Nicholas Payne est un jeune homme désœuvré qui parcourt à moto les grands espaces américains pour s’efforcer de ne jamais être aux prises avec la réalité de la vie. A l’âge où commencent les interrogations sur le sens de cette vie, il fait deux rencontres qui auront chacune sur lui une influence différente. Avec Ann Fitzgerald, jeune fille de bonne famille dont les parents ne pourront jamais comprendre sa philosophie, il découvre les affres de l’amour mais se confronte à ce qu’il déteste le plus : devoir se justifier, expliquer ses actes. Et par réaction, ses “beaux-parents” ne feront qu’accentuer encore la folie et l’inconséquence de Payne. De l’autre côté, il y a C.J. Clovis, ancien obèse en proie à la gangrène, dont le corps régresse de manière assez tragique tout au long du roman. C’est lui qui malgré son état donnera du travail à Payne en le faisant construire des tours pleines de chauve-souris pour éloigner les insectes.Sur une base complètement loufoque, mélangeant les époques et les lieux, multipliant les personnages improbables et les dialogues caustiques, l’auteur déroule devant nos yeux l’épopée d’un homme, dont “le tumulte était avant tout la vocation première”. Ce n’est pourtant pas lui le vrai héros de ce roman : c’est le langage. Car ce que nous lisons, c’est une explosion de mots, de tournures, de métaphores dignes de Rabelais, qui m’ont fait penser, de manière assez incongrue, à ces nouveaux chocolats qui crépitent en bouche et résonnent dans tout le palais. Thomas McGuane est un amoureux des mots et la folie douce de ses personnages semble un prétexte à cette profusion littéraire. Le résultat est un texte difficile, mais qui ne manque pas d’humour, comme le prouve cette réflexion : “Il serait injuste d’isoler quelques faits inexplicables dans l’histoire récente de Codd et de le juger selon, sans parler de son passé ; ainsi, il n’est pas exclu que dans sa petite enfance il soit passé un certain nombre de fois sous les roues d’une voiture.” ! J’ai plusieurs fois décroché, n’étant pas habituée à ce style cynique ni à un réalisme parfois cru. Et j’ai plus d’une fois été complètement désemparée par la tournure des événements…
McGuane is an interesting case. His 92 In the Shade was excellent in my opinion, but I think that book his peak in terms of displaying his talent. While the Sporting Club shows glimmers of brilliance, it does not really deliver, which is certainly acceptable for a first novel. Followed by 92, his sophomore effort is fantastic. With this, his third effort, you begin to see him overstepping his own bounds and while there are terrific moments (the chapter of him bull riding to impress his love is hilarious and could have stood out as a very good short story), overall, this book is disappointing. Clearly after this book, McGuane took a completely different tack in his writing, and I don't think he was ever the same. If you've never read McGuane, 92 In the Shade is probably the only one really worth reading. This would be a second choice, but there is a large gap between the two.
Do You like book The Bushwhacked Piano (1984)?
at the opening: i was ENAMOURED with the quick-fire, delectably constructed visual moments and the way he draws the States in its actual glaze of weird-wonderful-horribleness: "And California at first sight was the sorry, beautiful Golden West silliness and uproar of simplistic yellow hills with metal wind pumps, impossible highways to the brim of the earth, coastal cities, forests and pretty girls with their tails to the wind. A movie theatre in Sacramento played 'Mondo Freudo'. In Oakland, he saw two slum children sword-fighting on a slag heap. ... one chilly evening in Union Square he listened to a wild-eyed young woman declaim that she had seen delicate grandmothers raped by Kiwanis zombies, that she had seen Rotarian blackguards bludgeoning Easter bunnies in a coal cellar, that she had seen Irving Berlin buying an Orange Julius in Queen's." (p.14)it sagged toward the end for me -- i know the hemorrhoids are thematically relevant, but yeah. slow -- and yet the end (especially Ann's fallout) was eventually worth it. it's hilarious at moments, chaotic and impenetrable at times, but hey - so's my homeland.
—Emily
Despite being frustrated throughout (to the point where I was tempted to throw it at a wall several times and did give up on it for awhile), I powered through this thing and I don't know if I should have even bothered. It seems at points as if it might get better but it never really does. The flaws have already been noted by many others here, but the most glaring is the fact that all of the characters are so unappealing that you aren't invested in them (or what happens to them) at all. The breathless post-beat style has been done well by so many others there's no reason to bother with this.
—alex
Dizzying and often hilarious, The Bushwhacked Piano veers between Schopenhauer and slapstick, vintage cinema slang and literary send-ups, with barely a breath to catch. On the sentence level it's deeply impressive, Pynchon on laughing gas, and the wild set pieces revolving around bat towers, wig banks, rodeos, and peeping toms retain a madcap cartoon exhuberance. Not to mention a scene of hemorrhoid surgery that you won't forget no matter how hard you try. The novel is partly a cultural dissection of America circa 1970 and that aspect hasn't aged as well. The savage way McGuane portrays the affluent set as grotesque gargoyles probably had real bite at the time, but we're so deep into the heart of darkness now that the critique feels obvious. Every character is highly dubious, excepting maybe the bats, so there are no real attachments to form. Ultimately this gonzo work is less serious than, say, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but it's worth the ride if you're looking for high-octane prose and bizarro Americana antics. 3.5 stars.
—Jeff Jackson
