“Council moved about uneasily in his
seat and stopped his stammering gratitude by saying: "Hold on, now; don't
make such a fuss over a little thing. When I see a man down, an' things all on
top of 'm, I jest like t' kick 'em off an' help 'm up. That's the kind of
religion I got, an' it's about the only kind."
They rode the rest of the way home in
silence. And when the red light of the lamp shone out into the darkness of the
cold and windy night, and he thought of this refuge for his children and wife,
Haskins could have put his arm around the neck of his burly companion and
squeezed him like a lover. But he contented himself with saying, "Steve
Council, you'll git y'r pay f'r this some day."
"Don't want any pay. My religion
ain't run on such business principles."
Written in
1891 by Hamlin Garland, this cycle of short-stories, some linked by locale some
not, all take place in small farming communities. The sense of place is strong,
the drawing of humanity is beautiful. It reminds me of Sinclair Lewis’ Main Street but without the narrative
tricks to get in the way of the emotion.
Speaking of…the
emotions here are deep and…if there is a flaw, it is that they almost always
lead to sadness. Deep sadness of unrequited love, lost opportunities, crushing
defeat. The writing is strong as I felt much of this to my core and that’s good
art. But it is somewhat depressing with there being perhaps two stories total
that are upbeat.
Superlative craft,
but I always opened the book with a sigh.
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