What do you think?
Rate this book
Wounded
Training horses is dangerous--a head-to-head confrontation with a 1,000 pounds of muscle and little sense takes courage, but more importantly patience and smarts. It is these same qualities that allow John and his uncle Gus to live in the beautiful high desert of Wyoming. A black horse trainer is a curiosity, at the very least, but a familiar curiosity in these parts. It is the brutal murder of a young gay man, however, that pushes this small community to the teetering edge of fear and tolerance. As the first blizzard of the season gains momentum, John is forced to reckon not only with the daily burden of unruly horses, a three-legged coyote pup, an escape-artist mule, and too many people, but also a father-son war over homosexuality, random hate-crimes, and―perhaps most frightening of all--a chance for love. Highly praised for his storytelling and ability to address the toughest issues of our time with humor, grace, and originality, Everett offers yet another brilliant novel.
242 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2005
About the author
Percival Everett
69 books2,999 followersPercival L. Everett (born 1956) is an American writer and Distinguished Professor of English at the University of Southern California.
There might not be a more fertile mind in American fiction today than Everett’s. In 22 years, he has written 19 books, including a farcical Western, a savage satire of the publishing industry, a children’s story spoofing counting books, retellings of the Greek myths of Medea and Dionysus, and a philosophical tract narrated by a four-year-old.
The Washington Post has called Everett “one of the most adventurously experimental of modern American novelists.” And according to The Boston Globe, “He’s literature’s NASCAR champion, going flat out, narrowly avoiding one seemingly inevitable crash only to steer straight for the next.”
Everett, who teaches courses in creative writing, American studies and critical theory, says he writes about what interests him, which explains his prolific output and the range of subjects he has tackled. He also describes himself as a demanding teacher who learns from his students as much as they learn from him.
Everett’s writing has earned him the PEN USA 2006 Literary Award (for his 2005 novel, Wounded), the Academy Award for Literature of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award (for his 2001 novel, Erasure), the PEN/Oakland-Josephine Miles Award for Excellence in Literature (for his 1996 story collection, Big Picture) and the New American Writing Award (for his 1990 novel, Zulus). He has served as a judge for, among others, the 1997 National Book Award for fiction and the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction in 1991.
There might not be a more fertile mind in American fiction today than Everett’s. In 22 years, he has written 19 books, including a farcical Western, a savage satire of the publishing industry, a children’s story spoofing counting books, retellings of the Greek myths of Medea and Dionysus, and a philosophical tract narrated by a four-year-old.
The Washington Post has called Everett “one of the most adventurously experimental of modern American novelists.” And according to The Boston Globe, “He’s literature’s NASCAR champion, going flat out, narrowly avoiding one seemingly inevitable crash only to steer straight for the next.”
Everett, who teaches courses in creative writing, American studies and critical theory, says he writes about what interests him, which explains his prolific output and the range of subjects he has tackled. He also describes himself as a demanding teacher who learns from his students as much as they learn from him.
Everett’s writing has earned him the PEN USA 2006 Literary Award (for his 2005 novel, Wounded), the Academy Award for Literature of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award (for his 2001 novel, Erasure), the PEN/Oakland-Josephine Miles Award for Excellence in Literature (for his 1996 story collection, Big Picture) and the New American Writing Award (for his 1990 novel, Zulus). He has served as a judge for, among others, the 1997 National Book Award for fiction and the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction in 1991.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 137 reviews
January 30, 2019
Ok, first, the COVER. Great, eh?
Now, the STORY. It was completely contrived and implausible, but I forgave all, I loved it, because of
The CHARACTERS, who are completely human and plausible and as un-stock as characters can be.
Now, the STORY. It was completely contrived and implausible, but I forgave all, I loved it, because of
The CHARACTERS, who are completely human and plausible and as un-stock as characters can be.
May 15, 2022
"So, what's going on?" I asked.
She took an armful of clothes on the hangers from the rod and tossed them on the bed.
"Cleaning out already?" I asked.
"My mother's voice is pretty clear in my head. 'If it's cold you build a fire, if it's hot you jump in the creek. Life's simple like that.' She was right. My mother's dead. That's a simple fact. Life continues. That's how she'd want me to think. And that's how I'm going to think." She looked out the window at the barn below." . . .
And I'm fine. You know that, don't you, John?"
"I know." I walked to the door. "You want anything else?"
"Bring us up a bottle of wine and some glasses. Two bottles."
But not that simple. People issues. American issues. Identity issues. Not as simple as riding a horse:
"Point your navel where you want to go, lay the rein on her neck and you're off. Now, give her a little kiss sound and squeeze with your calves."
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
Often, I will find a book or author compelling, early in my reading, and will stop and order one or more books by the same author. And I've done that with Percival Everett before. Not this time. I thought about it, but I couldn't stop reading. So I had to wait to do that after I finished. Translate that into GR stars if you will.
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
We are Wounded in different ways. A scene-stealing baby girl coyote wounded by a random act of violence. An old man by disease. Misplaced friendships that do not age. Fathers and sons. Just life, American life.
Everett handles them all, weaves the analogies.
This is a very special book.
She took an armful of clothes on the hangers from the rod and tossed them on the bed.
"Cleaning out already?" I asked.
"My mother's voice is pretty clear in my head. 'If it's cold you build a fire, if it's hot you jump in the creek. Life's simple like that.' She was right. My mother's dead. That's a simple fact. Life continues. That's how she'd want me to think. And that's how I'm going to think." She looked out the window at the barn below." . . .
And I'm fine. You know that, don't you, John?"
"I know." I walked to the door. "You want anything else?"
"Bring us up a bottle of wine and some glasses. Two bottles."
But not that simple. People issues. American issues. Identity issues. Not as simple as riding a horse:
"Point your navel where you want to go, lay the rein on her neck and you're off. Now, give her a little kiss sound and squeeze with your calves."
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
Often, I will find a book or author compelling, early in my reading, and will stop and order one or more books by the same author. And I've done that with Percival Everett before. Not this time. I thought about it, but I couldn't stop reading. So I had to wait to do that after I finished. Translate that into GR stars if you will.
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
We are Wounded in different ways. A scene-stealing baby girl coyote wounded by a random act of violence. An old man by disease. Misplaced friendships that do not age. Fathers and sons. Just life, American life.
Everett handles them all, weaves the analogies.
This is a very special book.
March 4, 2018
This novel belongs in Percival Everett’s distinct canon of “Western Stories about Black Cowboys and Horse Trainers”—the material of his short story collection
Half an Inch of Water
and included in some other anthologies.
This is a pretty traditional story. The pace is slow and calming. The cowboys' dialogue is cleverly laconic, the romance charmingly quirky, the crime intriguing. People talk a lot and say what they feel a la Women's Fiction, which usually turns me off. But since Percival Everett wrote it, there is something extra. In this book, it is so quiet, you might not pick it up. It comes in an unexpected black man's take on living in white cowboy country. It comes in a love of being in caves and insights about animals. And it comes with the alchemy of an almost awkwardly rudimentary style of telling a rudimentary story that unaccountably pops you with a rudimentary ending. What's not rudimentary whispers and, if you hear it, requires you to read slowly, sometimes putting down the book to let the words and symbols settle and root inside of you. And since it's Percival Everett, whose style changes with every book (ranging from hilarious, esoteric, postmodern experiment to domestic drama), who is choosing to write in such a generic rudimentary way, for me, even though it's not a great book, it's worth reading.
This is a pretty traditional story. The pace is slow and calming. The cowboys' dialogue is cleverly laconic, the romance charmingly quirky, the crime intriguing. People talk a lot and say what they feel a la Women's Fiction, which usually turns me off. But since Percival Everett wrote it, there is something extra. In this book, it is so quiet, you might not pick it up. It comes in an unexpected black man's take on living in white cowboy country. It comes in a love of being in caves and insights about animals. And it comes with the alchemy of an almost awkwardly rudimentary style of telling a rudimentary story that unaccountably pops you with a rudimentary ending. What's not rudimentary whispers and, if you hear it, requires you to read slowly, sometimes putting down the book to let the words and symbols settle and root inside of you. And since it's Percival Everett, whose style changes with every book (ranging from hilarious, esoteric, postmodern experiment to domestic drama), who is choosing to write in such a generic rudimentary way, for me, even though it's not a great book, it's worth reading.
March 18, 2024
‘No doubt because of the coyote, I was hating people more than usual as I drove into town. I drove past the Wal-Mart that I refused to enter, past the McDonald’s that I refused to enter and past the church—.’
Strangely atmospheric even though it is not so heavy on the descriptions/setting. Adore every bit of it. But it also crushed me some. But it’s all worth it. It reminds me of how I felt reading ‘Southern Gothic’ literature (a brief but obsessive phase). Don’t know if this fits the genre but it probably doesn’t matter. The concept of (having/relying on) ‘genres’ is so iffy anyway. Can’t say I didn’t see ‘it’ (the ending) coming, but it still made me scream (on the inside).
‘The horse isn’t supposed to make decisions—The second thing is that the rider is supposed to make decisions. If the horse gets ahead of you, you might get left behind. That’s the old saying. So, you’ve got to redirect the animal, break the routine, ride him between some bushes for no apparent reason.’
Used to not like horses, until I met one/some that sort of ‘moved’ me (in every sense of the word?). Somewhere in Yorkshire (England, obviously?). I still think they’re rather sloppy and smelly, and would still mostly rather love them from afar. Even though what made me feel ‘alright’ towards them was when one came up to me, caught me completely off-guard, and then nudged me with its wet nose audaciously and continuously. Who knows what it meant or what it was trying to communicate, but felt friendly (even though that’s just a one-sided understanding of the situation, but I don’t ‘speak’ equine so we will have to leave it at that).
‘I’d read how people could damage the surfaces with oils from their skin. I listened to the quiet, interrupted only by the steady, random drips—from the mountain above and left infinitesimal amounts of calcium carbonate to make and lengthen the stalactites. I decided I was a trogloxene, a creature that lives outside the cave, but returns frequently.’
My thoughts on Everett’s book here doesn’t give away much (about the book), but like I’ve mentioned in the opening line, ‘atmospheric’ is the keyword here. And if the rest of Everett’s work are all kind of like this, then I just know Everett is the writer for me, for sure. Might later/eventually consider him one of my favourite writers I feel.
‘One was—about six feet, the other a little taller and in the taller man I could see Howard’s eyes and cheekbones. They wore jeans, new Western boots and short-sleeved shirts—not so differently dressed from others in town. They were healthy looking and strong enough, but their postures said they weren’t ranch men. They walked like nothing really hurt.’
Because I’ve been casually thinking about the ‘language’ of ‘bones’, and about them bearing bits of unspoken autobiographical records, to have read about Everett’s characterisation (very timely at that) — the simplicity of cleverly ‘building’/revealing a lot about a character through just a passing judgement (by the narrator) of their ‘posture’ is oddly interesting to me.
‘As I rode the horse—I considered the fact that I didn’t have many wrecks left in my old body. I felt a wave of fear and then I felt the horse respond, felt the big muscles tense. I let my body melt and immediately the horse relaxed. I tightened my muscles on purpose and got no reaction. I tried to think back to what I was thinking just before Felony had blown up. I’d had an unpleasant memory—I didn’t really know, but I’d had something bad go through my mind. I couldn’t believe that the horse had sensed it. I thought about—Nothing. I thought about calling—Nothing. I thought about—Felony tightened—I had to train this horse to tolerate the troubling thoughts of his rider. This was too much.’
To briefly paraphrase a small bit from Alexander Chee’s How to Write an Autobiographical Novel — when we read/listen to someone’s ‘grief’, it is not their ‘grief’ we are affected by, but instead it’s how their ‘stories’ redirect us to our own personal, familiar feelings and ‘narratives’ of ‘grief’. Now, ‘grief’ aside, I think this is applicable in terms of more poignant, affective writing/text. In the same vein of matter, (excuse these bastardised analogies) muscular memory is interesting as well (and someone far more clever will be able to link this to brain signals and human consciousness, but that’s not going to be me for sure). It reminded of a friend in particular who I feel/remember was especially good at locating any ‘tension’ in my body even when I have layers of clothing on (and not because they are particularly observant I don’t think, but because of the fact that we both share similar/almost identical, invisible pains (and I wasn’t even able to come to this realisation/conclusion until I had experienced proper physiotherapy)). And in a similar sense, in Everett’s novel — he doesn’t always ‘tell’ the readers a lot, yet he is able to ‘deliver’ what he needs/wants to deliver (and more). I suppose to a certain extent, it’s almost a ‘gamble’ — it’s up to the readers’ own reading pace, personal experiences, sensibilities — to ‘recognise’ all that’s being offered.
“How are you?” I asked.
David barked out a laugh.
“That’s what I say,” Gus said.
Even when I’m made surprised by the writing, and precisely by what Everett’s protagonist/characters did or say, it wasn’t because of something ‘extraordinary’, but because it was so fucking ‘ordinary’, and/but written and expressed so well it almost grazes something ‘sublime’. It’s of the things people/writers seldom touch on because it doesn’t seem ‘exciting’ or relevant enough to their stories/plots enough, but Everett is so fucking good at incorporating those ���ordinary’ moments in life into his narrative in such a complementary and extraordinarily brilliant/beautiful way. So in awe of it all, gladly as well.
‘Pamela reached over and held Howard’s hand. I studied the man. He had been a friend for a long time and in all that time I was always confused about why he was my friend. We had little in common, aesthetically, socially or politically, and we’d never run in the same circles. Still, I had been the best man at his wedding and I was called the godfather of his son, though there was never any official church business. Susie had always flat-out hated him. Right at that second I was finding him somewhat objectionable and it made me feel bad about myself.’
‘At the table we sat in a painful stew of silence. The elk stew and the potato pancakes and the asparagus might have been as delicious as it all looked, but I could not taste any of it. I was worried about David and about what Howard might say and about what Howard would say and about what Gus might say as he watched Pamela lean her breasts over the table as she reached for the bread.’
One of the most brilliant bits of Everett’s writing lies in his characterisation. It is fucking fantastic, to say simply. It’s not just what the characters say, but how they say it, and the way they ‘behave’ with and around one another; and also how each changes the other (in short, beautifully complex character development). Brilliant how Everett has done all this with such a well-churned, buttery execution that almost makes it all seem ‘effortless’ (even though any reader would know that this takes a huge amount of effort to do well).
‘I don’t think there’s a better feeling in the world than having a big, scared animal relax around you. I untied him—.’
This brings me to the language of ‘pain’ (a broad generalisation, do not like that, but for the lack of a better phrase that). Everett’s characters carry this ‘conversation’ directly and indirectly so beautifully. Of course, to say the obvious thing, or the clichéd, overused line is much simpler, but it makes one wonder if that really is the best? Does it really ‘hit’ as hard? The less in-your-face ‘lines’ and phrases in Everett’s writing is what ‘moved’ me the most. I like it when the characters just acknowledge one another and ‘laugh’ in the face of ‘tragedy’ (or something along those lines) because nothing more needs to be said when they are already so mentally and emotionally connected in that sense. Don’t think this is an ‘easy’ thing to do in ‘fiction’ or in any sort of writing, so, again, I’m left in awe of it all. Does A Little Life do that as well, or is it full-powered, uncompromising melancholia all the way? Me, thinking it might be of the latter is the main reason why I never read it despite the rave reviews.
“We had a fight, an argument, like I said, and he ran out in the snow and nearly froze to death. He was drunk and I was drunk and, yes, it was my fucking fault.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked away.
This should go without saying, but human emotions, feelings and all that are clearly not straightforward and uncomplicated (as we like to think, and tend to lean on a false but more often than not innocuous delusions of ‘stability’ and ‘simple/universal understanding’ — hardly feasible ‘lingua franca(s)’) but we continuously try to make it all as comprehensive/accessible to each other as much as we can (if that’s the only thing we can do to keep everything sort of — ‘intact’), on most occasions, probably. So to read it all made way too ‘simple’ and imprecise in writing is just a ‘gross’ and time-wasting experience. Not Everett though; he puts all the gross and dirty bits into his writing as much as the good stuff. The nitty gritty bits, the fluffs, and keep it all as ‘raw’ as can be — and so beautifully composed. How many times can I use the word ‘beautiful’ in this write-up without tumbling into a pit of ‘cringe’? And then involuntarily recalling how my most core memory of ‘horses’ has to do with ‘horseshit’ (having lived somewhere with ‘working farms’ for a couple of years, and having to scrape horseshit off one’s wellies after nightwalks (or even just walks back from the local pubs) with mates is not something one easily forgets about, no?).
‘I didn’t say anything at first and then I thought that my silence might alarm Morgan more. “This thing, whatever it is, is probably just sticking up through her soft palate. Shouldn’t be a problem.” Of course I didn’t know that at all. The horse began doing what horses do and that was chewing. At least she was trying to chew; the coil of metal of the speculum was in her way. But she was chewing enough that she was catching my knuckles. It hurt like hell, but I had to get the thing out. I couldn’t let this crush Morgan. Instead, my hand was getting crushed. I grabbed the object and it poked me; it had thorns. I didn’t pull back. I was in there now. I grabbed it, a thorn piercing my thumb, and I worked it free and slowly pulled it out. I held it out for Morgan to see. It was a four-inch-long wishbone of a rose twig.
“That’s it?” she said.’
To be so impressed by Everett’s writing makes me want to read Scanlan’s Kick the Latch (heavy on the ‘equine’) novel(la) even more (with even less patience now than then). While I may not ‘like’ horses much/enough, I think I rather enjoy loving them vicariously/bibliophilically (also applies to the ones I feel conflicted about (Jones’ The Dig — the most core/pivotal ‘disappointment’ for me in Jones’ writing is that it felt to me like he lacked the very much ‘required’ intimacy with the entire ‘agricultural’/‘animal’ narrative he was working with (and whatever or wherever he had failed to deliver, Everett overachieved through the most beautiful, exhaustive, and more than just careful/considerate-enough executions). Also, there is a cute coyote pup named ‘Emily’ in Everett’s, so maybe I’m well biased.
“Every time I come up here and look at that I know my place in the world. It’s okay to love something bigger than yourself without fearing it. Anything worth loving is bigger than we are anyway.”
“That sounds almost religious,” David said.
May 2, 2019
Quando il gioco si fa duro…
Ancora Wyoming. Dopo i bellissimi racconti di Annie Proulx, è la volta di un romanzo di Percival Everett.
John Hunt è un cowboy nero che ha cercato e trovato un po’ di tranquillità allevando cavalli in una fattoria isolata a Highland, Wyoming. L’arrivo del figlio di un suo amico innescherà una spirale di violenza che romperà quell’equilibrio raggiunto con molta fatica.
Omofobia, intolleranza, razzismo, vendetta… Percival Everett è bravo a costruire una trama mozzafiato caratterizzata da una prosa lenta, ma avvincente, proiettandoci verso un finale nient’affatto rassicurante, che lascia l’amaro in bocca. Tutto sommato Ferito è un buon libro e Percival Everett uno scrittore che merita attenzione, però ho trovato questa storia un po’ forzata, non mi ha convinta del tutto.
Tre stelle e mezza invece di tre, ma solo perché in mezzo a tanta brutalità ci sono anche un pizzico di tenerezza e un grande amore.
”Non ho svegliato Morgan, l'ho lasciata dormire tutta la notte sul divano. Io mi sono seduto sulla poltrona accanto e l'ho osservata, rendendomi conto ad ogni respiro quanto in effetti l'amavo. E non l'amavo perché avevo bisogno di amare qualcuno, ma perché lei non sarebbe mai sparita. E non intendo fisicamente, ma dalla mia testa”.
https://youtu.be/IJCmgKRszYM
Ancora Wyoming. Dopo i bellissimi racconti di Annie Proulx, è la volta di un romanzo di Percival Everett.
John Hunt è un cowboy nero che ha cercato e trovato un po’ di tranquillità allevando cavalli in una fattoria isolata a Highland, Wyoming. L’arrivo del figlio di un suo amico innescherà una spirale di violenza che romperà quell’equilibrio raggiunto con molta fatica.
Omofobia, intolleranza, razzismo, vendetta… Percival Everett è bravo a costruire una trama mozzafiato caratterizzata da una prosa lenta, ma avvincente, proiettandoci verso un finale nient’affatto rassicurante, che lascia l’amaro in bocca. Tutto sommato Ferito è un buon libro e Percival Everett uno scrittore che merita attenzione, però ho trovato questa storia un po’ forzata, non mi ha convinta del tutto.
Tre stelle e mezza invece di tre, ma solo perché in mezzo a tanta brutalità ci sono anche un pizzico di tenerezza e un grande amore.
”Non ho svegliato Morgan, l'ho lasciata dormire tutta la notte sul divano. Io mi sono seduto sulla poltrona accanto e l'ho osservata, rendendomi conto ad ogni respiro quanto in effetti l'amavo. E non l'amavo perché avevo bisogno di amare qualcuno, ma perché lei non sarebbe mai sparita. E non intendo fisicamente, ma dalla mia testa”.
https://youtu.be/IJCmgKRszYM
July 2, 2019
Tre stelle e mezza, con la mezza in più appiccicata in maniera del tutto soggettiva, a significare il fatto che mi sono ben gustata l'ambientazione.
Primo libro che leggo di Percival Everett: mi aspettavo un po' più west e un po' meno vena intimistica. E invece scopro che la scrittura somiglia molto da vicino a quella di Haruf e del resto Highland nel Wyoming somiglia molto ad Holt. Al ranch in cui vive il protagonista John Hunt con lo zio Gus, mi pareva quasi di essere dai fratelli McPheron: sia per l'ambientazione che per i battibecchi domestici. I due autori si assomigliano molto anche nelle tematiche (minimalismo della quotidianità, solitudine, amicizia, discriminazione, violenza, amore ritrovato e vicinanza nei momenti difficili) e nel modo di affrontarle.
Comunque è stata una lettura che mi sono gustata: le vicende raccontate iniziano in autunno per poi procedere verso l'inverno, ma sarà la vicinanza del Deserto Rosso, o sarà stato semplicemente perché mi trovavo nel mood giusto, in ogni modo la lettura mi si è abbinata bene con il caldo torrido di questi giorni.
Non si fa alcun cenno agli anni in cui dovrebbe svolgersi la vicenda raccontata, ma la presenza di auto e voli di linea unitamente all'assenza di cellulari, lascia supporre che si possa trattare degli anni settanta o ottanta (o forse anche inizio novanta?).
Con un andamento lento e piano (plainsong, appunto) si inizia a conoscere il protagonista: uomo di colore, ex cowboy ora allevatore e "rieducatore" di cavalli. E' un bel personaggio, con le sue forze e le sue debolezze, un carattere ombroso e aperto al tempo stesso. Anche ne Il gioco dei Re della Morgan c'è un personaggio simile, un ragazzo nero che da giovane ne ha passate di tutti i colori ma che in compenso ha il dono di saper parlare ai cavalli - con un po' di fantasia, questo racconto potrebbe anche essere un seguito di quel libro.
La vera pecca è la lentezza della narrazione: un andamento troppo lento per una storia in cui si decide di inserire un'indagine con un po' di mistero/noir/thriller. E una lentezza per la quale, d'altro canto, non si trova corrispondenza dei doverosi approfondimenti circa la storia personale del protagonista: ci si aspetterebbe di poter arrivare a ricostruirla, almeno per sommi capi, e invece gli accenni al passato sono più che sporadici. Anche le metafore con la natura, e in special modo con il mondo animale (il mulo ingovernabile, il coyote addomesticato, il grosso cavallo pauroso) sono ottime idee ma restano come abbozzate, trovo che meritassero un approfondimento o un po' di sviluppo in più.
Al termine della lettura la trama si rivela deboluccia e alquanto prevedibile nella sua impostazione di buoni-contro-cattivi. E' più racconto che romanzo: non vi si troverà alcun processo di formazione ma solo una fotografia abbastanza amara e pessimistica, uno scatto per immortalare il carattere inesorabilmente violento della profonda provincia americana, e in cui la natura, per quanto aspra e selvaggia, non detiene il primato per la quota di violenza. Il titolo è un riferimento generico a questa quantità di violenza, perché le ferite presenti nel racconto sono molteplici per qualità e per quantità. Sebbene sia stato scritto prima dell'irresistibile ascesa di Trump, è impossibile non leggervi un qualcosa a metà tra il monito e il rimprovero, una voce tra le righe che dice "ecco, è qui che ha attecchito".
June 23, 2022
Rating: 3.70
Written in 2005, about 2/3 of the way through his career, this is yet another shift in genre, theme and POV narrative for Everett. What's interesting is how dramatically different the style is when compared to I Am Not Sidney Poitier, Percival Everett by Virgil Russell, or Assumption
One of many elements I enjoy about his writing is he rarely if ever dwells on back story and uses dialog sparingly. And in many cases, he establishes the characters in a scene, rather than stating their names after the dialog. With this book, there's lots of 'he or she said', after each sentence. In some ways its a bit amateur though I'm sure he had his reasons.
Evocative and engaging, this is the story of John Hunt, a black horse trainer and rancher in a small community in Wyoming who is both respected and revered. But like any backwoods area, prejudice is known and accepted. When a homosexual is brutally assaulted, an old college friend's 20 year old son David shows up for a rally and has his own encounters causing John to come to his rescue. Mild mannered, compassionate and loyal, John introduces a Chicago city kid to rural life, horses, nature and more. Soon after, David decides to take a break from school and work on John's ranch.
The B story is focused on strange executions of beef cattle on an Indian land owned by a close friend of John's. The redneck sheriff is indifferent while fears grow of who or what is behind it. When David's father decides to pay an unannounced visit, the dislike between father and son results in a drunken brawl sending David into a snow storm. As the pace quickens, themes of sexual preference, family respect and race elevate.
Unlike his others, predictable plot isn't helped by characters that while good, are far from those in his other books. Of the 7 or 8 I've read by this author, this good but far from my favorite. For those that enjoy racially driven mysteries that are paced well and engaging, you might want to add it to your list.
Written in 2005, about 2/3 of the way through his career, this is yet another shift in genre, theme and POV narrative for Everett. What's interesting is how dramatically different the style is when compared to I Am Not Sidney Poitier, Percival Everett by Virgil Russell, or Assumption
One of many elements I enjoy about his writing is he rarely if ever dwells on back story and uses dialog sparingly. And in many cases, he establishes the characters in a scene, rather than stating their names after the dialog. With this book, there's lots of 'he or she said', after each sentence. In some ways its a bit amateur though I'm sure he had his reasons.
Evocative and engaging, this is the story of John Hunt, a black horse trainer and rancher in a small community in Wyoming who is both respected and revered. But like any backwoods area, prejudice is known and accepted. When a homosexual is brutally assaulted, an old college friend's 20 year old son David shows up for a rally and has his own encounters causing John to come to his rescue. Mild mannered, compassionate and loyal, John introduces a Chicago city kid to rural life, horses, nature and more. Soon after, David decides to take a break from school and work on John's ranch.
The B story is focused on strange executions of beef cattle on an Indian land owned by a close friend of John's. The redneck sheriff is indifferent while fears grow of who or what is behind it. When David's father decides to pay an unannounced visit, the dislike between father and son results in a drunken brawl sending David into a snow storm. As the pace quickens, themes of sexual preference, family respect and race elevate.
Unlike his others, predictable plot isn't helped by characters that while good, are far from those in his other books. Of the 7 or 8 I've read by this author, this good but far from my favorite. For those that enjoy racially driven mysteries that are paced well and engaging, you might want to add it to your list.
January 2, 2021
Με κράτησε γερά το βιβλίο και είναι σπάνιο αυτό// Ήταν ο νωχελικός ρυθμός, επίμονος σαν το κρύο, σταθερός σαν την ομορφία της Κόκκινης ερήμου και με μια έλλειψη άγρια και ουσιάστική, σαν τριπόδαρο κογιότ// western setting, όπου ο συγγραφέας βάζει στην σύγχρονη Άγρια Δύση -το βιβλίο βγήκε το 2005- το κοινωνικό και πολιτικό ζήτημα της βίας με φυλετικό και σεξουαλικό πρόσημο, όπως και παλιότερα ο Thomas Savage στην "Εξουσία του σκύλου" έτσι κι εδώ, μεταξύ άλλων, εισάγει στον ανδροκρατούμενο κόσμο των καουμπόι και των ραντς γκέι χαρακτήρες// Είναι η τρομαχτική συνειδητοποίηση μιας Αμερικής που εξολοθρεύει και μιας Αμερικής που αδιαφορεί για τις μειονότητες// Είναι η κατάρρευση του εφησυχασμού όταν καταλαβαίνεις με ποιους αλήθεια συναναστρέφεσαι// Το βιβλίο έχει έξυπνους διαλόγους, χαρακτήρες που θα πονέσεις, φύση και ονειρικό στοιχείο, αληθινά καλογραμμένες σελίδες που, παρότι απλό και με πεντακάθαρο ιδεολογικό πρόταγμα που ίσως το στεγανώνει κάπως και ένα τέλος που σου δίνει μια συναισθηματική κλωτσιά και τελικά κάπως σε αδειάζει και πάλι όμως είναι ένα απολαυστικό και σημαντικό βιβλίο και αξίζει να διαβαστεί γιατί ρέει, ρέει με μια άψογη απλότητα και ομορφιά.
November 22, 2021
Στο βιβλίο αυτό ο Everett επιλέγει, με διακριτικό τόνο και απλή αφήγηση, να δώσει μία εικόνα της Αμερικάνικης Δύσης.
Στο επίκεντρο ο πρωταγωνιστής, ο οποίος παρά τις σπουδές του, επιλέγει να ζήσει στην επαρχεία, κοντά στην φύση, στα άλογα και στους ντόπιους, που τυχαίνει να είναι κι εκείνοι από διαφορετικές φυλές. Θεωρώ, πώς αν και αρχικά θέλει να επισημάνει την ομορφιά αυτής της ζωής, ο συγγραφέας τοποθετεί ακραίες δράσεις (ξυλοδαρμός ομοφυλόφιλου, δολοφονία ζώων) με σκοπό να παρουσιάσει και να τονίσει τις φυλετικές και σεξουαλικές διακρίσεις μεταξύ των ατόμων. Έτσι, από το βιβλίο περνάνε ελπιδοφόροι νέοι που κάνουν την επανάστασή τους, γονείς που δεν ήταν ποτέ έτοιμοι για να γίνουν γονείς, νεοναζιστές, ετοιμοθάνατοι που είναι έτοιμοι να ζήσουν την ζωή τους στο έπακρο.
Η γραφή, αν και θα την ήθελα πιο σύνθετη και λυρική, κατανοώ πλήρως ότι σκοπό έχει να είναι άμεση στον αναγνώστη για να περάσει εύκολα τα μηνύματά του. Το τέλος, που με ικανοποίησε πλήρως, πέρα από γροθιά στο στομάχι, μου αφήνει την εντύπωση πώς είναι απότομο για να χαραχτεί στην μνήμη το αποτέλεσμα της απάνθρωπης φύσης του ανθρώπου μετά την ανάγνωση του βιβλίου.
Στο επίκεντρο ο πρωταγωνιστής, ο οποίος παρά τις σπουδές του, επιλέγει να ζήσει στην επαρχεία, κοντά στην φύση, στα άλογα και στους ντόπιους, που τυχαίνει να είναι κι εκείνοι από διαφορετικές φυλές. Θεωρώ, πώς αν και αρχικά θέλει να επισημάνει την ομορφιά αυτής της ζωής, ο συγγραφέας τοποθετεί ακραίες δράσεις (ξυλοδαρμός ομοφυλόφιλου, δολοφονία ζώων) με σκοπό να παρουσιάσει και να τονίσει τις φυλετικές και σεξουαλικές διακρίσεις μεταξύ των ατόμων. Έτσι, από το βιβλίο περνάνε ελπιδοφόροι νέοι που κάνουν την επανάστασή τους, γονείς που δεν ήταν ποτέ έτοιμοι για να γίνουν γονείς, νεοναζιστές, ετοιμοθάνατοι που είναι έτοιμοι να ζήσουν την ζωή τους στο έπακρο.
Η γραφή, αν και θα την ήθελα πιο σύνθετη και λυρική, κατανοώ πλήρως ότι σκοπό έχει να είναι άμεση στον αναγνώστη για να περάσει εύκολα τα μηνύματά του. Το τέλος, που με ικανοποίησε πλήρως, πέρα από γροθιά στο στομάχι, μου αφήνει την εντύπωση πώς είναι απότομο για να χαραχτεί στην μνήμη το αποτέλεσμα της απάνθρωπης φύσης του ανθρώπου μετά την ανάγνωση του βιβλίου.
January 4, 2008
Percival Everett is a god.I keep saying this, but this man knows how to write characters you can actually get behind. He writes real, flawed, loveable characters, and when they fuck up you know why, and it makes them even better. This is a great short book about a black cowboy, and horses, and love, and you should totally read it.
September 24, 2014
Frontiere
Primo (ma non sarà certamente l’ultimo…) libro di Percival Everett che mi capita di leggere, “Ferito” è un romanzo anomalo e inclassificabile: troppo duro e minaccioso per rientrare nella narrativa mainstream, seppure in ambito western, ma troppo libero per essere annoverato fra i polizieschi o thriller a cui l’ho sentito accomunare; e proprio questa sua inafferrabilità determina il fascino di quest’opera almeno secondo i miei gusti, in quanto ben lontana dai cliché di genere che recentemente mi hanno un po’ saturato.
Il protagonista narrante simboleggia quest’atmosfera indefinibile, anche perché un rancher di colore non è personaggio frequente nella narrativa americana; nel suo carattere ho trovato qualche traccia del Robicheaux di James Lee Burke (se proprio vogliamo restare nel genere…) per il suo rapporto con gli animali, la cura dettagliata del proprio lavoro di allevatore (qui di cavalli, là di gamberetti), il rapporto con i familiari, la squisita descrizione della natura circostante. Ma certamente Burke, da autore di polizieschi, immette molta più azione, indagine e intreccio nelle sue trame, mentre qui il racconto si fa a tratti rarefatto e contemplativo, “lento” direbbe un appassionato esclusivo di thriller.
L’ambiguità stilistica e razziale si estende anche alle connotazioni sessuali dei personaggi ed anche il protagonista si trova a fare i conti con situazioni in cui la sua stessa identità viene messa in discussione e l’affetto paterno, seppure vicario, sfuma verso altre sensazioni che soprattutto nel West Wyoming non hanno vita facile ed espongono a rischi maggiori di quelli determinati dal gelo e dalle altre insidie dei luoghi.
In conclusione proprio l’atmosfera sembra il vero protagonista del libro, in primo piano quella della natura selvaggia e degli animali, a loro volta in parte selvatici in parte addomesticati, ma mai fino in fondo come l’ineffabile e ingovernabile mulo, il cucciolo di coyote a tre zampe, il cavallo palomino che mette a dura prova anche l’addestratore più esperto. Su questo paesaggio ambientale, se non idilliaco almeno armonioso e appagante, incombe tuttavia un senso palpabile di minaccia, di tensione, di corda tesa che Everett è molto abile a costruire e che rappresenta un ingrediente fondamentale nel conferire a “Ferito” la sottile indefinibilità cui alludevo all’inizio.
Primo (ma non sarà certamente l’ultimo…) libro di Percival Everett che mi capita di leggere, “Ferito” è un romanzo anomalo e inclassificabile: troppo duro e minaccioso per rientrare nella narrativa mainstream, seppure in ambito western, ma troppo libero per essere annoverato fra i polizieschi o thriller a cui l’ho sentito accomunare; e proprio questa sua inafferrabilità determina il fascino di quest’opera almeno secondo i miei gusti, in quanto ben lontana dai cliché di genere che recentemente mi hanno un po’ saturato.
Il protagonista narrante simboleggia quest’atmosfera indefinibile, anche perché un rancher di colore non è personaggio frequente nella narrativa americana; nel suo carattere ho trovato qualche traccia del Robicheaux di James Lee Burke (se proprio vogliamo restare nel genere…) per il suo rapporto con gli animali, la cura dettagliata del proprio lavoro di allevatore (qui di cavalli, là di gamberetti), il rapporto con i familiari, la squisita descrizione della natura circostante. Ma certamente Burke, da autore di polizieschi, immette molta più azione, indagine e intreccio nelle sue trame, mentre qui il racconto si fa a tratti rarefatto e contemplativo, “lento” direbbe un appassionato esclusivo di thriller.
L’ambiguità stilistica e razziale si estende anche alle connotazioni sessuali dei personaggi ed anche il protagonista si trova a fare i conti con situazioni in cui la sua stessa identità viene messa in discussione e l’affetto paterno, seppure vicario, sfuma verso altre sensazioni che soprattutto nel West Wyoming non hanno vita facile ed espongono a rischi maggiori di quelli determinati dal gelo e dalle altre insidie dei luoghi.
In conclusione proprio l’atmosfera sembra il vero protagonista del libro, in primo piano quella della natura selvaggia e degli animali, a loro volta in parte selvatici in parte addomesticati, ma mai fino in fondo come l’ineffabile e ingovernabile mulo, il cucciolo di coyote a tre zampe, il cavallo palomino che mette a dura prova anche l’addestratore più esperto. Su questo paesaggio ambientale, se non idilliaco almeno armonioso e appagante, incombe tuttavia un senso palpabile di minaccia, di tensione, di corda tesa che Everett è molto abile a costruire e che rappresenta un ingrediente fondamentale nel conferire a “Ferito” la sottile indefinibilità cui alludevo all’inizio.
February 2, 2020
marchiato a fuoco dall'insensatezza dell'intolleranza
John Hunt, che non è un cacciatore ma si risolverà a cacciare alla fine, si trova in un posto sperduto del Wyoming dove conduce una vita piuttosto routinaria e isolata, è un uomo di colore in un posto dove altri come lui quasi non ce ne sono e non ci sono nemmeno altri appartenenti ad altre minoranze, ad esempio i gay
quando un suo lavorante viene accusato di aver ucciso un gay John, che in realtà non prova particolare simpatia per il lavorante, cerca di tenersi fuori, ma quando a sparire è il figlio di un suo amico che glielo aveva affidato, un giovane omosessuale che si era rifugiato da lui dopo una delusione sentimentale, John si mette alla ricerca del ragazzo...
dolorosa riflessione sulla diversità e sull'intolleranza, questo romanzo prende il suo avvio da una storia realmente accaduta e Everett trascina il lettore senza nemmeno blandirlo inventando un militante di sinistra come suo protagonista, no John è uno a cui non importa molto ma che sopporta male le discriminazioni, uno che non fa proclami ma ha l'atteggiamento di chi ritiene che il mondo sia abbastanza grande per tutti, solo che a un certo punto tocca a qualcuno di quelli che hanno visto abbastanza ridimensionare quelli che invece pensano che il mondo sia loro, anche perchè "nessuno ha l'esclusiva dell'odio in questo paese" e alla fine "è finito il tempo di parlare"
la scrittura è potente e il contenuto anche, molto è stato scritto su questi temi, ma questo è il tipo di romanzo che si ricorda a lungo dopo averlo rimesso sullo scaffale, dove in realtà continua a vibrare d'indignazione e a lanciare il suo monito contro l'oblio e la rimozione delle cose peggiori che si fanno quando si ritiene di averne il diritto...
John Hunt, che non è un cacciatore ma si risolverà a cacciare alla fine, si trova in un posto sperduto del Wyoming dove conduce una vita piuttosto routinaria e isolata, è un uomo di colore in un posto dove altri come lui quasi non ce ne sono e non ci sono nemmeno altri appartenenti ad altre minoranze, ad esempio i gay
quando un suo lavorante viene accusato di aver ucciso un gay John, che in realtà non prova particolare simpatia per il lavorante, cerca di tenersi fuori, ma quando a sparire è il figlio di un suo amico che glielo aveva affidato, un giovane omosessuale che si era rifugiato da lui dopo una delusione sentimentale, John si mette alla ricerca del ragazzo...
dolorosa riflessione sulla diversità e sull'intolleranza, questo romanzo prende il suo avvio da una storia realmente accaduta e Everett trascina il lettore senza nemmeno blandirlo inventando un militante di sinistra come suo protagonista, no John è uno a cui non importa molto ma che sopporta male le discriminazioni, uno che non fa proclami ma ha l'atteggiamento di chi ritiene che il mondo sia abbastanza grande per tutti, solo che a un certo punto tocca a qualcuno di quelli che hanno visto abbastanza ridimensionare quelli che invece pensano che il mondo sia loro, anche perchè "nessuno ha l'esclusiva dell'odio in questo paese" e alla fine "è finito il tempo di parlare"
la scrittura è potente e il contenuto anche, molto è stato scritto su questi temi, ma questo è il tipo di romanzo che si ricorda a lungo dopo averlo rimesso sullo scaffale, dove in realtà continua a vibrare d'indignazione e a lanciare il suo monito contro l'oblio e la rimozione delle cose peggiori che si fanno quando si ritiene di averne il diritto...
July 29, 2022
A brilliant contemporary western that subtly carves open the dark heart of America's past and present. Everett manages to simultaneously weave a gripping story, paint a delicate picture of a harsh place, and tell us something profound about the nature of a country built on blood and genocide. A great novel.
April 26, 2018
Beautiful and painful all at the same time.
December 28, 2012
Of all my brilliant, lit-appreciative friends who haven't read Percival Everett, I have one question: Why in hell haven't you read Percival Everett?! Seriously, don't put it off any longer. Contact me if you're interested and need suggestions of entry points.
January 2, 2015
The writing was fantastic - slow and deliberate and descriptive. I found myself wanting to hurry the author on so we could get to the resolution or the next issue or just *on*. The pace fit the main character though and the story wasn't as obvious as I thought it would be. A great read which could've continued for many more chapters in my opinion but was still fantastic ending as it did.
March 2, 2008
Percival Everett is one of my favorite authors and this book was just as good as I had hoped it would be. I fell in love with the characters and I thought that most of the story had a wonderful ambling pace.
A few days ago I got off at my subway stop and kept reading 'Wounded' while I was walking up the stairs and out of the subway. I heard this guy next to me gasp and I stopped just before I walked face-first into big metal beam. So I was nearly wounded while reading Wounded - ha.
There were a few parts in the book that were so shamelessly romantic and goofy that it kind of made me blush. It took me off guard, but Everette made it seem genuine.
Though I really liked the book, I think in some ways the story bites off more conflict than it can chew. The 'bad guy' characters felt flat and cartoonish to me, like an easy way to explain complex societal tensions gone awry. I wanted the book to taper off but instead it came to an abrupt halt.
A few days ago I got off at my subway stop and kept reading 'Wounded' while I was walking up the stairs and out of the subway. I heard this guy next to me gasp and I stopped just before I walked face-first into big metal beam. So I was nearly wounded while reading Wounded - ha.
There were a few parts in the book that were so shamelessly romantic and goofy that it kind of made me blush. It took me off guard, but Everette made it seem genuine.
Though I really liked the book, I think in some ways the story bites off more conflict than it can chew. The 'bad guy' characters felt flat and cartoonish to me, like an easy way to explain complex societal tensions gone awry. I wanted the book to taper off but instead it came to an abrupt halt.
November 8, 2007
Percival Everett returns marvelously to form after his mis-step with _American Desert_. Incredibly spare prose and dialogue matches both the western feel of the plot's locale and lends the novel its essential pacing. That efficiency also places Everett's usual (and almost always wonderful) satirical voice aside in favor of a more humane humour that then itself steps aside before the novel's touching climax and skewed, tragic ending.
October 29, 2010
A warm but gritty book about a reluctant horse trainer saving lives and kicking ass.
November 9, 2017
Predictable, but exceptional nevertheless.
March 1, 2024
Black cowboys, gays, horses. Perfect
July 14, 2023
It seems to be the season when I finally track down a copy of a work by a man of color that is centered, in one way or another, around queerness. Gay men, more specifically, approached in a way that, in one way or another, is not your wholesome, cinnamon roll, perfect representation in any way variety that certain sectors of the modern day publishing market strive for (to varying degrees of reader-friendly effect). I'm certainly not one for sanitized puritanisms, but as was the case with Chee's Edinburgh, representation in the form of what serves as fodder for the gore porn fanatics has its place and time, and wrestling with the behemoth of the health industry on the question of gender hormone therapy as I currently am, I don't exactly need reminders of what could potentially await me once my appearance stops being so stereotypically gendered. So, while I did very much like this narrative when it first started out and even when it increasingly complicated itself, I saw where it would conventionally go a mile away, and wasn't thrilled to be proved correct in the conclusion. As such, I'll be giving out a three star, but I really would have preferred to have been wrong with a higher rating than right with a lower.
What, exactly, is a queer awakening? When I was young, the definition most palatable to mainstream news was the secret homosexual with violent homophobic tendencies, the assaulter and the victim frozen in an instance with no future, no past, only the frenzied dance that implied that both came from sin, both had it coming. Since then, I've been slowly but steadily incentivized to seek out the multifariousness of self-discovery, and my knowledge of both the realities and the kyriarchies that press down on them have given me far greater expectations of any writer that seeks to turn one portion or another of the facts into a serviceable narrative. The beginning of this work was promising, and in all honesty reminded me of the onset of the recent film 'Nope', which also offered a fully fleshed (if more menacing straight from the get go) view of Black cowboys in the US before diving into its respective conflict. Things went along, characters developed, and I was settling into something that was hardly 'uwu pweciousness' when it came to queerness, but did show a lot of humans going around and exploring the world and each other with sufficient critical awareness to make something that engaged without resorting to the sensational. Of course, that didn't last, and while the way the work ended technically passes as functional, it still felt closer to a cop out than anything else, especially when compared to integrity of everything that came before it. As such, I'm glad I was able to finally track this down, and I still have an abiding interesting in reading more of Everett. I just would have preferred that this did something with itself that didn't rely so much on a final burst of shock factor.
Time continues forever apace, and more and more I find myself contemplating starting a truly monstrous doorstopper just to slow the frequency at which I find myself once again staring at the blank space of a review box. Still, the many 200-300 pagers that have been on my TBR for a decade or more insist upon themselves, and this is one that I'll admit I was surprised to find at a library after all this time. The last work of its kind I read, I stated my suspicion that I had come to the read too late. For this particular read, I'm not sure if there would have been a better time to come to it: the sensitivities that made me deeply appreciate the work from its onset to near its conclusion are the same ones that made me so deflated at the culmination of the closure, and there's no pulling apart the appreciation of the humanization from the disappointment in the shock and awe. In any case, Everett's latest, well popularized and well rated compared to the entirety of the rest of his bibliography, currently rests on the shelves of my workplace, so I wouldn't at least have to look very far the next time I'm in the mood to give him a try. In terms of what I'll likely be looking for that next time, I suppose it'll be a tale of the twist of the knife that doesn't quite kill, that doesn't quite save, that doesn't quite shield the characters from self-reflexivity, chagrin and other breeds of mortal banalities. Or as Russ said, of fights in which people are neither painlessly killed nor painlessly fixed up but linger and die—slowly—or heal—slowly.
What, exactly, is a queer awakening? When I was young, the definition most palatable to mainstream news was the secret homosexual with violent homophobic tendencies, the assaulter and the victim frozen in an instance with no future, no past, only the frenzied dance that implied that both came from sin, both had it coming. Since then, I've been slowly but steadily incentivized to seek out the multifariousness of self-discovery, and my knowledge of both the realities and the kyriarchies that press down on them have given me far greater expectations of any writer that seeks to turn one portion or another of the facts into a serviceable narrative. The beginning of this work was promising, and in all honesty reminded me of the onset of the recent film 'Nope', which also offered a fully fleshed (if more menacing straight from the get go) view of Black cowboys in the US before diving into its respective conflict. Things went along, characters developed, and I was settling into something that was hardly 'uwu pweciousness' when it came to queerness, but did show a lot of humans going around and exploring the world and each other with sufficient critical awareness to make something that engaged without resorting to the sensational. Of course, that didn't last, and while the way the work ended technically passes as functional, it still felt closer to a cop out than anything else, especially when compared to integrity of everything that came before it. As such, I'm glad I was able to finally track this down, and I still have an abiding interesting in reading more of Everett. I just would have preferred that this did something with itself that didn't rely so much on a final burst of shock factor.
Time continues forever apace, and more and more I find myself contemplating starting a truly monstrous doorstopper just to slow the frequency at which I find myself once again staring at the blank space of a review box. Still, the many 200-300 pagers that have been on my TBR for a decade or more insist upon themselves, and this is one that I'll admit I was surprised to find at a library after all this time. The last work of its kind I read, I stated my suspicion that I had come to the read too late. For this particular read, I'm not sure if there would have been a better time to come to it: the sensitivities that made me deeply appreciate the work from its onset to near its conclusion are the same ones that made me so deflated at the culmination of the closure, and there's no pulling apart the appreciation of the humanization from the disappointment in the shock and awe. In any case, Everett's latest, well popularized and well rated compared to the entirety of the rest of his bibliography, currently rests on the shelves of my workplace, so I wouldn't at least have to look very far the next time I'm in the mood to give him a try. In terms of what I'll likely be looking for that next time, I suppose it'll be a tale of the twist of the knife that doesn't quite kill, that doesn't quite save, that doesn't quite shield the characters from self-reflexivity, chagrin and other breeds of mortal banalities. Or as Russ said, of fights in which people are neither painlessly killed nor painlessly fixed up but linger and die—slowly—or heal—slowly.
It's pretty awful, though. You know, people are just animals anymore.
No, they're people. That's the problem.
January 28, 2024
a terrific display of dramatic simplicity. Very much a western, but Everett writing and execution of conflict, pacing, characterization and setting was purposive.
May 22, 2013
Vi capita mai di leggere nemmeno sei righe di un romanzo e capire subito che finirete per amarlo, per sentirne la mancanza quando non lo state leggendo, di soffrire immensamente una volta terminato?
Mi è successo con "Ferito"..
Sono duecento pagine, ma me lo sono "conservato" per due settimane buone.. Un capitolo al giorno, se mi andava bene, altrimenti digiuno forzato!
Agogno questo libro da sempre, saranno anni che lo avevo in wish list! Però non so, il prezzo mi ha fatto sempre tentennare, e il fatto che lo dovessi per forza prendere su Amazon perché a Feltrinelli non c'era mai mi rallentava ulteriormente. Ebbene, poche volte sono stata COSI' felice di aver speso 16 euro!!!
(Ho una notizia formidabile, però: è stato pubblicato in edizione economica dalla Beat da qualche mese.. Quindi non so, dovesse "per sbaglio" capitarvi sott'occhio.. Dategli una chance!)
Dunque.. Cosa ha di speciale questo libro per avermi fatto innamorare?
Sarò sincera, non credo di saperlo descrivere o focalizzare. Forse il modo di scrivere di Everett, che è delicato, lieve, pacato ma allo stesso tempo deciso, incisivo.. (Non chiedetemi come è possibile unire le due cose, ma a me è arrivata questa duplice impressione.. L'ho detto, in fondo, che non ero in grado di descrivere perché mi sia piaciuto!).
Mi ha trasmesso una sorta di calma serafica, di benessere interiore..
Per di più è una storia toccante, giusto per non farsi mancare nulla!
Magari invece mi ha conquistato la storia e l'ambientazione: il Wyoming 'selvaggio' in cui il razzismo verso i neri e verso gli omosessuali dilaga.
O forse il merito è di John Hunt, protagonista e narratore: fa venire voglia di lasciare la propria città, trasferirsi in Wyoming e prendersi cura dei cavalli. E' quello che fa lui, ed è maledettamente bravo, nel farlo.. Giuro che se fossi stata un pizzico meno razionale (e un pizzico più ricca), sarei uscita di casa e mi sarei comprata un cavallo..
La cosa bella in John è che non è perfetto, ma illogicamente (me ne rendo conto) nella sua imperfezione appare perfetto. Un amico, una persona buona, giusta, dolce.. Mi sarebbe piaciuto conoscerlo!
Che poi, guardando il romanzo in modo analitico, probabilmente tutto questo amore e questa tenerezza sono spropositati: quando mi riprendevo dalla mia tranche di adorazione, mi accorgevo ch i dialoghi a volte erano un po' sterili (però se mi chiedeste a bruciapelo come sono i dialoghi, vi risponderei "vivi"!), alcune cose succedono un po' in sordina senza background e alcuni elementi inseriti secondo la nota legge del "A-cavolo-di-cane".
Però niente, mi ha conquistato!!
La quarta di copertina, che ho letto alla fine del libro, recita: "la narrativa è un mezzo, e che qui la suspance non è tanto data da ciò che il lettore non si aspetta che accada, ma dal fatto che accada ciò che il lettore sa perfettamente debba accadere." Mi ha colpito tantissimo, questa frase! Verissima, tralaltro: nel romanzo c'è un senso di attesa e quasi di angoscia per ciò che accadrà.. :')
Tralaltro ho detto di essermi mangiata le mani alla scoperta dell'uscita in edizione economica del libro, ma non è propriamente vero: l'edizione Nutrimenti è meravigliosa, con una copertina in brossura ruvida e un'immagine altamente suggestiva.. In più le pagine del libro sono lisce, spesse e bellissime. Insomma, questo libro è anche una gioia per gli occhi!
"Guarda dove vai, negro", ha detto quello.
Io sono bello che cresciuto e ho una buona capacità di autocontrollo, così l'ho ignorato e sono andato alla Jeep.
"Ho detto: 'Guarda dove vai, negro'.", ha ripetuto e mi ha rifilato una manata alla spalla.
Non mi sono disturbato a spiegare a quella creatura deforme che aveva scelto l'uomo sbagliato nel giorno sbagliato per dire la cosa sbagliata. Se l'avessi fatto, forse non sarebbe rimasto così sorpreso dal sinistro fulmineo che ho fatto partire.
Mi è successo con "Ferito"..
Sono duecento pagine, ma me lo sono "conservato" per due settimane buone.. Un capitolo al giorno, se mi andava bene, altrimenti digiuno forzato!
Agogno questo libro da sempre, saranno anni che lo avevo in wish list! Però non so, il prezzo mi ha fatto sempre tentennare, e il fatto che lo dovessi per forza prendere su Amazon perché a Feltrinelli non c'era mai mi rallentava ulteriormente. Ebbene, poche volte sono stata COSI' felice di aver speso 16 euro!!!
(Ho una notizia formidabile, però: è stato pubblicato in edizione economica dalla Beat da qualche mese.. Quindi non so, dovesse "per sbaglio" capitarvi sott'occhio.. Dategli una chance!)
Dunque.. Cosa ha di speciale questo libro per avermi fatto innamorare?
Sarò sincera, non credo di saperlo descrivere o focalizzare. Forse il modo di scrivere di Everett, che è delicato, lieve, pacato ma allo stesso tempo deciso, incisivo.. (Non chiedetemi come è possibile unire le due cose, ma a me è arrivata questa duplice impressione.. L'ho detto, in fondo, che non ero in grado di descrivere perché mi sia piaciuto!).
Mi ha trasmesso una sorta di calma serafica, di benessere interiore..
Per di più è una storia toccante, giusto per non farsi mancare nulla!
Magari invece mi ha conquistato la storia e l'ambientazione: il Wyoming 'selvaggio' in cui il razzismo verso i neri e verso gli omosessuali dilaga.
O forse il merito è di John Hunt, protagonista e narratore: fa venire voglia di lasciare la propria città, trasferirsi in Wyoming e prendersi cura dei cavalli. E' quello che fa lui, ed è maledettamente bravo, nel farlo.. Giuro che se fossi stata un pizzico meno razionale (e un pizzico più ricca), sarei uscita di casa e mi sarei comprata un cavallo..
La cosa bella in John è che non è perfetto, ma illogicamente (me ne rendo conto) nella sua imperfezione appare perfetto. Un amico, una persona buona, giusta, dolce.. Mi sarebbe piaciuto conoscerlo!
Che poi, guardando il romanzo in modo analitico, probabilmente tutto questo amore e questa tenerezza sono spropositati: quando mi riprendevo dalla mia tranche di adorazione, mi accorgevo ch i dialoghi a volte erano un po' sterili (però se mi chiedeste a bruciapelo come sono i dialoghi, vi risponderei "vivi"!), alcune cose succedono un po' in sordina senza background e alcuni elementi inseriti secondo la nota legge del "A-cavolo-di-cane".
Però niente, mi ha conquistato!!
La quarta di copertina, che ho letto alla fine del libro, recita: "la narrativa è un mezzo, e che qui la suspance non è tanto data da ciò che il lettore non si aspetta che accada, ma dal fatto che accada ciò che il lettore sa perfettamente debba accadere." Mi ha colpito tantissimo, questa frase! Verissima, tralaltro: nel romanzo c'è un senso di attesa e quasi di angoscia per ciò che accadrà.. :')
Tralaltro ho detto di essermi mangiata le mani alla scoperta dell'uscita in edizione economica del libro, ma non è propriamente vero: l'edizione Nutrimenti è meravigliosa, con una copertina in brossura ruvida e un'immagine altamente suggestiva.. In più le pagine del libro sono lisce, spesse e bellissime. Insomma, questo libro è anche una gioia per gli occhi!
"Guarda dove vai, negro", ha detto quello.
Io sono bello che cresciuto e ho una buona capacità di autocontrollo, così l'ho ignorato e sono andato alla Jeep.
"Ho detto: 'Guarda dove vai, negro'.", ha ripetuto e mi ha rifilato una manata alla spalla.
Non mi sono disturbato a spiegare a quella creatura deforme che aveva scelto l'uomo sbagliato nel giorno sbagliato per dire la cosa sbagliata. Se l'avessi fatto, forse non sarebbe rimasto così sorpreso dal sinistro fulmineo che ho fatto partire.
April 10, 2023
Wounded is a modern western about John Hunt, a black rancher/horse trainer in rural Wyoming. He lives with his uncle Gus who spent 11 years in prison for killing his wife's rapist and is now an old man just trying to eat right and live the rest of his days in peace. A local gay man is found beaten to death and that sets off the series of events that make up the story. This book gutted me. It is impeccably written in a sparse, laconic style that doesn't hold the reader's hand. It is left to us to decide why Gus hates the sheriff, why John has a hard time getting close to people, why David's relationship with his father is strained, how the townspeople feel about the redneck bigots who have been making scenes around town, and so on. In barely 200 pages, if we are reading closely, we can find all of these answers and so much more written between the lines. This book was written shortly after the horrific death of Matthew Shepard, the gay University of Wyoming student found beaten to death in 1998, and the book feels like a response to that. There are so many complex things going on here it's almost miraculous how Everett is able to use so few words to convey them. Finally we are left with the understanding that if there is justice to be had for the underclass of this country they are going to have to see to it themselves. For the gay, black, and native at least "Everyplace is the frontier."
January 17, 2020
If I were doing PopSugar this year, I would rejoice at having found such a marvelous Western to read. Though I've skipped that challenge for others closer to my interests, I'm still excited to have read my first novel by Percival Everett. Absolutely a book worth reading.
May 20, 2022
** 3.75 stars **
Unique take on a Western starring a black rancher named John and his uncle Gus in Wyoming. John finds himself in the middle of a wave of hate-crimes happening in the area, especially after the son of an old friend comes to stay with him for a while.
Starts off slow (which I actually found myself enjoying) and definitely starts to feel contrived once the old friend (Howard) comes to visit and see his son. The book also ends quite abruptly without much in the way of resolution. Still, I enjoyed it overall and found it fairly engaging. Will probably try Everett's Western-themed short story collection Half an Inch of Water at some point.
Would recommend if you like stories with a Western setting or in small towns where most people know one another, novels with a lone wolf protagonist who has a heart of gold, or books that play with genre conventions.
Unique take on a Western starring a black rancher named John and his uncle Gus in Wyoming. John finds himself in the middle of a wave of hate-crimes happening in the area, especially after the son of an old friend comes to stay with him for a while.
Starts off slow (which I actually found myself enjoying) and definitely starts to feel contrived once the old friend (Howard) comes to visit and see his son. The book also ends quite abruptly without much in the way of resolution. Still, I enjoyed it overall and found it fairly engaging. Will probably try Everett's Western-themed short story collection Half an Inch of Water at some point.
Would recommend if you like stories with a Western setting or in small towns where most people know one another, novels with a lone wolf protagonist who has a heart of gold, or books that play with genre conventions.
June 18, 2023
This is the story of John, a black cowboy, who trains horses on his ranch. His wife had died several years before and he has had his uncle Gus living with him ever since. Things have begun changing for him because he has recently fallen in love with a woman named Morgan and is contemplating marriage. At first the story is mostly about him dealing with being a black man living in a mostly white cowboy world but then the gay son of a college friend comes to stay with him and, about the same time, a couple of redneck nazi's come into town. This all leads to some major events that totally disrupt his normally quiet life. Another excellent book by Everett.
November 5, 2023
Brutal. Heart punch.
December 27, 2012
I picked this up because I met the man once. I liked him fine. When I was browsing the shelf the other day for something to read and I realized I hadn't yet read this, I skimmed the first couple of chapters and liked the narrative device he starts with, so I grabbed it and tucked in for some solid fiction.
Unfortunately, Everett drops that interesting device quickly, and the rest of the book is a downhill slide into quick, sloppy storytelling, full of cliches, exposition, and rushed plot. The setting is beautiful and the themes explored are important, but I kept feeling like Everett was forcing the issues he wanted to address into the book, trying to write an essay and winding up with a novel or vice versa. The result gets so progressively unpolished that I can't help but feel as though he started out with a great idea and a solid few chapters and then, out of steam or under deadline, hurried through the rest of the draft and fired it off to the publishers without so much as a proofread. There are moments, in back-to-back chapters, where characters actually repeat and contradict themselves, as though Everett had moved whole conversations from one scene to another but forgot to delete the first-draft version. That the novel got put into print in so rough a form -- and by Graywolf, a press I admire -- is shocking.
It's not a bad book (I've certainly read worse), but given the expectations I have of Everett and of Graywolf Press, this novel is sorely disappointing.
Unfortunately, Everett drops that interesting device quickly, and the rest of the book is a downhill slide into quick, sloppy storytelling, full of cliches, exposition, and rushed plot. The setting is beautiful and the themes explored are important, but I kept feeling like Everett was forcing the issues he wanted to address into the book, trying to write an essay and winding up with a novel or vice versa. The result gets so progressively unpolished that I can't help but feel as though he started out with a great idea and a solid few chapters and then, out of steam or under deadline, hurried through the rest of the draft and fired it off to the publishers without so much as a proofread. There are moments, in back-to-back chapters, where characters actually repeat and contradict themselves, as though Everett had moved whole conversations from one scene to another but forgot to delete the first-draft version. That the novel got put into print in so rough a form -- and by Graywolf, a press I admire -- is shocking.
It's not a bad book (I've certainly read worse), but given the expectations I have of Everett and of Graywolf Press, this novel is sorely disappointing.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 137 reviews