(Welcome to my not-very-regular blog column Two Page Minimum, wherein I take a new book out to happy hour, and give it a few minutes to grab my attention. Two Page Minimum is my judgment on that speed-dating experience.)
Who's your date today?
Out Backward by Ross Raisin.
Where'd you go?
The virtually un-Googleable sports bar Rocks (formerly Lagniappe), on Alberta. I didn't see much of the inside besides a pool table, but the patio is vast and was surprisingly empty on a recent sunny afternoon. Happy hour from 3-6 pm daily, plus 11 pm-close; $2 burger and pork sliders, tots, and fries, $3 wings. $1 off wells and micros, $1 PBR pints and Old German cans. The hand-formed ground beef slider was good; the pulled pork smelled like dog food so I did not eat it.
What'd you drink?
Pale ale.
What does your date say about itself?
This debut novel from dreamy young Englishman Ross Raisin has been long-listed for the Dylan Thomas Prize (though he didn't make the Booker long list, announced yesterday, as some predicted he might), and boasts A-list cover blurbage from JM Coetzee and Mary Karr. The book is about a "lonely young man, dogged by an incident in his past and forced to work his family farm instead of attending school in his village." When a new family with a teenage daughter moves in next door, "what starts off as a harmless friendship between an isolated loner and a defiant teenage girl takes a most disturbing turn."
Is there a representative quote?
The story's told from the perspective of the boy, Sam, and written in a Yorkshire dialect that takes some getting used to:
Father sat stewing in his chair, silent. Mum went out to put the basket in the storehouse. And this is Laura, said the telly, doesn't she look stunning in this twelve-pound top from New Look? She looked half-decent, fair enough. My legs ached from being sat under the table so long. I could see the top of Mum's head out the window, she was fussing about in the yard because she didn't want to come back indoors. What can I do now? Ah, I know, I'll take this washing down off the line, it's a bit damp but no matter. He stood up then and came toward me. I didn't flinch, it was daft flinching, I just waited for it. He took his time, sod knows what he was waiting for, he was probably listening to the telly or something, then-clout-the back of his hand against my cheek. The whelps were scarpering, I fell to the floor and scrabbled up against the table leg.
Will you two end up in bed together?
Yes, but odds are I'll regret it in the morning: Even 20 pages in I'm queasily anxious, wondering what terrible thing is going to happen, trying to keep Sam at an emotional arms length because it's quite obvious that things just aren't going to end well. There's a scene early on in which Sam tries to make a good impression on his new neighbors by bringing them some fresh mushrooms, but he forgets to tell them to check the mushrooms for maggots before eating. It's a well-drawn scene: The boy's touchingly proud of himself for making the gesture, but his self-satisfaction quickly sours, and his mistake earns him a beating from his dad, in the scene above. A glib summation of what I've read so far: a backwoods version of Martin Amis' The Rachel Papers. And yeah, I'd hit that.
