susanlarsonauthor

The pretty good books of Susan Larson


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How People Talk in “Sam (a pastoral)”

“They All Sound So Real!”

 

Several of my readers have remarked to me that the conversations in “Sam (a pastoral)” sound as if ‘real people were talking.’  I am really flattered when they say that! And I think it’s true.

 

I spent a lot of time listening to my neighbors Upstate in Sam-Land.  These good folks had a huge repertory of epic tales about farming, hunting, and the crazy things that they or other people had done. Their language was rich and antique, their comic timing was gorgeous, and if they repeated themselves over the years, that was just fine with me.

 

The characters in “Sam” are based on many of these fine folks. I am especially indebted to a venerable patriarch, a tart-tongued farmer’s wife, an elfin farm child, and a series of Zen Master farriers.

 

 I have their wonderful styles of talking stuck firmly in my mind’s ear, and I did my best to write them down in “Sam.” The book, with a few exceptions, is fiction, but the flavor and the savor of the talk is true as true.

 

I was also familiar with the wise and foolish sayings of my poor parents, as they struggled to make sense of their lives and of their children. I adopted their style of verbal flailing at their mulishly ungovernable offspring, and used it for my Mom and Dad characters; but I firmly state that, except for a few instances, my actual parents are innocent of any of the wild doings in “Sam.”

 

Sam himself has many things to say, which I have translated into English for the reader. He was extremely communicative and had lots of opinions. He expressed himself in pantomime, and also with grunts or moans of bliss, sighs of resignation, and his own patented lip-popping, which he used to express his frustration at not being allowed to gallop. We called this phenomenon “Mupping,” and still make the sound ourselves when we are annoyed beyond words.       

 

 

 

 


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“I Wish you were Somebody Else”

These words may be the  most murderous message one can deliver to another human being.  In “Sam (a pastoral)” my novel about horses and humans, those words are never said. But the protagonist, Ruthie gets a the unspoken signal from her Dad: he would have liked a better kid than the one he got.

When I was young, many folks thought that being harsh and judgmental with your children was something you did ‘for their own good.’ Belittling your kids was supposed to toughen them up for the inevitable hard knocks awaiting them in the real world.  Cuddling them produced adults who were soft, gay, dependent on food stamps, whatever. Today, at least among liberal thinkers, what was once a popular child-rearing method is called ‘abuse.’

In “Sam” there is a quiet, bucolic chapter called ‘At the Horse Show.’ In this chapter Ruthie, having bought the homely, cranky horse Sam, leaves him snoozing in the barn and goes to see a local horse show.  She is happy because she  is no longer jealous of kids who own horses – she has a horse now too, and he is wonderful in so many ways.

She forgets all those wonderful ways the moment she sees the pretty, graceful, shiny ponies the other kids have: their braided manes, dainty feet and sleek clipped coats. The ponies she used to dream about; just better in every way than hers.

She goes home and tries to pretty Sam up. She trims the mops of hair off his fetlocks. She cuts off his beard and whiskers. She braids his mane and hacks off half the hair on his tail, trying desperately to turn him into some other horse; but Sam is still Sam.  By the end of this fruitless makeover session, which Sam enjoys immensely, she figures something out: Sam is OK just the way he is.

Later in the book, there is a deeper echo of this story, as Ruthie and Bea Pilcher sit in Bea’s kitchen talking about the breakup of Ruthie’s family, and the terrible rage that has devoured her life ever since.  Bea reaches over and pats Ruthie’s hair and tells her she wished she had a kid like her.

This is the beginning of Ruthie’s return to herself. Somebody has said to her,  ‘you may be in a bad place right now, but you, as a person, are OK just they way you are.’


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Horse Interviews Human

During the week of Dec 9-13k that “Sam” is running free on Kindle (there’s an image!) Sam has graciously consented to  interview his biographer, me.

S: Why did you take so long bringing my biography to the waiting world?
B: Cut me some slack, I was singing opera and stuff.
S: Why are there so many human beings hogging the attention? I don’t think you put me into enough scenes.
B: You have the title role. You  had a large circle of acquaintance, people you liked. People you hated.  I needed to stuff them all in.

S: What inspired you to write this poignant and tender book?
b: You did.
S: And what were your major influences?
B: You were.
S: No, I mean your literary influences.
B: Early influences areAnna Sewell, who wrote Black Beauty, Felix Salten, who wrote Bambi, and  L. Frank Baum, who wrote about a talking horse named ‘Stampedro’ in “The Yellow Knight of Oz.”  Stampedro, like you, was cantankerous.  I am very fond of Jane Smiley’s “Horse Heaven.” These are all stories where the animals talk.
S: How does my biography compare with these classic works of literature?
B: Well, you talk too.  Are you trying to embarrass me in public?
S: Sorrrry. I just want to be immortal, like Black Beauty, Is that too much to ask?
What was it like when we met for the first time?
B: You were not what I expected. I was expecting a pony.
S: Well you weren’t what I expected either. I was expecting to go to, you know, to the Alpo factory.  So how did we join up?
B: We had a lot in common. We were stubborn and mistrustful at first. It could easily have gone the other way.
S: You were a considerate rider though, from the start.  I always appreciate  it when humans want me to do something, that they ask me nice. I don’t like being bullied, you know?

B: I have an aversion to that myself. But I remember trying to bully you a few times, when I lost my temper.
S: And how did that work out?