Scan barcode
A review by book_concierge
Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins
2.0
Book on CD read by Michael Nouri
From the book jacket: The whooping crane rustlers are girls. Young girls. Cowgirls, as a matter of fact, all “bursting with dimples and hormones”—and the FBI has never seen anything quite like them. Yet their rebellion at the Rubber Rose Ranch is almost overshadowed by the arrival of the legendary Sissy Hankshaw, a white-trash goddess literally born to hitchhike, and the freest female of them all.
My Reactions
The last time (which was also the first time) I read anything by Tom Robbins was in 2002. It was for my F2F book club, or I don’t think I would have picked it up on my own. I vaguely remembered it was a strange plot but I enjoyed the writing style. My reactions to his writing haven’t changed.
Robbins writes ridiculously absurd storylines, interspersed with long discourses on philosophy, religion, history, etc. His characters are bigger than life and virtually all of them have some unique quirk – physical or philosophical. The “stars” of this novel are Sissy (born with extraordinarily large thumbs, perfect for hitchhiking), the Countess (a man whose business empire is built on feminine hygiene products), Bonanza Jellybean (a teenage cowgirl on the Rubber Rose Ranch), and the Chink (a Japanese American who has befriended the Native American clock people and become a sort of guru to a variety of hippie pilgrims). Oh, and let’s not forget the whooping cranes who stop at Siwash Lake on the Rubber Rose Ranch on their way to and from their traditional winter and summer nesting grounds.
If you’re having trouble figuring out how such a diverse cast could come together in a coherent plot, well, stop trying. You’ll just give yourself a headache. Robbins is nothing if not inventive in his plotting. Where his writing shines, though is in his wild descriptions / similes. A few examples:
The breeze in the grasses made a sound like a silk-lined opera coat falling to the floor of a carriage.
The sky was as tattered as a Gypsy’s pajamas. Through knife holes in the flannel overcast, July sunlight spilled…
[T]he Countess complained, his dentures working over his ivory cigarette holder like a chiropractor realigning the spine of a Chihuahua.
Entertained as I was by the occasional wild description and laugh-out-loud moment, however, in general I was bored by the book. All those interludes to wax poetic about this or that philosophy seemed nothing but an attempt to distract the reader from the lack of a story. Clearly, Robbins is not the writer for me.
Michael Nouri’s performance on the audio is wonderful. He has great pacing, and the way he interprets certain characters brings them to life.
From the book jacket: The whooping crane rustlers are girls. Young girls. Cowgirls, as a matter of fact, all “bursting with dimples and hormones”—and the FBI has never seen anything quite like them. Yet their rebellion at the Rubber Rose Ranch is almost overshadowed by the arrival of the legendary Sissy Hankshaw, a white-trash goddess literally born to hitchhike, and the freest female of them all.
My Reactions
The last time (which was also the first time) I read anything by Tom Robbins was in 2002. It was for my F2F book club, or I don’t think I would have picked it up on my own. I vaguely remembered it was a strange plot but I enjoyed the writing style. My reactions to his writing haven’t changed.
Robbins writes ridiculously absurd storylines, interspersed with long discourses on philosophy, religion, history, etc. His characters are bigger than life and virtually all of them have some unique quirk – physical or philosophical. The “stars” of this novel are Sissy (born with extraordinarily large thumbs, perfect for hitchhiking), the Countess (a man whose business empire is built on feminine hygiene products), Bonanza Jellybean (a teenage cowgirl on the Rubber Rose Ranch), and the Chink (a Japanese American who has befriended the Native American clock people and become a sort of guru to a variety of hippie pilgrims). Oh, and let’s not forget the whooping cranes who stop at Siwash Lake on the Rubber Rose Ranch on their way to and from their traditional winter and summer nesting grounds.
If you’re having trouble figuring out how such a diverse cast could come together in a coherent plot, well, stop trying. You’ll just give yourself a headache. Robbins is nothing if not inventive in his plotting. Where his writing shines, though is in his wild descriptions / similes. A few examples:
The breeze in the grasses made a sound like a silk-lined opera coat falling to the floor of a carriage.
The sky was as tattered as a Gypsy’s pajamas. Through knife holes in the flannel overcast, July sunlight spilled…
[T]he Countess complained, his dentures working over his ivory cigarette holder like a chiropractor realigning the spine of a Chihuahua.
Entertained as I was by the occasional wild description and laugh-out-loud moment, however, in general I was bored by the book. All those interludes to wax poetic about this or that philosophy seemed nothing but an attempt to distract the reader from the lack of a story. Clearly, Robbins is not the writer for me.
Michael Nouri’s performance on the audio is wonderful. He has great pacing, and the way he interprets certain characters brings them to life.