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A review by starsal
Horse Heaven by Jane Smiley
4.0
This is a lovely fat book, populated with well-drawn characters both human and equine. (And in one glorious case, canine.) What it is not, is a plot-driven book. There isn’t much of what one would call “action.” However, that is fine with me. I much prefer story to plot, and there’s more than enough of that to keep the book moving forward. This is a very organic book. It chronicles the lives of a handful of people as they intersect, weave, meander, and move through one another. It’s also an honest look at the world of horses.
Horse competition, in most of its athletic forms, is a field riddled with contradictions. Many of the humans involved in these endeavors truly love horses. Their lives revolve around and their spirits are refreshed by the equine personalities all around them. In the book, this is captured, by Deirdre, Dick, Farley (sidebar: Is it possible to have a character named Farley in a book as horsey as this and not conjure up Black Stallion associations?), Roberto, Audrey, and Tiffany. These people are fueled by horses, and would do anything to be around them. Then there are people, like Rosalind (at least early in the book) and Al, who appreciate the horses, but more as symbols of something else: power, wealth, or prestige. And then there are people like Buddy and that horrible vet whose name I can’t at the moment recall, who are actively using horses as inanimate objects to fuel their own ends. The tragedy is that this third group is just as influential, if not more, in the horse world as the first group. And thus, the horse-centered activities aren’t always—or even often—activities that are actually beneficial for the horses.
The idea of horse racing is very simple: which, of a group of horses, is the fastest. But it quickly becomes far more complicated than that. You start taking into account different distances and track materials, different types of courses. You start bringing to bear varied nutritional and training routines. You get into the gray are of drugs and therapies of dubious efficacy, ethicality, and legality. You get into those gray areas pretty darn fast. And, if you’re a horse-lover employed by someone who doesn’t have the best interest of the horses at heart (for any reason at all) you’re without question going to end up doing things you’re not proud of, if you want to live your lift near these horses. You end up hurting the very heart of your job and your life.
Other reviewers have mentioned that the animal abuse in this book went unnoticed. I would fiercely disagree. Smiley didn’t write straightforward diatribes against it. But she did clearly and explicitly point it out, without lingering or interpreting, and then let her characters’ own thoughts, actions, and agonies, speak for themselves. Every character in this book is dealing, in their way, with this central struggle. They’re all dealing with mistreatment and abandonment of horses, and the fact that these horses, legally, are treated as disposable commodities, not people with inherent rights to existence and a minimal quality of life, and the fact that these animals were deliberately created, deliberately inbred, to the end of being perfect running machines. Smiley drives this point home repeatedly, but subtly, through her characters rather than through straight narrative condemnation.
In their way, many of the trainers, jockeys, breeders, and managers in this book are in the same position as orca trainers at Sea World. To be close to the animal they love, they have to hurt it. Such a situation takes a level of cognitive dissonance that isn’t often sustainable in the non-delusional. These people either have to come to terms with their world, make efforts to change it, leave it, or ignore the discrepancy altogether. The tragedy is that this has to happen at all when, in a more regulated world that cared more for the welfare of the horses, horse-lovers could work with horse athletes with no more guilt than a coach works with an NBA player.
The horses in the book, Thoroughbred, were bred to run. Many of them clearly love it. But they’re also horrifically inbred (I love that Smiley takes it as written than we all know about the cheetah bottleneck, and how they’re all close as twins). The rigors of the sport tax their bodies and leave them prematurely aged. And then, the very sport that created them, abandons them often to a heartbreaking, grim fate.
This is not in the least a preachy book. You could read it, and enjoy it, as the braided stories of players in the horse world, and the trials and tribulations of life at the track. You could read it as a meditation on modern life. You could read it merely as an engaging story with plenty of wonderful characters to while away an afternoon. It succeeds on all of these levels. But it shines, peerless, as a quiet rebuke, a gentle expose, of the world of horses itself. It gleams with the love of horses and with the desire to do better by them.
Horse competition, in most of its athletic forms, is a field riddled with contradictions. Many of the humans involved in these endeavors truly love horses. Their lives revolve around and their spirits are refreshed by the equine personalities all around them. In the book, this is captured, by Deirdre, Dick, Farley (sidebar: Is it possible to have a character named Farley in a book as horsey as this and not conjure up Black Stallion associations?), Roberto, Audrey, and Tiffany. These people are fueled by horses, and would do anything to be around them. Then there are people, like Rosalind (at least early in the book) and Al, who appreciate the horses, but more as symbols of something else: power, wealth, or prestige. And then there are people like Buddy and that horrible vet whose name I can’t at the moment recall, who are actively using horses as inanimate objects to fuel their own ends. The tragedy is that this third group is just as influential, if not more, in the horse world as the first group. And thus, the horse-centered activities aren’t always—or even often—activities that are actually beneficial for the horses.
The idea of horse racing is very simple: which, of a group of horses, is the fastest. But it quickly becomes far more complicated than that. You start taking into account different distances and track materials, different types of courses. You start bringing to bear varied nutritional and training routines. You get into the gray are of drugs and therapies of dubious efficacy, ethicality, and legality. You get into those gray areas pretty darn fast. And, if you’re a horse-lover employed by someone who doesn’t have the best interest of the horses at heart (for any reason at all) you’re without question going to end up doing things you’re not proud of, if you want to live your lift near these horses. You end up hurting the very heart of your job and your life.
Other reviewers have mentioned that the animal abuse in this book went unnoticed. I would fiercely disagree. Smiley didn’t write straightforward diatribes against it. But she did clearly and explicitly point it out, without lingering or interpreting, and then let her characters’ own thoughts, actions, and agonies, speak for themselves. Every character in this book is dealing, in their way, with this central struggle. They’re all dealing with mistreatment and abandonment of horses, and the fact that these horses, legally, are treated as disposable commodities, not people with inherent rights to existence and a minimal quality of life, and the fact that these animals were deliberately created, deliberately inbred, to the end of being perfect running machines. Smiley drives this point home repeatedly, but subtly, through her characters rather than through straight narrative condemnation.
In their way, many of the trainers, jockeys, breeders, and managers in this book are in the same position as orca trainers at Sea World. To be close to the animal they love, they have to hurt it. Such a situation takes a level of cognitive dissonance that isn’t often sustainable in the non-delusional. These people either have to come to terms with their world, make efforts to change it, leave it, or ignore the discrepancy altogether. The tragedy is that this has to happen at all when, in a more regulated world that cared more for the welfare of the horses, horse-lovers could work with horse athletes with no more guilt than a coach works with an NBA player.
The horses in the book, Thoroughbred, were bred to run. Many of them clearly love it. But they’re also horrifically inbred (I love that Smiley takes it as written than we all know about the cheetah bottleneck, and how they’re all close as twins). The rigors of the sport tax their bodies and leave them prematurely aged. And then, the very sport that created them, abandons them often to a heartbreaking, grim fate.
This is not in the least a preachy book. You could read it, and enjoy it, as the braided stories of players in the horse world, and the trials and tribulations of life at the track. You could read it as a meditation on modern life. You could read it merely as an engaging story with plenty of wonderful characters to while away an afternoon. It succeeds on all of these levels. But it shines, peerless, as a quiet rebuke, a gentle expose, of the world of horses itself. It gleams with the love of horses and with the desire to do better by them.