In summer 2004, I reviewed for Mystery Scene Magazine and wrote a piece on Jeff Stetson's powerful debut novel, which takes its title from the lyrics of a haunting song: "Southern trees bear strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root . . ."
I have never forgotten this vivid book. This morning, reading of racial injustice in Jena, Louisiana, I thought again of BLOOD ON THE LEAVES. If only those schoolboys sitting under their "whites' only" tree, its branches hung with empty nooses, would take the time to read Stetson's novel, to think things through and put themselves in another's place.
While its plot hinges on racial conflicts, Stetson's story is far from black and white. Like the world we live in, the book's fictional world is richly nuanced with complex personalities struggling to determine where they stand on the continuum from justice to vengeance. Three years after reading BLOOD ON THE LEAVES, I still remember how Stetson's writing shines and how his themes resonate. Too bad the conflicts he wrote about are not a thing of the past. I wish we could all forget to hate.
