Amazon.com Review
The way Jon Billman writes it, Hams Fork, Wyoming, is a kind of latter-day Cicely, Alaska. You remember Cicely, the fictional town at the heart of TV's
Northern Exposure? Hams Fork, the rough-and-tumble setting for most of the stories in Billman's first collection, gives it a run for its money in sheer volume of crazy artists, tough-talking schoolteachers, and plain old ornery cusses. This is a town where painting a rainbow-hued bare-chested mermaid on the water tower in the middle of the night qualifies as a major event. In Hams Fork, the men are boys, and are they ever bored. They chase away their boredom with drinking and adultery and doing stupid things in the wilderness.
Billman knows his terrain: his obvious first-hand experience of his characters' more esoteric pastimes--firefighting, mead-making, dogsled racing--makes for an abundance of satisfying detail. And gear fetishists will find passages hand-fashioned for their consumption: "The sled was beautiful, in the same linear way that antique gun stocks, oak letter desks, old saddles, bamboo fly rods, handmade cowboy boots, beavertail snowshoes, and wooden skies are beautiful." Billman's writing lets out a lonesome cowboy yowl that seems written expressly to the escapist fantasy specs of the city-bound dude. He's a Pam Houston for boys.
As handily as Billman pulls off his portrait of a Western town, he has set out to do more: to limn the rootlessness and loneliness of the modern-day West itself. One character "has ridden Hams Fork to exhaustion. Just up and leaving is acceptable, expected in the West." But the author's chin-scratching search for meaning seldom yields more than the most hackneyed revelations. A little less of this predictable angst and a little more of his (very evident) comedic talents would have made this fine book a first-class read. --Claire Dederer
From Publishers Weekly
In Billman's distinctive and engaging debut collection of 13 stories, the swaggering, even aggressively masculine rituals of hunting, fishing, prison sports and utilizing big machines blend strangely with the vagaries of religious faith and the difficulties of life in small Mormon towns. The narrator of "Kerr's Fault" is a divorced school teacher in Hams Fork, Wyo., who is falling afoul of the narrow strictures of his school's Mormon-dominant administration. He and another non-Mormon, Wayne Kerr, a renegade painter of nudes and salable kitsch, have some suspicions about their inferior places in the community: "The UPS driver is a Mormon. Wayne and I are convinced our packages ride around town for a few extra days but what can you do?" Together the two friends manifest their outsider status by means of humorously irreverent vandalism, beautiful women and art. Kerr also figures in "Honeyville," a yarn about smuggling mead, of all things, into Utah. One of several stories set in the 1930s and '40s, "Atomic Bar" depicts the uneven partnership between 15-year-old David Hadsell, an orphan, and a wily conman named Mose Dogbane. Mose, in the aftermath of WWII, is trying to promote a uranium rush in Wyoming. The narrative becomes bittersweet as David learns that Mose's brummagem schemes have a harsh side. Billman has a keen sense of the disparate environments in which his protagonists sift through the small change of fate, whether that enterprise involves a Mormon family gleefully eating stolen beef or a hasty, $27 wedding in Reno. Like the early Tom McGuane, the author displays a clear-eyed empathy for people who are not interested in "making it" the American way, including such macho marginal types as firefighters ("Custer Complex") and prisoners (in the title story). He reminds readers that the classic American archetype of the rough-guy-in-tough-times still holds some real surprises. (Aug.)
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