There was some kind of trouble with the horses.

I knew this because part one of the novel is called “Trouble with the Horses.” Indeed, by the time I had finished reading the first two pages, I had learned quite a lot—considering the limited number of words there—about certain troubles involving certain horses. And then, to underscore what I had learned, the narrator of The Sisters Brothers ends his initial, little, two-page section by informing me, “This was the trouble with the horses.”

I had to admit—the situation RE the horses did seem troublesome. And in more ways than one.

But so as not to spoil the read for you, let’s talk more generally about The Sisters Brothers. What a delightful title, for a delightful novel, with a delightful cover!

The title refers to the two main characters: brothers whose last name is Sisters. Ha!

The novel is a literary Western. It’s set in 1851, in Oregon Territory and California, during the gold rush; but this is no ordinary shoot-’em-up. It’s too quirky, too comical, too ironic, and too sweet. Ha!

The cover of my paperback copy shows a daguerreotype, circa 1852, titled Portrait of two young men. The two are wearing the old-fashioned suits and hats of the era and holding weapons and glasses of hard liquor. It’s a stunning image, but its most interesting feature is the blood-stained bullet hole in one of the young men’s vests. The Wild West, indeed. Ha!

Though it’s a stunning and historically authentic cover, the image doesn’t match the descriptions of the characters in the book. But that’s all right with me. What sits less well with me is the sticker.

Upon pulling the book from the bookstore shelf, I noticed a circular sticker on the cover that read “SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE.” This, from my irredeemably literary perspective, was something of a turn-off. However, I persevered in buying the book, since I had read good things about it and its author, Patrick deWitt.

Upon arriving home, I peeled off the sticker: and, lo and behold, guess what was underneath? A circular icon that read “SHORTLISTED for the MAN BOOKER PRIZE.” Whoa—now we’re talking! That’s my favorite literary award! The book would have been a shoo-in for my cart (that is, my arms), had it been visible. But such is our world, that the preferred advertisement for a book is not its recognition by a highly regarded literary award, but its transformation into a new work, in another art form, that may well turn out to be so different from the original as to hardly merit the same title.

That being said, the reading experience was cinematic. It is a book that is eminently worthy, in my opinion, of both prestigious awards and Hollywood.

Have you had any trouble with horses lately?

My phone rang, and “The Inquisitive One” appeared on the screen.

“Hey you!” I said, upon answering.

“Hey Liza!” said the inquisitive one. “I’m calling because I’m concerned about something, and I want to discuss it with you. Do you know?—people keep saying you and I are the same person!”

“Oh, well, it happens,” I said. “Honestly, I’m flattered when they think that.”

“Well, I’m not. Plus, it bothers me. It’s as if they think I don’t exist!”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve explained to several people that you and I are different. Hopefully word will get around!”

“Thanks, Liza! But why do people sometimes think we’re the same person?”

“Hmm. I guess I learned that in college. None of the characters in a work of fiction should be confused with the author. Not even when there’s a narrator using the word I to describe him- or herself. And not even when it’s an autobiographical story with a protagonist with many similarities to the author.”

“Oh yeah—I learned that in college, too! So, when the author Tim O’Brien uses the word I in the short story collection The Things They Carried, these narrators should not be confused with O’Brien himself, even though the narrators experience many of the same things O’Brien did during and after the Vietnam War!”

“And the character Ivan Denisovich experiences many of the same things the author Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn did when he was imprisoned in a Soviet gulag, but not everything mentioned in the novel One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich matches Solzhenitsyn’s actual history and memories!”

“And when the foreword to the novel The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux details evidence that the opera ghost really existed, this claim is not being made by Leroux, but by the fictional narrator!”

“Actually,” I observed, “that one’s a bit more complicated.”

“In any case,” said the inquisitive one, “please continue spreading the word. I really—”

“Hold on a sec,” I said, staring out the window at a flying saucer coming to a gentle landing on my front lawn. As I kept watching, the door slid open.

“Oh my gosh!” I cried out. “Three little green aliens are walking on my lawn!”

“What?” said the inquisitive one. “Wait, that’s super interesting to me, because—”

“I’ll call you back,” I said, hung up my phone, and ran outside.

“Take us to your leader!” said the little green aliens.

“Okay,” I said, “but I don’t know where Lady Gaga lives!”

“Take us to your leader!” said the little green aliens.

“Okay, follow me,” I cried, hopping into my car and thinking like crazy and realizing—

But that’s another story.

The author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston could not find a publisher for her book Barracoon that did not want her to make extensive changes to the manuscript (as I mentioned in my last blog post), and so her book was not released until 50+ years after her death, 80+ years after it was written.

The cause of the disagreement between Hurston and the publisher was that Hurston had written the story of Cudjo/Kossula in dialect. That is, she had transcribed his words as he spoke them (as an anthropologist concerned with preserving the speaker’s voice), instead of “translating” his words to “proper” English (as an author concerned with reaching a wide audience). The former style is more accurate; the latter style is easier to read.

I remember reading Huckleberry Finn for the first time—as a former high school English teacher, I have read it many times—and experiencing confusion and frustration when encountering Mark Twain’s rendering of the character Jim’s speech. I must have been halfway through the book before it finally dawned on me that chile meant “child” pronounced without the “d” sound. I kept reading it as “chili” (meat and beans in a bowl) or “chili” (a hot pepper) or “Chile” (the country) . . . none of which, needless to say, made any sense.

When I read Barracoon, I had no trouble with Hurston’s rendering of Cudjo/Kossula’s speech. I very much enjoyed reading the story in dialect, and I concur with her instincts to tell his story that way.* Then again, I am an experienced reader with two degrees in English. I wonder how well I would have been able to follow the story had I read it in my teens, or not pursued English degrees.

I am curious what you think about the following passage. Here Cudjo/Kossula describes his life as a 19-year-old, just before his town was raided and he was captured:

“I stand round de place where de chief talk wid de wise men. I hope dey see Cudjo and think he a grown man. Maybe dey call me to de council. De fathers doan never call me but I likee very much to be dere and lissen when dey talk. . . . I likee go in de market place too and see de pretty gals wid de gold bracelets on de arm from de hand to de elbow. Oh, dey look very fine to Cudjo when dey walkee dey sling de arm so and de bracelet ring. I lak hear dat—it sound so pretty.”

How easy or difficult did you think that passage was to read? What do you think about books that make extensive use of dialect?

*In full disclosure, I made a similar decision when writing my unpublished novel The Water-Creatures . . . and may well face the same consequences as Hurston . . . if not worse.