Where Myths and Trails Converge

Elizabeth Crook’s The Madstone paints a vivid portrait of nineteenth-century Texas through the eyes of Benjamin Shreve, a teenaged carpenter whose kind-hearted nature entangles him with a group of stagecoach passengers. Among them are Nell and her young son, Tot, who are fleeing Nell’s husband and his brothers—criminals wanted for violent attacks on Black citizens. These travelers band together to protect Nell and Tot from their pursuers, navigating the unforgiving terrain with danger close behind. The Madstone immerses readers in a journey where every mile brings new perils, trust is a rare commodity, and small acts of kindness carry weight. 

   Benjamin narrates in an old Southern vernacular with an impressive consistency. The reader follows as the group travels by wagon from San Antonio to a port on the Gulf of Mexico, where Nell and Tot intend to board a ship to New Orleans. Despite his limited vocabulary, Benjamin’s descriptions are immersive, capturing the simultaneous beauty and danger latent in the landscape. He describes “a large forest of giant oaks that trailed gray moss as thick as curtains. The sun was low and the light yellow. It come through the branches in a weird way, as the moss swayed in the breeze and give the sense of things being topsy turvy.” The story is fast paced and packed with unexpected twists to keep readers hooked all the way through.

   What stands out most in The Madstone is the way tenderness emerges in such a harsh and unforgiving environment. Despite the constant threat of hunger, weather, insects, and foes, the bond that develops between Benjamin, Tot, and Nell is touching. Benjamin’s burgeoning feelings for Nell add an emotional undercurrent to the novel’s suspense. His selflessness pulls them together and draws the reader in, too. It’s not a traditional love story, but instead deals with the weight of longing, of meeting the right person in the wrong circumstances. 

   Texas folklore is brought to life in The Madstone with a touch of magical realism. The madstone, a hardened animal organ believed to draw poison out of wounds, appears halfway through the novel. The reader is never sure if the madstone truly has curative power, or if the danger was never real to begin with—only that after it’s used, the patient is healthy. But the reader finds, as the characters do, that it doesn’t really matter, that it’s the characters’ shared belief in the madstone that offers them comfort and eases their anxiety. The madstone embodies the rich tradition of Texas folklore, where the line between myth and reality often blurs. The characters are also traveling with a ‘cursed’ necklace, which seems to wreak havoc on the life of the person who possesses it. Benjamin observes that the vast, endless plains of Texas heighten the power of the necklace’s legend:

Had we been in town amongst people, then we might have been merely interested at the news of having a cursed item in our possession. But out in the midst of no place, shielded by only a scanty wall of scraggly mesquite and weesach from view of the road, where troubles might come from, in the dark of night with the sky stretched out and showing how small we was, and the number of stars making it plain how little we might matter to the broad scheme of the world, I admit to feeling alarm.

   As much as I enjoyed the novel’s immersive storytelling, it lacked lasting power. Benjamin’s altruism is admirable but too pure at times, and he doesn’t carry the same weight as a flawed, complicated protagonist might. To fully immerse myself in Benjamin as a character, some moral development would have to unfold. The only morally questionable action involving Benjamin or Nell occurs before the novel even begins, when Nell fails to intervene as her horrific husband abuses a Black child in a grocery store. But no reasonable person would place heavy blame on Nell, as her primary concern was protecting herself and her young son in a dangerous and precarious situation. Of course, the reader supports Benjamin and Nell, two characters of practically unwavering morality. The lack of internal conflict makes the narrative more anecdotal than epic. 

   Regardless, The Madstone is a gripping read, filled with danger, longing, and the harsh beauty of Texas. Crook’s deep understanding of Texas history shines through every page, making this a great read for fans of historical fiction. It may not linger in a reader’s mind as a character study, but it succeeds in capturing the spirit of an untamed land and the myths it inspires. In the end, The Madstone reminds us that even the harshest landscapes can foster unexpected moments of grace and personal growth.

^{Mercedes Belaiche is a graduate student in Literature at Texas State University.}