Junia the mule has two symbolic functions in The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek. The relationship between Junia and Cussy Mary Carter shows how autonomous individuals can still be interdependent; and, along with her mistress, Junia is responsible for carrying the hope of books throughout the land. Junia originally belonged to Charlie Frazier; after his death, Cussy Mary claimed the mule, named her, and nursed her back to health, even though Pa was doubtful that the mule would have much value. In return, Junia protects Cussy from people (mostly men) and the dangers of the trail. When Vester Frazier stalks Cussy in the woods, Junia runs him off, and when he creeps into the Carter property late at night with the intent of raping and murdering Cussy, Junia breaks free from her stall and tramples him. Mules are, by nature, stubborn and independent creatures, and throughout the book, Cussy proves to be stubborn and independent, too. But she and Junia need and rely on each other for safety, companionship, and affection in a world that is often cruel and harsh. Their relationship shows how valuable independence is, but how important it is to have others to rely on in times of need.
Usually, Junia serves as Cussy’s protector, but sometimes the mule seems to stand as a sort of double for her owner. People consider Cussy and Junia worthless because of their external appearance (Cussy because her skin is blue, and Junia because she’s old). The way that people treat Junia predicts whether they are kind or cruel towards Cussy; and both are an integral part of the Pack Horse Library’s project in and around Troublesome Creek. Cussy and Junia are partners in bringing the hope and enlightenment of books to the poorest and most remote of Kentuckians, so it’s fitting that Cussy Mary named the mule “Junia,” after the only female apostle. In the Christian Bible, the apostles are the people charged with bringing the “good word” (the message of Christianity) to people. Cussy and Junia are a sort of apostles for literacy and the forces of modernization and progress with the library project.
Junia Quotes in The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek
The brisk morning nipped at my face, and I buried my chin deeper into Pa’s oilskin coat and nudged the mule ahead to the home of our first library patron. We crossed over into the fog-soaked creek before sunrise, the dark waters biting at the beast’s ankles, a willingness to hurry pricking Junia’s long ears forward. Late April winds tangled into the sharp, leafy teeth of sourwoods, teasing, combing her short gray mane. Beyond the creek, hills unfolded, and tender green buds of heart-shaped beetleweed and running ivy pushed up from rotted forest graves and ancient knobby roots, climbed through the cider-brown patches of winter leaves, spilling forth from fertile earth.
For a minute I envied her, wanted to send Junia home, unlace my heavy, tight shoes, and run free with her to escape Frazier, the doc and his medical tests, and everything damning to me—to hunt and fish in the woods like I’d done as a child. To be wilded. Have a wilded heart in this black-treed land full of wilded creatures. There were notches in these hills where a stranger wouldn’t tread, dared not venture—the needle-eyed coves and skinny blinds behind rocks, the strangling parts of the blackened-green hills—but Angeline and hillfolk here were wilded and not afraid. And I longed to lift bare feet onto ancient paths and be wilded once again.
I’d been foolish. Reached the worse. The drug had not redeemed me. I didn’t belong at this bright, happy gathering with these lively folks and bubbly chatter. I belonged in darker places where darker thoughts kept me put, where sunlight, a cheerful voice, or a warm touch never reached me. Weren’t no pill ever going to change that.
I threw the cake into a bush and mounted Junia, glancing once more at the crowd. Across the street, Jackson talked to a group of smiling men and women. He lifted his head my way, raised a hand, and called out, “Cussy Mary…”
I couldn’t bear for him to see my disgrace, see me for who I really was—who I’d become in their eyes. “Ghee!” I kneed the mule hard, and she raced off toward our dark, dead holler.