The Martians and the Coys — A Closer Reading
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The source record for The Martians and the Coys — A Closer Reading measures this digital text at 7,183 words, 32 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.
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Jigger was killed by the boar three years ago come next hunting season. Jumping from rock to rock across the creek made her puff even harder; Maw Coy wasn't as young as she once was.
On the other side she rested a minute to light up her pipe and to look carefully about before heading up the draw. She didn't really expect to see any Martins around here, but you never knew. Besides, there might've been a revenue agent. They were getting mighty thick and mighty uppity these days. You'd think the government'd have more to do than bother honest folks trying to make an honest living.
The pipe lit, Maw swung the bundle back over her shoulder and started up the draw. Paw and the boys, she reckoned were probably hungry as a passel of hound dogs by now. She'd have to hurry.
When she entered the far side of the clearing, she couldn't see any signs of them so she yelled, "You Paw! You Hank and Zeke!" Maw Coy liked to give the men folks warning before she came up on the still. Hank, in particular, was mighty quick on the trigger sometimes.
But there wasn't any answer. She trudged across the clearing to where the still was hidden in a cluster of pines. Nobody was there but Lem.
She let the bundle down and glowered at him. "Lem, you no-account, why didn't you answer me when I hollered?"
He grinned at her vacuously, not bothering to get up from where he sat whittling, his back to an old oak. "Huh?" he said. A thin trickle of brown ran down from the side of his mouth and through the stubble on his chin.
"I said, how come you didn't answer when I hollered?"
He said, "You called Paw and Hank and Zeke, you didn't holler for me. What you got there, Maw, huh?" His watery eyes were fixed on the bundle.
Maw Coy sighed deeply and sat down on a tree stump. "Now what you think I got there, Lem? I been a bringing your vittles to you every day since Paw and you boys started up this new still. Where's Paw and Zeke and Hank?"
Lem scratched himself with the stick he'd been whittling on. "They went off scoutin' around for the revenooers or maybe the Martins." He let his mouth fall open and peered wistfully into the woods. He added, "I wish I could shoot me a Martin, Maw. I wish I could. I sure wish I could shoot me a Martin."
The idea excited him. He brought his hulking body to its feet and went over to pick up an ancient shotgun from where it leaned against a mash barrel.
Maw Coy was taking corn pone, some cold fried salt pork, and a quart of black-strap molasses from her bundle and arranging it on the top of an empty keg. "You mind yourself with that gun now, Lem. Mind how you shot up your foot that time."
Lem didn't hear her, he was stroking the stock of the shotgun absently. "I could do it easy," he muttered. "I could shoot me a Martin easy. I sure could Maw. I'd show Hank and Zeke, I would."
"You forget about the Martins, son," Maw Coy said softly. "Yore my simple son--there's at least one in every family, mostly more--and it ain't fittin' that you get into fights. You got a strong back, strongest in the hills, but yore too simple, Lem."
"I ain't as simple as Jim Martin, Maw," Lem protested.
"Son, they don't come no more simple than you," his mother told him gently. "And mind that gun. You know how you bent the barrel of Zeke's Winchester back double that time, absent-minded like."
He stroked the gun stock, patted it, half in anger, half in protest. His lower lip hung down in a pout. "You stop talkin' thataway, Maw," he growled, "or I'll larrup you one."
Maw Coy didn't answer. She reckoned she'd better set off into the woods and see if she could locate the rest of the men folks, so they could eat.
Lem said under his breath, "I could shoot me a Martin real easy, I could."
_To the Most High, the Glorious, the Omnipotent, Omnipresent, and Omniscient, the Lord of the Seven, the Leader of the Chosen, Neo Geek XXXVIII:_
In regard to: _Testing of special weapons designed to eliminate present population of the third planet with the eventual view of colonizing._
From: _Seegeel Wan, Commander of Spacecruiser 12B44._
The story opens with Maw Coy crossing a creek, pipe lit, bundle over shoulder, wary of both Martins and revenue agents. The setting is a Kentucky clearing where Lem guards a still, whittling and drooling, while his family hunts for enemies. The narrative soon pivots to a Martian commander's report, revealing that the 'Martins' are actually Martians attempting a bungled invasion. This dual perspective—hillbilly dialect and bureaucratic Martian jargon—creates a comedy of errors grounded in cultural and linguistic misunderstanding.
Parallel Structures and Shifting Perspectives
The story is built on two parallel narratives that never directly intersect. The first follows the Coy family's mundane feuding and moonshining, rendered in thick dialect and concrete details: Maw fording a creek where a dog was killed, Lem's vacant grin and ancient shotgun. The second is a formal report by Martian Commander Seegeel Wan, addressed to 'Your Omnipotence,' detailing a failed reconnaissance. The shift between these voices—from colloquial to pompous—creates a structural irony. The reader sees both sides of the same events: the Coys' search for 'Martins' and the Martians' panic at Earthling 'warriors.' The report's bureaucratic tone contrasts sharply with the Coys' earthy concerns, highlighting how each side misinterprets the other.
Recurring Images: Fleas, Shotguns, and Miscommunication
Several images recur across both narratives, linking them thematically. The Martian fleas, designed to weaken Earthlings, die after biting a human, prompting the commander's rage: 'After biting this Earthling your fleas have died!' This echoes the Coys' own concerns with vermin and dirt. The shotgun appears in both worlds: Lem's 'ancient shotgun' is his prized possession, while the Martians' 'specially designed weapons' prove worthless. Miscommunication is a running motif—Lem's repeated 'Huh?' mirrors the Earthling's groggy responses to Baren Darl's grandiose speech. The Martians' elaborate titles ('Omnipotent, Omnipresent, and Omniscient') are met with the simple question: 'Are you'uns Martins?'
Movement Between Scenes: Clearing, Creek, and Spacecruiser
The story moves between three distinct spaces: the Coy family's clearing and creek, and the Martian spacecruiser. The clearing is a liminal space where both groups operate—the still hidden in pines, the Martians landing there. The creek is a boundary Maw crosses repeatedly, marked by a remembered dog's death. The spacecruiser is the site of the Martian report, a sterile contrast to the muddy Kentucky landscape. These shifts are abrupt, with no transitional explanation; the reader must infer the connection. The final scene returns to the clearing, where Lem sits 'grinning vacuously' on a mash barrel, unaware of the chaos he has caused. This circular movement reinforces the story's theme of mutual incomprehension.
Dialect and Diction as Characterization
Reynolds uses dialect not just for local color but as a key to character. Maw's speech is practical and direct: 'You Paw! You Hank and Zeke!' Lem's limited vocabulary and repetitive 'I sure wish I could shoot me a Martin' reveal his simple-mindedness. In contrast, the Martian commander's language is inflated and bureaucratic: 'I recommend, your Omnipotence, that the plans to subjugate the planet Earth be indefinitely postponed.' The Martians' formal address clashes with their incompetence, while the Coys' bluntness masks their effectiveness. The Earthling's single 'Huh?' deflates the Martians' grand pronouncements. This linguistic contrast drives the comedy and underscores the story's central joke: the 'superior' aliens are outmatched by a hillbilly family's mundane violence.
The Unreliable Report and Its Gaps
The Martian commander's report is the story's only account of the invasion attempt, but it is clearly unreliable. He admits that his subordinates disagree on what happened—Baren Darl thinks the Earthling was Superman or the Lone Ranger. The report is filled with self-serving language: 'our more serious casualties,' 'all of our equipment and supplies were destroyed in the melee.' The commander's recommendation to send Baren Darl to the salt mines suggests scapegoating. The reader never learns what actually occurred in the clearing; the Coys' perspective is absent from this section. This narrative gap invites speculation: did Lem simply shoot at them? Did his fleas die from alcohol? The story leaves these questions open, trusting the reader to piece together the comedy from the conflicting accounts.
Readers should attend to the story's structural symmetry: each section mirrors the other in theme but not in tone. The Martian report is best read as a parody of military bureaucracy, while the Coy scenes ground the humor in Appalachian specificity. The story rewards attention to small details—the dead dog, the fleas, the repeated 'Huh?'—that build toward the final punchline. No single interpretation is definitive; the gaps between the two narratives are where the story's comedy and critique reside.
It reminded me of my grandfather’s stories about neighbors who never really listened, just talked past each other. That same ache of miscommunication lingers in Tourists to Terra — Story, Setting & Ideas, where the silence between species feels so familiar, like an old porch at dusk, waiting.
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