What do you think?
Rate this book
276 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1891
To MY FATHER AND MOTHER
whose half-century pilgrimage on the main-travelled road of life has brought them only toil and deprivation, this book of stories is dedicated by a son to whom every day brings a deepening sense of his parents’ silent heroism
Don't you know me Grant? I'm your brother Howard. Grant responds: well, I'm glad to see you but I can't shake hands. That damned cow has laid down in the mud.Later, Howard encounters his widowed mother, who seems not to recognize her own son & who rests on the porch in something resembling a comatose state, a shell of her former exuberant self, seemingly broken by years of toil in dealing with every aspect of farm life. Howard offers to help his brother Grant financially with the burden of the heavily-mortgaged family farm, as a way to forgive him for his long absence. But as Grant slowly begins to accept his brother's presence...
They stood & looked at each other. Howard's cuffs, collar, & shirt, alien in their elegance, showed through the dusk & a glint of light shot out from the jewel of his necktie, as the light from a house caught it at a right angle. As they gazed at each other in silence, Howard divined something of the hard bitter life that came into Grant's heart, as he stood there, ragged, ankle deep in muck, his sleeves rolled up, a shapeless old straw hat on his head.
Well, go on in & set down. I'll be in as soon as I strain the milk & wash the dirt off my hands.
He squeezes his brother's hand & responds: Money can't give me a chance now. Life ain't worth much to me. I'm too old to take a fresh start. I'm a dead failure. I've come to the conclusion that life's a failure for 99% of us. It's too late to help me now Howard.In Nobel laureate, Knut Hamsun's world, the growth of the soil causes growth of the soul. In Hamlin Garland's recounting, a life of farming is hardly idyllic & those who paint it as so, haven't really experienced the long, backbreaking hours of drudgery in spring & summer, the uncertain harvests in fall, the bitter & desolate cold of a prairie winter.
The two men stood there, face to face, hands clasped, the one fair-skinned, full-lipped, handsome in his neat suit; the other tragic, sombre in his softened mood, his large, long Scotch face bronzed with sun & scarred with wrinkles that had histories, like sabre-cuts on a veteran, the record of his battles.