Horse Heaven (Ballantine Reader's Circle)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
#1 NATIONAL BESTSELLER A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK
"A WISE, SPIRITED NOVEL . . . [IN WHICH] SMILEY PLUMBS THE WONDROUSLY
STRANGE WORLD OF HORSE RACING." --People
"ONE OF THE PREMIER NOVELISTS OF HER GENERATION, possessed of a mastery
of craft and an uncompromising vision that grow more powerful with each
book . . . Racing's eclectic mix of classes and personalities provides
Smiley with fertile soil . . . Expertly juggling storylines, she
investigates the sexual, social, psychological, and spiritual problems
of wealthy owners, working-class bettors, trainers on the edge of
financial ruin, and, in a typically bold move, horses."
--The Washington Post
"A NOVEL OF PASSION IN EVERY SENSE . . . [SHE DOES] IT ALL WITH APLOMB .
. . WITH A DEMON NARRATIVE INTELLIGENCE."
--The Boston Sunday Globe
"WITTY, ENERGETIC . . . It's deeply satisfying to read a work of fiction
so informed about its subject and so alive to every nuance and detail .
. . [Smiley's] final chapters have a wonderful restorative quality."
--The New York Times Book Review
"RICHLY DETAILED, INGENIOUSLY CONSTRUCTED . . . YOU WILL REVEL IN JANE
SMILEY'S HORSE HEAVEN."
--San Diego Union-Tribune
Chosen by the Los Angeles Times as One of the Best Books of the Year
guys at the track who know what everything is, even if they’re wrong and they never win and they break horses down every week and they can’t pay their bills, but they know it all. They just know it all, and they’re willing to tell you all the stuff they know every minute of the day, but I can’t say that I know a God-damned thing.” She wasn’t listening. If he couldn’t tell her that he loved her, then she couldn’t listen. It was as simple as that. So he tried honesty again: “I had an affair.” “Who
without speaking to her, always halters her in the same way, always tacks her up in a certain order. When she goes out to train with Mr. T. here, they always go at the same time of day, and in the same order—him in front of the line, her just behind him. They always take the same path to get where they want to go.” “Sounds like you’re indulging her, to me,” said Mr. Tompkins. “I am,” said Farley, “but it’s worked. It’s the only thing that’s worked.” “Her head fills up with fog,” said
about this fork-gouging incident with my psychoanalyst for weeks, I found out it didn’t happen, so she said, ‘Well, lets pretend that it did.’ So we did that. I must say there was great weeping and gnashing of teeth that day! And then she said, ‘Now lets remember that it didn’t, and so you can eat breakfast anytime you want,’ and so I said good-bye to that fork-gouging thing, and I must say that was a relief to everyone in the family. Yes, the thousands of pounds to the psychoanalyst happened,
Fingerlakes, and you had a horse or two, and you lived at the track and cooked on a hotplate. Where had you been all those months? Or you lost your own horses and went to work for someone else, rubbing their horses. If you were young enough and little enough, you rode their horses. Or, if you had some presentability, you went to Kentucky or New York or California and worked on a studfarm or a training farm. At least, thanks to the wonderful mare and her splendid filly, she was breaking even. That
experienced cowboy, as it said on some cards he’d had printed up, and he brought Lex over. There was no reason on earth why they shouldn’t team up, thought R.T. It was meant to be. As Lex trotted Doc’s Big Juan out to the arena they had at this place (when he got some money, he would move the horses to a regular training center), Justa Bob whinnied after him. R.T., who wasn’t especially annoyed with Justa Bob in particular, picked up a brush, threw it at the stall door, and snarled, “Pipe down!”