plethora of suicide attempts, domestic violence, and substance abuse that fill both the book and the movie, neither delves into the topic of mental health.

Both versions of “Hillbilly Elegy” sidestep this crucial issue in different but equally misguided ways. The book reads like a Frankenstein hybrid of memoir and superficial social science commentary, blaming social ills on bad genes inherited from Vance’s Scots-Irish ancestors. This argument relies heavily on a blog post by a writer known for contributions to racist, far-right publications, making it even more troubling that many critics were misled by these theories.

Vance, hailed by some as a “fiercely astute social critic,” never addresses the mental health struggles of his mother and grandmother, who exhibit signs of bipolar disorder. Despite his focus on hereditary genes, he misses this crucial aspect entirely.

In his film adaptation, Ron Howard disregards Vance’s overtly political commentary but replaces it with gaudy clichés instead of genuine character development. Glenn Close’s portrayal of Vance’s grandmother is a collection of every stereotypical “mamaw” character Hollywood has ever created. The film relies on melodramatic performances and a sweeping orchestral soundtrack to compensate for a lackluster storyline.

The movie’s problems are manifold. Without Vance’s eugenics rants, the story becomes a self-congratulatory tale. The visual details provided by the film don’t enhance the narrative. Dramatic soundtracks and rapid cuts between past and present fail to make up for weak storytelling. Characters like Vance’s mother Bev, played by Amy Adams, are reduced to stereotypes, stripping them of any depth or complexity.

Appalachia has long been misrepresented in media, and Howard plays into nearly every stereotype. The shirtless, longhaired redneck, the fiery hillbilly, and the mistrustful outsider are all present. Bev is portrayed as the Appalachian parent who obstructs her child’s progress, an image reinforcing outdated and harmful clichés.

The film “Mountain Justice” from 1937 offers a parallel to Howard’s “Hillbilly Elegy.” Both depict a backward hillbilly resisting progress, a trope that remains damagingly persistent. In Howard’s film, Bev’s trembling hand becomes a similar symbol, representing the barrier between her child and his future.

Ron Howard’s decision to recycle these stereotypes instead of exploring more substantial issues is disheartening. Both Vance and Howard avoid addressing mental health despite its critical relevance. The American Psychological Association warns of a national mental health crisis with serious long-term consequences. Ignoring this crisis while depicting issues like suicide and domestic violence is not only a travesty but also dangerous.

Vance briefly mentions his mother “listened too much to the wrong voice in her head” and dismisses counseling as “too weird.” Howard leans into hysteria, showing a scene where Bev lies in the street with bloodied wrists, summed up by her mother’s comment, “She just stopped trying.” The film ends with Vance stating, “we choose every day who we become,” a statement ignoring the deeper, systemic issues at play.

Both Vance and Howard make a deliberate choice to overlook mental health. Studies show direct links between untreated mental health problems and poverty. In regions like Appalachia, where mental health services are sparse and often require traveling over an hour to access, ignoring this issue is negligent.

Ironically, Vance’s fixation on bad genes echoes the eugenics movement. Depicting mental health crises as a result of “racialness” or inherited traits links back to a dark history of eugenics, a history that could have easily impacted Vance’s family. The Supreme Court’s decision in Buck v. Bell, for instance, legalized the sterilization of over 70,000 “unfit” individuals, a movement praised by doctors in Appalachia.

While sterilization mostly belongs to the past, the lack of mental health care in Appalachia remains a current crisis. Access to mental health services is notoriously difficult, and statistics reveal how little this has improved over time. Local doctors note that a significant portion of their work involves mental health treatment, yet the resources are insufficient.

Economic vulnerability, lack of educational opportunities, and reduced access to health services directly worsen mental health, a fact illustrated clearly in former coal company towns. The Pocahontas Fuel Company’s closure in the 1980s left communities economically and socially devastated, with few mental health resources.

Writing a book or making a film about Appalachian struggles without mentioning mental health is not only a gross oversight but also shifts the blame from economic exploitation to individual failings. Vance and Howard fail to engage with the systemic issues underlying the crises they depict, offering instead a narrative that blames personal and genetic failures.

Near the book’s end, Vance muses that European countries seem better at achieving the American Dream, seemingly unaware that social safety nets, including free healthcare and education, contribute to this success. His disdain for welfare overlooks how such support systems help people succeed, reinforcing a narrative that personal failures are to blame for systemic issues.

If you are in crisis, please call the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline by dialing 988, or contact the Crisis Text Line by texting TALK to 741741.

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