It is a small world, the one made up of cutting horses and their lovers, but novelist McGuane (Nothing But Blue Skies, 1992, etc.) invests it with such urgent purpose and unimagined beauty, even the most horse-shy will feel the pull of its attraction. McGuane lives on a ranch in Montana where horses have always been a part of the landscape. This small collection of eight essays speaks of those horses, the ones that he just kicked around with (“I am a wanderer in any case but I prefer inarticulate companionship”), others that shared with him candent moments hunting, where “man and horse and dog, birds and forest coalesce into something of duration.” Mostly, though, what has caught McGuane’s fancy, indeed, what has McGuane wrapped around its hoof, is the cutting horse—a horse trained to weed a single animal, a cow, say, out of a herd. He relates, in the clackity music of bright, spare, yet melodic prose, the horse’s history, the mechanics of its work, how the better trainers handle them (there is a terrific chapter on McGuane’s tutelage under the resolute and inspired hands of trainer Buster Welch). He appreciates the “eye-of-the-storm” style that marks the competent rider; the horse’s alertness to space, shape, smell, and light; how a horse imposes its moods and ways on us; the unadorned pleasure of watching the best cutters doing what almost comes naturally. Then there is the suspect character of the horses; McGuane, perhaps out of envy, likes them on the wild side, full of “chaotic personal ideas.” With more than a hint of pride he will say of a horse “the only safe place is on his back,” then he can get wistful—like a besotted protective daddy—over the birth of a sorrel filly in the corral of his high valley home. Horses have taken McGuane home off wild stormy mountains in more ways than one. This book is a payback, an inclusive horse-hug, a humble confession of love, a thing—like its subject—of spare beauty.
Pub Date: June 1, 1999
ISBN: 1-55821-891-2
Page Count: 144
Publisher: Lyons Press
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 1999
Nine innings' worth of baseball as Big Business, by Sullivan (The Minors, 1990, etc.). Baseball, argues Sullivan, is not the eternal cathedral of Field of Dreams, but rather a boisterous, bickering marketplace. The sport evolves along with the nation, he contends, and here he charts its changes and makes suggestions to secure baseball's future. Racism, the author believes, is gone from the field, but he urges owners to hire more black executives before black fans turn elsewhere in disgust. Sullivan counsels against moving teams to new cities, a maneuver that almost always backfires, and urges better management instead. He finds the stadiums of the 60's and 70's to be ``uniform utilitarian mediocrities,'' with the notable exception of Dodger Stadium, built with private funds. In a cheerier vein, he argues convincingly that league expansion doesn't dilute the quality of play (the US population, and thus the pool of available players, grows faster than baseball can handle). Sullivan sees a bright future for cable broadcasting and imagines futuristic developments like cameras secreted in the pitcher's uniform or tickets spewed out by home computers. He admonishes owners to share revenue decisions with players and urges a reassessment of baseball's romance with beer. Dull and scattered: a grab bag without a drawstring to hold it together. Sullivan offers intelligent advice, but only team owners and managers need take time out to listen. (Eight pages of b&w photos—not seen.)
Pub Date: July 20, 1992
ISBN: 0-312-07723-8
Page Count: 272
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 1992
A pedestrian stroll down memory lane from a longtime quail hunter and outdoor writer. Vance has pursued bobs—bobwhite quail—for nearly 50 years. No fancy-pants plantation shoots with catered lunches for this nimrod: He's a blue-collar hunter, a brush-buster, ``the guy who gets restless on a Sunday afternoon drabbed by spitting sleet, calls the dog, and heads out for a miserable one-hour hunt before dark because the season is winding down and we never know how many seasons are left.'' Merely an average shot, Vance attributes his bird-finding prowess to outwalking lazier hunters. To this useful, if not earthshaking tactical tip, he adds advice on everything from the perfect quail gun to the best dog snack for field trips (along with the obligatory wry comments on dog training, shooting etiquette, and camp cooking). Vance, who writes a conservation column for Wing & Shot and contributes regularly to the Missouri Conservationist, is most substantive and eloquent when he concentrates on the big eco-picture. He bemoans slash-and-burn farming that diminishes wildlife habitat. He outlines the latest research by wildlife biologists who, armed with electronic monitoring equipment, are providing habitat management insights needed to reverse the species's ongoing decline while giving hunters information about quail habits (and some sobering news about the effectiveness of their bird dogs). Firmly rooted in the old-crank school of sportswriting, Vance stands ever ready to deflate pomposity (usually with good humor) in hunters and antihunters alike, but he harbors a deep streak of sentimentality regarding old dogs and old haunts. His magazine background shows—this ultimately feels like a collection of articles rather than a cohesive book. A mixed bag of how-to tips and misty memories.
Pub Date: July 15, 1997
ISBN: 1-55821-588-3
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Lyons Press
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 1997
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