It is sad that Egolf didn't live long enough to write more. This guy had something special as a writer. I had so much fun with this book. Even though it's way too long for the story, I wanted even more.

"Everyone knew that to the Catholics, Jesus was Mary's boy, to the Baptists he was the savior, to the Jews he was nothing, but to the Methodists he was a tax deduction."

Thanks to my buddy, Woods, for the gift of this book. ( )

There's a good deal of history here. Back when I wore plaid and carried Nietzsche books everywhere there was a scene here. It was in the Highlands in Louisville. There were hordes of pseuds, but there was a core. There was a group of serious people involved with art, music, literature and activism. Most moved away - the Northwest, NYC, abroad etc. A few died. Recently a number have passed, mostly from cancer. Mostly my age. There was a coffeehouse that hosted readings and concerts. There was going to be a lecture series on Foucault. My best friend Joel and I went. The guy delivering the spiel was our age. He had a firm handle on his Foucault. There were a number of points open to debate. This I did. I am not entirely proud of said behavior. I wasn't heckling. I wasn't drunk (Stephen Malkmus, please forgive me) but I did interupt, politely. A great deal was discussed.

A few years later Harold, who owned Twice-Told Books in Louisville, asked me if I had heard of Lord of the Barnyard. I hadn't. Harold explained that Egolf had lived in the area for a few years doing research on river towns in Southern Indiana. Harold noted that he also spoke about Derrida and Foucault locally. Oh shit. Well apparently Mr. Egolf was busking in Paris, his manuscript had been rejected by every publisher in the US and UK. He wound up involved with a publisher's daughter from one of the French heavies.

Mr Egalf distilled life in Southern Indiana and displayed such with aplomb in his first novel. I loved it. I remember reading it while walking to work, something reckless I have since outgrown. Because of Mr. Egolf's abrupt conclusion in life, I haven't found the nerve to read his other work, which I have collected. ( )

This is a shattering book. Despair is increasing throughout the plot, without hope, without a ray of light — a story of Les Miserables, which presents American reality from its darkest angle. Writing is a burst of literary talent, with remarkable ability to illustrate even if the descriptions are sometimes tricky. I think this is a literary gem that is a pity to miss, also if there are parts that are too dated in the book. ( )

Great book! An author that died way too young ( )

Echoes of Twain and Dickens. I can't decide how much I like it, but I'm warming to it more and more, even after having finished it. I kind of want to read it again, except there are so many words in it! ( )