Sunday, 29 March 2009

17. Annie Proulx, Bad Dirt

Taking some advice from SuperLibryGyrl, I'm warming up for some writing with, appropriately enough, some short stories.

For me, short stories are either something to do with SF or have some natty, Somerset Maughan twist. Oh, or are some sort of slice or snapshot of a rather beat up and sad, Carver-eque life. And AP seems to have covered most of the bases here: a worm-hole leading National Park malefactors to Hell. Check. The bad dirt of a ranch owned (and owned is the word here) by a rugged, divorced, and taciturn rancher at a moment of bitter sweet victory. Check. A glimse of a loveless, sexless (with the marrieds) marriage. Check. Etc.

And lots of neat little lines:
Mitchell Fair and his wife, Eugenie, sped over the whiskey-colored plains in their aging Infiniti, "cutting prairie," said Mitchell under his breath, thinking it sounded western.
Is one of the underplayed ones. And everyone has a great name. Plus, Brokeback Mountain was on the TV last night.

A Proulx seems to have broken this year's book-reading curse, with a bunch of stories that fizz like a lemon sorbet (not something you'd get in Wyoming, mind). Enough to make me ignore recent Carver-esque snaffus.

1 comment: