Tributary
Autor Barbara K. Richardsonen Limba Engleză Paperback – 3 sep 2012
Vezi toate premiile Carte premiată
WILLA Literary Award (2013), Utah Book Award (2013)
Winner of the 2013 Utah Book Award and WILLA Literary Finalist Award
A misfit in a Mormon frontier town, Clair Martin shows what polygamy feels like from inside the fold. Her stubborn search for identity takes Clair beyond the confines of the Utah Territory to the slums of Reconstruction Dixie, and back again. Here, one young woman's life becomes a quiet revolution to untangle what you inherit from what you need.
BARBARA RICHARDSON’s debut novel, Guest House, launched the first literary Truck Stop Tour in the nation. In Tributary, she claims the land of her Mormon ancestors who settled the northern Salt Lake Valley. Richardson earned an MFA in poetry from Eastern Washington University. Aside from writing, Barbara has renovated four houses, enjoyed Argentine tango, fallen in love with tai chi, helped can the West's finest plum jam, adored conifers, and planted thousands of trees and shrubs for others. Barbara is also an avid environmentalist. She lives in Kamas, Utah.
"In some ways, the novel serves to circumvent the convention of Western literature…the story explores how the landscape itself becomes the salvation of Clair Martin."
—THE SALT LAKE TRIBUNE
"Richardson takes readers back to 1870 Utah for this tale of strength and survival. Raised as a Mormon, our hero Clair Martin travels to the American South, through Shoshone country, and back to Utah."
—DENVER POST
"Stunning…Gritty…Remarkable…"
—15 BYTES
"Richardson, whose Mormon ancestors settled in the northern Salt Lake Valley, offers a complete portrait of life in the American West by exploring the struggles of a woman living outside the centers of power. Engaging and beautifully written, Tributary is a welcome addition to the current conversation."
—5280 MAGAZINE
"As wild and isolating as the determined, defiant Clair, the prairies and mountain ranges seduce both narrator and reader. Richardson has created rich, memorable characters."
—HIGH COUNTRY NEWS
"A quest to belong is the theme of this novel from Richardson, whose lyrical prose and heartfelt characters shine through. This novel has much to offer, including a balanced perspective on a controversial time in Mormon history, but its greatest gift is its wisdom about finding one’s own path."
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
"Tributary is a novel whose characters and time are so well inhabited, whose landscapes are so lovingly evoked, we wonder if Richardson is not speaking to us directly from the late 19th century, from a high bench above the Great Salt Lake. The language and writing are surefooted and fresh and often startling the way the best poetry can be startling. Richardson is a new American voice worth listening to."
—PETER HELLER, author of The Painter and The Dog Stars
"Beautifully written and engaging, this is a story of one woman and her refusal to cave into societal norms in order to seek her own difficult and inspired path."
—LAURA PRITCHETT, author of Stars Go Blue
"You'll love resolute Clair Martin, the equal of any man—or religion. Clair’s strength and survival are the heritage of western women."
—SANDRA DALLAS, author of True Sisters.
"Tributary is a remarkable odyssey of the American West, told in one of the most clear-sighted, unjudging, and original voices I've come across in years."
—MOLLY GLOSS, author of The Jump-Off Creek
"Seldom does a novel come along that is as beautifully written and emotionally honest as Tributary. Barbara K. Richardson captures the grandeur and harshness of the Old West in a young woman’s struggle to find a home and a family without losing herself. A lyrical and haunting story not to be missed."
—MARGARET COEL, author of Buffalo Bill's Dead Now
A misfit in a Mormon frontier town, Clair Martin shows what polygamy feels like from inside the fold. Her stubborn search for identity takes Clair beyond the confines of the Utah Territory to the slums of Reconstruction Dixie, and back again. Here, one young woman's life becomes a quiet revolution to untangle what you inherit from what you need.
BARBARA RICHARDSON’s debut novel, Guest House, launched the first literary Truck Stop Tour in the nation. In Tributary, she claims the land of her Mormon ancestors who settled the northern Salt Lake Valley. Richardson earned an MFA in poetry from Eastern Washington University. Aside from writing, Barbara has renovated four houses, enjoyed Argentine tango, fallen in love with tai chi, helped can the West's finest plum jam, adored conifers, and planted thousands of trees and shrubs for others. Barbara is also an avid environmentalist. She lives in Kamas, Utah.
"In some ways, the novel serves to circumvent the convention of Western literature…the story explores how the landscape itself becomes the salvation of Clair Martin."
—THE SALT LAKE TRIBUNE
"Richardson takes readers back to 1870 Utah for this tale of strength and survival. Raised as a Mormon, our hero Clair Martin travels to the American South, through Shoshone country, and back to Utah."
—DENVER POST
"Stunning…Gritty…Remarkable…"
—15 BYTES
"Richardson, whose Mormon ancestors settled in the northern Salt Lake Valley, offers a complete portrait of life in the American West by exploring the struggles of a woman living outside the centers of power. Engaging and beautifully written, Tributary is a welcome addition to the current conversation."
—5280 MAGAZINE
"As wild and isolating as the determined, defiant Clair, the prairies and mountain ranges seduce both narrator and reader. Richardson has created rich, memorable characters."
—HIGH COUNTRY NEWS
"A quest to belong is the theme of this novel from Richardson, whose lyrical prose and heartfelt characters shine through. This novel has much to offer, including a balanced perspective on a controversial time in Mormon history, but its greatest gift is its wisdom about finding one’s own path."
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
"Tributary is a novel whose characters and time are so well inhabited, whose landscapes are so lovingly evoked, we wonder if Richardson is not speaking to us directly from the late 19th century, from a high bench above the Great Salt Lake. The language and writing are surefooted and fresh and often startling the way the best poetry can be startling. Richardson is a new American voice worth listening to."
—PETER HELLER, author of The Painter and The Dog Stars
"Beautifully written and engaging, this is a story of one woman and her refusal to cave into societal norms in order to seek her own difficult and inspired path."
—LAURA PRITCHETT, author of Stars Go Blue
"You'll love resolute Clair Martin, the equal of any man—or religion. Clair’s strength and survival are the heritage of western women."
—SANDRA DALLAS, author of True Sisters.
"Tributary is a remarkable odyssey of the American West, told in one of the most clear-sighted, unjudging, and original voices I've come across in years."
—MOLLY GLOSS, author of The Jump-Off Creek
"Seldom does a novel come along that is as beautifully written and emotionally honest as Tributary. Barbara K. Richardson captures the grandeur and harshness of the Old West in a young woman’s struggle to find a home and a family without losing herself. A lyrical and haunting story not to be missed."
—MARGARET COEL, author of Buffalo Bill's Dead Now
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781937226046
ISBN-10: 1937226042
Pagini: 348
Dimensiuni: 132 x 203 x 28 mm
Greutate: 0.41 kg
Editura: Torrey House Press
Colecția Torrey House Press
ISBN-10: 1937226042
Pagini: 348
Dimensiuni: 132 x 203 x 28 mm
Greutate: 0.41 kg
Editura: Torrey House Press
Colecția Torrey House Press
Recenzii
Winner of the 2013 Utah Book Award and WILLA Literary Finalist Award
"In some ways, the novel serves to circumvent the convention of Western literature…the story explores how the landscape itself becomes the salvation of Clair Martin."
—THE SALT LAKE TRIBUNE
"Richardson takes readers back to 1870 Utah for this tale of strength and survival. Raised as a Mormon, our hero Clair Martin travels to the American South, through Shoshone country, and back to Utah."
—DENVER POST
"Stunning…Gritty…Remarkable…"
—15 BYTES
"Richardson, whose Mormon ancestors settled in the northern Salt Lake Valley, offers a complete portrait of life in the American West by exploring the struggles of a woman living outside the centers of power. Engaging and beautifully written, Tributary is a welcome addition to the current conversation."
—5280 MAGAZINE
"As wild and isolating as the determined, defiant Clair, the prairies and mountain ranges seduce both narrator and reader. Richardson has created rich, memorable characters."
—HIGH COUNTRY NEWS
"A quest to belong is the theme of this novel from Richardson, whose lyrical prose and heartfelt characters shine through. This novel has much to offer, including a balanced perspective on a controversial time in Mormon history, but its greatest gift is its wisdom about finding one’s own path."
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
"Tributary is a novel whose characters and time are so well inhabited, whose landscapes are so lovingly evoked, we wonder if Richardson is not speaking to us directly from the late 19th century, from a high bench above the Great Salt Lake. The language and writing are surefooted and fresh and often startling the way the best poetry can be startling. Richardson is a new American voice worth listening to."
—PETER HELLER, author of The Painter and The Dog Stars
"Beautifully written and engaging, this is a story of one woman and her refusal to cave into societal norms in order to seek her own difficult and inspired path."
—LAURA PRITCHETT, author of Stars Go Blue
"You'll love resolute Clair Martin, the equal of any man—or religion. Clair’s strength and survival are the heritage of western women."
—SANDRA DALLAS, author of True Sisters.
"Tributary is a remarkable odyssey of the American West, told in one of the most clear-sighted, unjudging, and original voices I've come across in years."
—MOLLY GLOSS, author of The Jump-Off Creek
"Seldom does a novel come along that is as beautifully written and emotionally honest as Tributary. Barbara K. Richardson captures the grandeur and harshness of the Old West in a young woman’s struggle to find a home and a family without losing herself. A lyrical and haunting story not to be missed."
—MARGARET COEL, author of Buffalo Bill's Dead Now
"From polygamist Mormon desert settlements to the yellow fever-plagued Gulf to an Idaho sheep ranch, Richardson evokes the 19th Century West and the human heart in all their complexity."
—BARBARA WRIGHT, author of the Spur Award-winning novel Plain Language
Notă biografică
Barbara Richardson’s debut novel, Guest House, launched the first literary Truck Stop Tour in the nation. In Tributary, she claims the land of her Mormon ancestors who settled the northern Salt Lake Valley. Richardson earned an MFA in poetry from Eastern Washington University.
Aside from writing, Barbara has renovated four houses, enjoyed Argentine tango, fallen in love with tai chi, helped can the West’s finest plum jam, adored conifers, and planted thousands of trees and shrubs for others. Barbara is also an avid environmentalist. She now writes and designs landscapes in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies.
Aside from writing, Barbara has renovated four houses, enjoyed Argentine tango, fallen in love with tai chi, helped can the West’s finest plum jam, adored conifers, and planted thousands of trees and shrubs for others. Barbara is also an avid environmentalist. She now writes and designs landscapes in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies.
Extras
Excerpt from Tributary: Finding Home
On the day I moved from Lars’ stable at the Barrens up into Ada’s cabin on the Bench, I gauged my happiness by this sight: dusted with snow, the Wasatch Mountains seemed to cup the valley like a bread-maker’s palms. I would live on the fleshy pad of their thumb.
I moved my few possessions in and stood a long while in silence. I set the books Ada had loaned me in the window sill. Then I scrubbed the river rock walls until they gleamed. I would press flowers at the window right of the door, place one crate there. Hang clothes on a cord strung in the back corner. Firewood to the left of the hearth, washtub and kitchen supplies to the right. I hoped to find a large table to place in the center of the room. I had no bed and the door needed mending. Leather strips would do for hinges.
That night, I watched the lamps on Main get lit, one and two. The copper-faced creek angled north, toward Ada’s windows, which were bright. And a hymn came, with words that filled my breast:
Oh, Zion! dear Zion! land of the free,
Now my own mountain home, unto thee I have come—
All my fond hopes are centered in thee.
My move across town released me from Bishop Olsen’s so-called care. I now resided within the confines of the Second Ward, and under the eye of a new Bishop. Daniel Dees was tall and strappy, and he presided over the Sunday meetings with mannish ease. I believed I might enjoy this change, until he took me aside that first Sunday and told me my new calling—to sew holy garments for a living, the sacred long johns worn by couples after they’d married in the Endowment House. I objected, panting inwardly Me in close quarters with the holy underwear? But he silenced my concerns with a generous smile, saying married Sisters would attach the holy symbols, marking breast and knee. As if that made it better. As if that made it right.
His smile lingered in my mind for days. What would it mean to move through life with such assurance? How would it feel to know something, anything at all, beyond a shadow of a doubt? I asked myself, until the questions became riddles I knew I’d never solve.
Bishop Dees also called for a house-making, that first Sunday. He asked the Ward members to open their bounty to the newest householder, to share whatever they could. All week long, items arrived at the top of the hill. A tin tub and bent ladle, hempen bed cord, tatted couch covers, crockery, three and a half bars of Sister Karen’s oatmeal soap, a bread can, yeast starter, an axe, flour, molasses, an old Dutch oven with two legs, one kerosene lamp and a flax broom.
Homer Tingey hiked up late that first week. He greeted me with a smile so large, his jaw begged rest.
I said, “Brother Tingey, I do not need another thing. I am beyond thankfulness.”
Homer blushed.
“Bishop said, ‘Guard and deliver.’” He called down to the boys in his wagon. They shoved a tarp back, and my heart leapt in recognition.
Brother Larsen’s cast iron tub.
It was the only claw foot tub in Brigham. Lars had ordered it by mail. Some said he’d ordered it for Sister Larsen just before she died. A quiet Brother, but his heart was true. He may have meant it for his ailing wife but Lars didn’t blink an eye, changing its purpose. That tub, brimming with water, lay to the belly in muck outside his own black geldings’ stall—the best horse trough in Zion.
Four boys muscled the claw-foot tub to the top of the hill. I knocked snow and dried manure off its sides while Homer’s boys and two of Bishop Olsen’s sons threw off their coats. They tipped the tub and squirmed in the doorway. Four steps, they turned it right and touched it down.
“Don’t take your ease, boys,” Homer said, stepping in. “Sister Martin may not want the tub set there.”
Inger Olsen ran his hands along his sleeves, grimacing. “We ain’t slaves,” he said, “and she sure ain’t no queen.”
But when I looked in—the long white tub aligned with the door, a dumpling set square center of the room—I thanked them, Homer and his sons and the Bishop’s boys. “It’s where I’d have it. It is just right.”
I would find three planks to lay across it for my table, by day. By night, its purpose was clear. Never had I felt so safe or slept so sound, enclosed on all sides by cast iron.
On the day I moved from Lars’ stable at the Barrens up into Ada’s cabin on the Bench, I gauged my happiness by this sight: dusted with snow, the Wasatch Mountains seemed to cup the valley like a bread-maker’s palms. I would live on the fleshy pad of their thumb.
I moved my few possessions in and stood a long while in silence. I set the books Ada had loaned me in the window sill. Then I scrubbed the river rock walls until they gleamed. I would press flowers at the window right of the door, place one crate there. Hang clothes on a cord strung in the back corner. Firewood to the left of the hearth, washtub and kitchen supplies to the right. I hoped to find a large table to place in the center of the room. I had no bed and the door needed mending. Leather strips would do for hinges.
That night, I watched the lamps on Main get lit, one and two. The copper-faced creek angled north, toward Ada’s windows, which were bright. And a hymn came, with words that filled my breast:
Oh, Zion! dear Zion! land of the free,
Now my own mountain home, unto thee I have come—
All my fond hopes are centered in thee.
My move across town released me from Bishop Olsen’s so-called care. I now resided within the confines of the Second Ward, and under the eye of a new Bishop. Daniel Dees was tall and strappy, and he presided over the Sunday meetings with mannish ease. I believed I might enjoy this change, until he took me aside that first Sunday and told me my new calling—to sew holy garments for a living, the sacred long johns worn by couples after they’d married in the Endowment House. I objected, panting inwardly Me in close quarters with the holy underwear? But he silenced my concerns with a generous smile, saying married Sisters would attach the holy symbols, marking breast and knee. As if that made it better. As if that made it right.
His smile lingered in my mind for days. What would it mean to move through life with such assurance? How would it feel to know something, anything at all, beyond a shadow of a doubt? I asked myself, until the questions became riddles I knew I’d never solve.
Bishop Dees also called for a house-making, that first Sunday. He asked the Ward members to open their bounty to the newest householder, to share whatever they could. All week long, items arrived at the top of the hill. A tin tub and bent ladle, hempen bed cord, tatted couch covers, crockery, three and a half bars of Sister Karen’s oatmeal soap, a bread can, yeast starter, an axe, flour, molasses, an old Dutch oven with two legs, one kerosene lamp and a flax broom.
Homer Tingey hiked up late that first week. He greeted me with a smile so large, his jaw begged rest.
I said, “Brother Tingey, I do not need another thing. I am beyond thankfulness.”
Homer blushed.
“Bishop said, ‘Guard and deliver.’” He called down to the boys in his wagon. They shoved a tarp back, and my heart leapt in recognition.
Brother Larsen’s cast iron tub.
It was the only claw foot tub in Brigham. Lars had ordered it by mail. Some said he’d ordered it for Sister Larsen just before she died. A quiet Brother, but his heart was true. He may have meant it for his ailing wife but Lars didn’t blink an eye, changing its purpose. That tub, brimming with water, lay to the belly in muck outside his own black geldings’ stall—the best horse trough in Zion.
Four boys muscled the claw-foot tub to the top of the hill. I knocked snow and dried manure off its sides while Homer’s boys and two of Bishop Olsen’s sons threw off their coats. They tipped the tub and squirmed in the doorway. Four steps, they turned it right and touched it down.
“Don’t take your ease, boys,” Homer said, stepping in. “Sister Martin may not want the tub set there.”
Inger Olsen ran his hands along his sleeves, grimacing. “We ain’t slaves,” he said, “and she sure ain’t no queen.”
But when I looked in—the long white tub aligned with the door, a dumpling set square center of the room—I thanked them, Homer and his sons and the Bishop’s boys. “It’s where I’d have it. It is just right.”
I would find three planks to lay across it for my table, by day. By night, its purpose was clear. Never had I felt so safe or slept so sound, enclosed on all sides by cast iron.
Descriere
A courageous young woman flees polygamy in 1870's Utah, but finds herself drawn back to the landscapes that shaped her.
Premii
- WILLA Literary Award Finalist, 2013
- Utah Book Award Winner, 2013