It’s no secret ’round these parts that I think Wendell Berry is a genius. I have loved both of his novels that I read over the past few years. Jayber Crow (linked to my review) was my first encounter with Berry, and I was captivated. I went on to read Hannah Coulter (linked to my review) and loved it just as much. I expected to love Nathan Coulter as much; in fact, I expected to learn more about this second husband of Hannah’s that would somehow illuminate their life together. While I can’t say that I was disappointed by the novel (Berry’s writing could never disappoint me), I was a less than enthralled by the story. The overall tone of the story is subdued. The story covers a few years of Nathan’s childhood, so Hannah doesn’t figure into the story at all. I found Nathan’s and Brother’s relationship with their father depressing; after their mother’s death, they move in with their grandparents and have little more than a working relationship with him as they tend the farmland together. It took me a while to read this book, even though it is very short at just over a hundred pages in length. I think I was never in any real hurry to get back to it, but I didn’t not like it enough to abandon it altogether.
I don’t want to do this story an injustice in this review, so now that I’ve expressed some of the reasons why I didn’t like it, I will now focus on the parts I did like. Something kept me reading it, after all.
First, there’s the writing. Wendell Berry’s writing in this novel is just beautiful. Much of this novel is description, and I can’t think of anyone who does it better. This is a word-picture of Nathan’s grandfather:
He always hurried, even across a room, setting his feet down hard. You could never imagine him turning around and going the other way. When he walked through the house he made the dishes rattle in the kitchen cabinet, and you half expected to find his tracks sunk into the floor. He was tall and learn, his face crossed with wrinkles. His hair was white and it hung in his eyes most of the time when he wasn’t wearing a hat, because he didn’t use a comb for anything but to scratch his head. His nose crooked like a hawk’s and his eyes were pale and blue. (21)
The brightest spot in the story is the presence of Nathan’s uncle, Burley Coulter. Burley Coulter is a very memorable character, a part of the Port William membership who also appears in Jayber Crow and Hannah Coulter. There’s a vignette in Nathan Coulter about Nathan and Burley catching a whopper of a catfish; the story of this catfish turns into a true “fish tale,” and before it’s all said and done, even Burley is tired of the ruckus it has caused. The story is brilliantly executed, and I was reminded of my own uncles and cousins (and even, to an extent, my own father) who loved to fish. I was surrounded by fishermen growing up, and reading of jigs and lines and all night fishing trips was familiar and enjoyable for me.
Still, Berry captures the essence of thickskinned and pigheaded masculinity in this story, I think, and perhaps that’s why I have a hard time loving it. There’s not much redeeming about the stubbornness of the Coulter men’s relationships with one another, with the exception of Burley, who seems to make a joke of everything. Nathan and Brother make a game out of “passing” their father while working the tobacco fields, just like their father and Burley had done with their grandfather. However, it is a serious game, this stuff of coming into manhood, and it’s not exactly a joyous legacy:
And Brother and I had thought about it and talked about it between ourselves. In a way passing him would be the finest thing we could do, and the thing we could be proudest of. But in another way it would be bad, because it would kill him to have to get out of the way for anybody. We’d told each other that we might never do it, even when we were able, because of that. And both of us knew that if the time ever came it would be a hard thing to do, and a risky one. Once we’d passed him we could never be behind again. We’d have to stay in front, and it was a lonely and troublesome place. (92)
I suppose the bottom line is I love how the story is told; I just don’t love the story. I understand that Nathan Coulter is one of the first Port William novels. Perhaps this explains the almost episodic feel to it; there are stories, but they are interspersed with stretches of description, etc. These stories remind me of Rick Bragg’s, at least a little. I think if you like Berry you would like Bragg. I’ve read All Over but the Shoutin’ and Ava’s Man and reviewed them here. Click the links and you can read my reviews, which include quotations, for a taste of Bragg.
Reviews Elsewhere:
- Lines in Pleasant Places
- literaLee
- Lines from the Page (This one has some good suggestions in the comments as to the next WB novel to try. I think I might pick up Andy Catlett next.)
This is Berry’s first novel (or rather a revision of it, about a third shorter than the original, which is nearly impossible to find now), and I may have mentioned before that it’s my least favorite. So grim, and lacking in any tempering feminine presence at all. I understand your response.
Janet, why was this novel revised so much (or maybe I should say shortened so much)? It feels incomplete, almost like a series of short stories and descriptive essays.
Sounds good – you write a great review!
Thanks, Becky! I’d recommend starting with one of Berry’s other novels first, though.
Hi Amy,
Berry is an extensive reviser, and it becomes very hard to find the originals once the revisions have been issued. (I only have them because my diss director was so skilled at finding such things.) With these earlier books, he didn’t know he’d be returning to these characters, so it’s at least partly a matter of rewriting or removing the things that end up being out of character in light of the later books. (In the original NC, for instance, Nathan has an affair.) He’s said too that in general, some of what he wrote as a young man sounds “callow” to him as an older man looking back. (That’s something I can understand!)
The original NC has some additional episodes, but they don’t really change that essential grimness. I think part of the disjointed feeling is that Berry is playing with point of view in a young narrator who’s observant but has a lot of maturing to do.
On a totally unliterary, gut impulse note: I hate the episode with the pet crow in this book. 🙁
Thanks, Janet,for@ coming back to explain! It’s wonderful to have a bloggy buddy who’s an expert! :-). I also hated the pet crow episode and actually thought it out of character for Berry as a writer (if that makes sense). Of course, I guess sometimes writers must “allow” their characters to do things they themselves don’t necessarily like.
“Expert.” (cringe)
Am I a pompous windbag?
Janet,
You, a pompous windbag?!?!? Perish the thought! 🙂
Thank you for this review. I fell in love with Berry after reading That Distant Land and have accumulated several of his novels since then. Haven’t read Nathan Coulter yet, but am glad to have your perspective on it.
I just had That Distant Land delivered to my doorstep yesterday; I’m looking forward to digging in!
I need to decide which Berry novel to read next. I loved Hannah Coulter and Jayber Crow, but I haven’t read any others. I think I was waiting to treat myself. I picked up one that I thought was a novel, can’t remember the title, but realized it was a series of short stories or vignettes and lost interest. I don’t like short stories.
Nathan Coulter was my (unfortunate) first experience with Wendell Berry. This was my reaction, way back then: http://ukrakovianki.blogspot.com/2006/12/nathan-coulter-by-wendell-berry.html
I’ve since read several other books, including the wonderful Jayber Crow, but this wasn’t one to cause much joy.