The following is a quiz for readers: How patient are you? How much do you love poetry? Do you admire wordsmiths? If a book lacks a plot, do you find yourself saying, “What the hell, they’re overrated anyhow”? If there’s no main character to hitch your wagon to, will you careen off the road?
If the answer to the above preguntas is “Very,” “A lot,” “Yes,” “Yes,” and “No, sir!” then you might enjoy Kent Meyers’ western hodgepodge, TWISTED TREE. It’s similar (but different) to OLIVE KITTERIDGE and WINESBURG, OHIO, in that it explores place by adopting multiple points of view and variable story lines from different people in a small town, USA. A young anorexic girl is murdered and the book begins with a creepy sequence where she is abducted and we see it all through the eyes of the serial murderer. After that, we go from person to person – some of them with intimate knowledge of the murdered girl (her parents and boyfriend, for instance) and some of them remote (the grocery check-out lady comes to mind). You’d better be patient because it’s all over the place and the quality of the chapters is uneven.
Nevertheless, there’s no denying that Kent Meyers knows his way around a sentence. I recommend particularly a chapter in the middle called “Draw.” A young married woman is driving toward her mother’s funeral with her husband sleeping in the back seat. She’s a bit frigid and their marriage seems to be on ice when – paging Doctor Freud – the young woman discovers an unexpected hitchhiker in the car. Meyers describes the revelation in a chillingly-beautiful sequence that begins with this:
“Ten miles down the road she felt a touch of low breeze on her foot. She shifted her leg away from it, but in a few moments the touch came again, harder, sensuous. She unlocked her eyes from the light before her and leaned over and peered trough the steering wheel at her feet. For a moment she could see nothing, could only feel, not even a touch – a pressure – on her ankle. Then the sunlight still blinding her faded out of her eyes like a surface breaking up, and the dim floor of the car took shape underneath it. Her breath was jerked from her chest. A rattlesnake thick as her forearm lay under the clutch and brake pedal, its blunt, triangular head touching her ankle softly as air.”
For the next five pages, you’re in for the ride of your life as a reader and that alone bumps it up a star. The trouble is, between all of the jumping about from person to person and the AWOL plot, it’s hard to take root and plant yourself as a reader unless wordsmithing alone can sustain you for 388 pages. In that sense, it may be worth a look, but I know that this book is the type that readers either love, hate, or love and hate in equal measure because it begs for the “parts not equal to the sum” or “sum not equal to the parts” argument. Twisted, no?