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Breathing Out the Ghost
"Colin is looking for his son and the man he believes responsible for the boy's disappearance. Assisting him is a PI who lost his license and whose warped sense of duty ties him to Colin. A noir thriller, a tale of the consequences of unchecked grief andpainful truths"--Provided by publisher.
329 pages, Hardcover
First published February 20, 2007
4 people are currently reading
154 people want to read
About the author
Kirk Curnutt
44 books255 followersKirk Curnutt is the author of twelve volumes of fiction and literary criticism. His first novel, Breathing Out the Ghost, won the 2008 Best Books of Indiana competition in the fiction category. It also won a bronze IPPY and was a Foreword Magazine Book of the Year finalist. His second novel, Dixie Noir, was published in November 2009. Other recent works include Key West Hemingway, co-edited with Gail D. Sinclair (UP of Florida), The Cambridge Introduction to F. Scott Fitzgerald, the fictional dialogue with Ernest Hemingway Coffee with Hemingway (with a preface by John Updike), and the short-story collection Baby, Let’s Make a Baby, Plus Ten More Stories. The recipient of a 2007-08 Alabama State Arts Council literary fellowship, he is currently at work on a nonfiction account of the 1956 attack on Nat King Cole in Birmingham.
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Displaying 1 - 29 of 29 reviews
March 30, 2009
In a chapter called In nomine diaboli the protagonist, Colin St. Claire, says, "Somewhere along the line I began compiling myself from the excerpts of better men." I was reminded of that line from The Great Gatsby in which the narrator says of Gatsby, "He sprang from his Platonic conception of himself." St. Claire also says, "A man seeking his father seeks God, but a father reduced to searching for his son only chases after the man he thought he ought to be." The plot revolves around St. Claire's search for his missing son, but implicitly, like Gatsby, he is seeking that romantic ideal of himself. He doesn't realize it is already behind him, if it ever existed.
I love the way Curnutt uses the recurring motif of breath, vapor, ghosts, wind, mist, even fire ("The breath of God") to stress the vanity of St. Claire's search (even the name St. Claire at one point is mistaken for St. Cloud.) After all, as the author points out, the oft-quoted phrase from Ecclesiastes, "Vanities of vanities," literally means in Hebrew, "Vapor of vapors."
It's rare to see a book about such an emotionally fraught subject as missing children handled so skillfully without devolving into mawkishness and cloying platitudes. I could go on and on about the rich pattern of symbolism he employs or the wonderful way he evokes rural Middle America--a part of the country that someone like me who's lived in the Pacific southwest my whole life has tended to look on with, I admit, a little bit of condescension, a feeling Curnutt manages to dispel--but nobody likes reviews that tend to sound like book reports. So let me just say well done, Kirk.
I love the way Curnutt uses the recurring motif of breath, vapor, ghosts, wind, mist, even fire ("The breath of God") to stress the vanity of St. Claire's search (even the name St. Claire at one point is mistaken for St. Cloud.) After all, as the author points out, the oft-quoted phrase from Ecclesiastes, "Vanities of vanities," literally means in Hebrew, "Vapor of vapors."
It's rare to see a book about such an emotionally fraught subject as missing children handled so skillfully without devolving into mawkishness and cloying platitudes. I could go on and on about the rich pattern of symbolism he employs or the wonderful way he evokes rural Middle America--a part of the country that someone like me who's lived in the Pacific southwest my whole life has tended to look on with, I admit, a little bit of condescension, a feeling Curnutt manages to dispel--but nobody likes reviews that tend to sound like book reports. So let me just say well done, Kirk.
July 12, 2009
Panem et Circenses
(Breathing out the Ghost with Lions at My Heels)
Dear Kirk,
My wife worries about our kids being kidnapped by a homicidal maniac in a clown suit who drives around in a funky little panel van containing three litters of Labrador puppies and a bagful of candy, dispensing good cheer and trauma nationwide. I mostly worry about our kids being run over by acne-riddled imbeciles on scooters whose sole aim in life is to deliver pizza at 320 km/h, labouring under the misapprehension that “Game Over” is invariably followed by “Play Again?”
My wife reads a lot of thrillers. I don’t. Herein lies the key, I think.
Don’t get me wrong: I like thrillers. Yours is without doubt one of the very best I’ve ever read. A cross between James Ellroy’s “My Dark Places” and Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood”, two of my all-time favourites, exploring the very darkest corners of human nature, drawing the reader into the hearts and minds of characters, ultimately holding up a mirror and compelling them to see themselves, look within, wonder what they would do.
That said, I also know that accidents claim many more lives than sexual predators and that most violent crime is perpetrated by people who know their victims. What concerns me is that, while my wife is willing to accept the aforesaid, sexual predators remain the prime source of her maternal anxiety. I firmly believe that this anxiety is largely fuelled by books and films that perpetuate the myth that we should fear strangers, when in fact we have more to fear from ourselves, our relatives, our friends, our neighbours. I would even go as far as to say that my wife and I are more much likely to harm our own kids or someone else’s through our own negligence – late for school again! – than we are to suffer the trauma of the parents in your book, whose children have been taken from them and murdered by free-ranging psychopaths.
All this is further compounded by the fact that cinematic and literary “experiences” are assuming an increasingly important place in our lives. People discuss characters from soap operas as if they live next door, or conversely, they are more preoccupied with the lives (and deaths) of celebrities than they are with those of their neighbours. I believe this “media-driven” reality, fed by fiction, causes people to grossly overestimate some risks, distracting them from the far greater risk presented by their own actions or inertia.
Taking this one step further: I sometimes wonder to what extent thrillers and other fictional fare are modern versions of the age-old “bread and games” doled out to appease the masses, distract them from more pressing matters, keep their eyes on Bin Laden and away from the terrorist within.
And so your book has lured me out into the centre of an empty arena. Before the lions are released, I’d like to thank you for an excellent read that seems to have provoked more thought than I could ever have anticipated when I set out to write this review.
(Breathing out the Ghost with Lions at My Heels)
Dear Kirk,
My wife worries about our kids being kidnapped by a homicidal maniac in a clown suit who drives around in a funky little panel van containing three litters of Labrador puppies and a bagful of candy, dispensing good cheer and trauma nationwide. I mostly worry about our kids being run over by acne-riddled imbeciles on scooters whose sole aim in life is to deliver pizza at 320 km/h, labouring under the misapprehension that “Game Over” is invariably followed by “Play Again?”
My wife reads a lot of thrillers. I don’t. Herein lies the key, I think.
Don’t get me wrong: I like thrillers. Yours is without doubt one of the very best I’ve ever read. A cross between James Ellroy’s “My Dark Places” and Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood”, two of my all-time favourites, exploring the very darkest corners of human nature, drawing the reader into the hearts and minds of characters, ultimately holding up a mirror and compelling them to see themselves, look within, wonder what they would do.
That said, I also know that accidents claim many more lives than sexual predators and that most violent crime is perpetrated by people who know their victims. What concerns me is that, while my wife is willing to accept the aforesaid, sexual predators remain the prime source of her maternal anxiety. I firmly believe that this anxiety is largely fuelled by books and films that perpetuate the myth that we should fear strangers, when in fact we have more to fear from ourselves, our relatives, our friends, our neighbours. I would even go as far as to say that my wife and I are more much likely to harm our own kids or someone else’s through our own negligence – late for school again! – than we are to suffer the trauma of the parents in your book, whose children have been taken from them and murdered by free-ranging psychopaths.
All this is further compounded by the fact that cinematic and literary “experiences” are assuming an increasingly important place in our lives. People discuss characters from soap operas as if they live next door, or conversely, they are more preoccupied with the lives (and deaths) of celebrities than they are with those of their neighbours. I believe this “media-driven” reality, fed by fiction, causes people to grossly overestimate some risks, distracting them from the far greater risk presented by their own actions or inertia.
Taking this one step further: I sometimes wonder to what extent thrillers and other fictional fare are modern versions of the age-old “bread and games” doled out to appease the masses, distract them from more pressing matters, keep their eyes on Bin Laden and away from the terrorist within.
And so your book has lured me out into the centre of an empty arena. Before the lions are released, I’d like to thank you for an excellent read that seems to have provoked more thought than I could ever have anticipated when I set out to write this review.
July 23, 2008
This is some damn fine writing, Mr. Curnutt.
There is this feeling that kinda creeps up on you when you read this book. At first it’s like an itch and you can swat at it, pinch it, scratch the living hell out of it and it goes away. Mind over matter kind of situation but then it sort of blossoms into this full on rash that you know you have to address or you’re going to end up either bloodying up yourself or spreading it around.
Yeah, Kirk’s book is kinda like that.
There’s this despair and this anger and this overall sense of defeat that each character has to grapple with and the paths that they choose to walk or are pushed into or stumbled upon create this story that well, is downright fantastical.
He wanted to comfort her by assuring her he appreciated her anger, appreciated how she used it in a way that he didn’t seem able. Anger with an aim. She wasn’t just scaring random sparrows.
Damn fine…
I enjoyed the notion of ‘Ahab of the Interstates’ for the obvious Melville references but also because when you look up the ‘Ahab’ of the Bible there is this little nugget: ‘Elijah the prophet told Ahab that none of his male heirs would survive’. St. Claire’s inner monologues, the ramblings and tirades and overwhelming frustration transferred to Memorex. To be heard and to catalogue these thoughts like an egomaniacal preacher needing to spread the word.
You mentioned that it took you ten years to write this, I don’t doubt that. I can see your love of words, of manipulating us; much like your typographer does by arranging lines into angles and composing flow to create letters. How do you describe Helvetica? ‘Functional with flourish---a boneless sack of a font, a wooden leg without feet, much less toes.’ Typography from the Greek meaning ‘to strike’. Fitting for St. Claire, no?
I became so engrossed in the story, in Sis’s wavering notion of what is ideal, in Pete’s simplicity, in Ethel’s stoicism, in Heim’s reluctant obsession, and mostly in the passion of St. Claire’s soliloquies. Oh, and Neve’s chapter? An unexpected joy. The balance of these characters with the appreciation of your wordplay had me losing touch with my surroundings, ignoring my children and that is what I consider a five star-er. You’ve drawn each character so well, so fleshed out.
I will admit my affinity to St. Claire (if not already assumed), his affliction hit me harder than Sis’s or Heim’s. I guess that says something about me.
But, I’m not ready to go there.
There is this feeling that kinda creeps up on you when you read this book. At first it’s like an itch and you can swat at it, pinch it, scratch the living hell out of it and it goes away. Mind over matter kind of situation but then it sort of blossoms into this full on rash that you know you have to address or you’re going to end up either bloodying up yourself or spreading it around.
Yeah, Kirk’s book is kinda like that.
There’s this despair and this anger and this overall sense of defeat that each character has to grapple with and the paths that they choose to walk or are pushed into or stumbled upon create this story that well, is downright fantastical.
He wanted to comfort her by assuring her he appreciated her anger, appreciated how she used it in a way that he didn’t seem able. Anger with an aim. She wasn’t just scaring random sparrows.
Damn fine…
I enjoyed the notion of ‘Ahab of the Interstates’ for the obvious Melville references but also because when you look up the ‘Ahab’ of the Bible there is this little nugget: ‘Elijah the prophet told Ahab that none of his male heirs would survive’. St. Claire’s inner monologues, the ramblings and tirades and overwhelming frustration transferred to Memorex. To be heard and to catalogue these thoughts like an egomaniacal preacher needing to spread the word.
You mentioned that it took you ten years to write this, I don’t doubt that. I can see your love of words, of manipulating us; much like your typographer does by arranging lines into angles and composing flow to create letters. How do you describe Helvetica? ‘Functional with flourish---a boneless sack of a font, a wooden leg without feet, much less toes.’ Typography from the Greek meaning ‘to strike’. Fitting for St. Claire, no?
I became so engrossed in the story, in Sis’s wavering notion of what is ideal, in Pete’s simplicity, in Ethel’s stoicism, in Heim’s reluctant obsession, and mostly in the passion of St. Claire’s soliloquies. Oh, and Neve’s chapter? An unexpected joy. The balance of these characters with the appreciation of your wordplay had me losing touch with my surroundings, ignoring my children and that is what I consider a five star-er. You’ve drawn each character so well, so fleshed out.
I will admit my affinity to St. Claire (if not already assumed), his affliction hit me harder than Sis’s or Heim’s. I guess that says something about me.
But, I’m not ready to go there.
September 3, 2008
Please read this book. Seriously. Rich in imagery, it is a beautiful meditation on loss, pain, grief, and ultimately, acceptance, when one is confronted with what must be the biggest horror in life: The loss of a child.
The main characters in the novel have experienced this loss, and they deal with it in different ways. Stay and try to recover, or run away? Both options are explored, and neither one is easier than the other.
Sis Pruitt remains in the town where her daughter was killed many years prior, and she immerses herself in a group of parents who have also lost children. Outwardly strong, people look to her for comfort when a local boy goes missing. Inside, she is still in pieces.
Colin St. Clair leaves his family, goes on the road, and becomes a shell of a man as he searches for his lost son. He seeks redemption through attempts to find other missing children, and ends up self destructing in the process.
I loved the way their stories eventually intertwined. I loved all of the peripheral characters, and the richness they added to the novel. Curnutt didn’t take the easy way out and give the reader closure by solving its mysteries. That is why it will continue to resonate long after the last page is turned.
The main characters in the novel have experienced this loss, and they deal with it in different ways. Stay and try to recover, or run away? Both options are explored, and neither one is easier than the other.
Sis Pruitt remains in the town where her daughter was killed many years prior, and she immerses herself in a group of parents who have also lost children. Outwardly strong, people look to her for comfort when a local boy goes missing. Inside, she is still in pieces.
Colin St. Clair leaves his family, goes on the road, and becomes a shell of a man as he searches for his lost son. He seeks redemption through attempts to find other missing children, and ends up self destructing in the process.
I loved the way their stories eventually intertwined. I loved all of the peripheral characters, and the richness they added to the novel. Curnutt didn’t take the easy way out and give the reader closure by solving its mysteries. That is why it will continue to resonate long after the last page is turned.
June 4, 2008
My final review:
Kirk Curnutt is fucked in the head.
Kirk Curnutt is fucked in the head.
November 23, 2008
Even though I was predisposed to like this novel, it wouldn't have mattered. Kirk! This was great.
This type of book is right up my alley: full of shadowy characters with messed-up lives and the monsters they're wrestling with in their heads. Kirk's not afraid to go to some very scary places-lonely lonely parents missing their murdered and disappeared children, vigilante tweakers, pedophiles. There is so little distance between the thoughts of these characters and the reader that it's difficult to resist rooting for each of them (well, maybe not the pedophile entirely). But more than this, the imagery is quite brilliant. I can imagine each of these people quite clearly as I write this.
The story really took hold of me towards the later part, during the scene when Pete is harvesting his crops. I never imagined being transfixed by the tilling of soybeans, but Kirk describes Pete's loss so elegantly during these passages it makes me jealous that I'm not a novelist. And when he describes the dementia-ridden thoughts of a 106 year-old woman, left alone and trying to cleanse herself of the memories she still has? Forget it. These passages are so heartbreakingly beautiful, I think they'll stick with me for some time.
This type of book is right up my alley: full of shadowy characters with messed-up lives and the monsters they're wrestling with in their heads. Kirk's not afraid to go to some very scary places-lonely lonely parents missing their murdered and disappeared children, vigilante tweakers, pedophiles. There is so little distance between the thoughts of these characters and the reader that it's difficult to resist rooting for each of them (well, maybe not the pedophile entirely). But more than this, the imagery is quite brilliant. I can imagine each of these people quite clearly as I write this.
The story really took hold of me towards the later part, during the scene when Pete is harvesting his crops. I never imagined being transfixed by the tilling of soybeans, but Kirk describes Pete's loss so elegantly during these passages it makes me jealous that I'm not a novelist. And when he describes the dementia-ridden thoughts of a 106 year-old woman, left alone and trying to cleanse herself of the memories she still has? Forget it. These passages are so heartbreakingly beautiful, I think they'll stick with me for some time.
November 12, 2008
Buy.com and B&N are out of stock, I was just about to buy it, argh. (Amazon has 1 copy left, but I'm boycotting them.)
I'm almost 1/2 done, and just started it today too. Even though the subject matter that everyone is reacting to fills me with dismay and distaste (missing and murdered children), I am gripped by the multiple characters. The book so far is not about the children themselves, since that has happened in the past, but about the way people react to pain and loss even years later.
Not being from the mid-West myself I am enjoying the evocation of what it is like there - I'm getting a very vivid picture and sense of small town farming communities.
This was beautifully written, with absorbing characters, all of whom are in pain. Except for the 2 children of Sis, who bring a much-needed lightening to the heart. Sis was my favorite character, and her marriage was beautifully and honestly depicted. As for St, Clare it's a powerful journey he takes. It's hard to believe that the gentle intelligent man from the past becomes this methed out crazy man. I was so glad to see in the end he gets a bit better. But not quite where he was. And why should he. The greatest tragedy and lose has befallen him.
But this is a very dark book, so be warned if you are feeling at all tender and vulnerable! The last chapter doesn't help!
I'm almost 1/2 done, and just started it today too. Even though the subject matter that everyone is reacting to fills me with dismay and distaste (missing and murdered children), I am gripped by the multiple characters. The book so far is not about the children themselves, since that has happened in the past, but about the way people react to pain and loss even years later.
Not being from the mid-West myself I am enjoying the evocation of what it is like there - I'm getting a very vivid picture and sense of small town farming communities.
This was beautifully written, with absorbing characters, all of whom are in pain. Except for the 2 children of Sis, who bring a much-needed lightening to the heart. Sis was my favorite character, and her marriage was beautifully and honestly depicted. As for St, Clare it's a powerful journey he takes. It's hard to believe that the gentle intelligent man from the past becomes this methed out crazy man. I was so glad to see in the end he gets a bit better. But not quite where he was. And why should he. The greatest tragedy and lose has befallen him.
But this is a very dark book, so be warned if you are feeling at all tender and vulnerable! The last chapter doesn't help!
July 12, 2008
This was a gritty, visceral, emotional, hard-ass sonofabitch of a book. It deals with harsh realities of grief, drug addiction, sexual deviance, obsession, depression, and a little redemption. It was a novel that made me feel deeply and relate to characters with whom I have nothing in common. It drew me in and then punched me in the gut in the final pages. Bravo, Mr. Curnutt.
Signed & inscribed by author
Signed & inscribed by author
June 16, 2008
Colin St. Clair is a man so torn by the disappearance of his young son A. J. that he can't move on. Months after A. J.'s disappearance and initial police investigation, St. Clair goes on the road following leads, leaving behind a wife and daughter, and giving up on any kind of normal life.
This book is about the differing ways the loss of a child can affect people, not just those immediately involved, but also radiating out into the lives around them, at the moment and over the years. It's both a powerful psychological drama and a rich character study.
Drawn back into St. Clair's search again and again is Robert Heim, a private investigator who has lost his license investigating A. J.'s disappearance in a moment of rash violence. He and St. Clair suspect a child molester named Dickie-Bird Johnson of being responsible, and together they plan to track him down. (Man, was St. Clair irritating. The man totally wore out my sympathy for him by the end, so it was kind of the author to give him a more understanding ally in Heim.)
Along the way, they meet Sis Pruitt, a woman whose teenage daughter Patty was murdered 17 years previously. While she has gone on with her life, Sis is far from serene about Patty's death. She is resentful of how everyone expects her to sympathize with other grieving parents, when she is still angry with the world for her own loss. And she can't get over the actions of her husband, Pete, who removed all traces of Patty from their home after her death.
I loved Sis and Pete, and their determined fidelity. Sis's shouting back at the world, while carrying on with her responsibilities, is the perfect contrast to St. Clair's self-obsessed search.
Over the course of the book, things come to a head, for better or for worse, but not everything is resolved, and some things are left mysteries. At the end, the last chapter delivers one final gut punch, as the reader watches a boy learning about "spidering" with the last person in the world he should be talking to, and shudders, knowing what is likely to happen next.
Mr. Curnutt, your book gives me the creeps, in a powerful literature kind of way. Very insightful, and very unsettling. Bravo!
This book is about the differing ways the loss of a child can affect people, not just those immediately involved, but also radiating out into the lives around them, at the moment and over the years. It's both a powerful psychological drama and a rich character study.
Drawn back into St. Clair's search again and again is Robert Heim, a private investigator who has lost his license investigating A. J.'s disappearance in a moment of rash violence. He and St. Clair suspect a child molester named Dickie-Bird Johnson of being responsible, and together they plan to track him down. (Man, was St. Clair irritating. The man totally wore out my sympathy for him by the end, so it was kind of the author to give him a more understanding ally in Heim.)
Along the way, they meet Sis Pruitt, a woman whose teenage daughter Patty was murdered 17 years previously. While she has gone on with her life, Sis is far from serene about Patty's death. She is resentful of how everyone expects her to sympathize with other grieving parents, when she is still angry with the world for her own loss. And she can't get over the actions of her husband, Pete, who removed all traces of Patty from their home after her death.
I loved Sis and Pete, and their determined fidelity. Sis's shouting back at the world, while carrying on with her responsibilities, is the perfect contrast to St. Clair's self-obsessed search.
Over the course of the book, things come to a head, for better or for worse, but not everything is resolved, and some things are left mysteries. At the end, the last chapter delivers one final gut punch, as the reader watches a boy learning about "spidering" with the last person in the world he should be talking to, and shudders, knowing what is likely to happen next.
Mr. Curnutt, your book gives me the creeps, in a powerful literature kind of way. Very insightful, and very unsettling. Bravo!
October 30, 2008
“Breathing Out the Ghost” by Kirk Curnutt is an indescribable novel. The title sounds like a horror novel, but it’s touted as being a mystery thriller. It’s neither. There is no mystery. There are no thrills. The action is minimal. “Breathing Out the Ghost” is really a literary study of how people cope or don’t cope with the loss of a child. We’re talking about the kids on milk cartons here; the ones they put out Amber alerts for. This book tells the cold hard story of parents left behind and what they go through. The one stark truth is that everybody reacts differently to the loss of a child.
This novel is told from different points of view. It starts with Colin St. Claire recording a message to his missing son, moves to a detective whose career is destroyed by his reaction to the case, then follows a woman whose 20-year-old daughter was murdered 15 years earlier and whose small town is now looking for a missing boy. There’s even one very disturbing chapter that is told from a pedophile’s point of view. I have to say that I could have done without that chapter. It was too graphic for me and I thought the author captured the pedophile’s thought process too well.
Author Kirk Curnutt does an amazing job of tracing Colin St. Claire’s slide into insanity that begins with the disappearance of his 4-year-old son in a Home Depot parking lot. I never really figured out if Colin expects to find his son alive or dead—it’s all about the search. He throws his life away to pursue a ghost of an idea that is his son.
It is quite obvious from Curnutt’s writing that he is very well-read. His language and allusions show that he has more than a passing acquaintance with great literature. I think “Breathing Out the Ghost” deserves to be ranked with the great literature of this generation. I certainly think it’s superior to something like “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will get the exposure that it needs to draw the attention of literary mavens, the “deciders” of what is and what is not literature. That’s just a shame.
This novel is told from different points of view. It starts with Colin St. Claire recording a message to his missing son, moves to a detective whose career is destroyed by his reaction to the case, then follows a woman whose 20-year-old daughter was murdered 15 years earlier and whose small town is now looking for a missing boy. There’s even one very disturbing chapter that is told from a pedophile’s point of view. I have to say that I could have done without that chapter. It was too graphic for me and I thought the author captured the pedophile’s thought process too well.
Author Kirk Curnutt does an amazing job of tracing Colin St. Claire’s slide into insanity that begins with the disappearance of his 4-year-old son in a Home Depot parking lot. I never really figured out if Colin expects to find his son alive or dead—it’s all about the search. He throws his life away to pursue a ghost of an idea that is his son.
It is quite obvious from Curnutt’s writing that he is very well-read. His language and allusions show that he has more than a passing acquaintance with great literature. I think “Breathing Out the Ghost” deserves to be ranked with the great literature of this generation. I certainly think it’s superior to something like “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will get the exposure that it needs to draw the attention of literary mavens, the “deciders” of what is and what is not literature. That’s just a shame.
April 16, 2008
Have you ever read a book where you wanted to step into the story and slap the shit out of the main character? I couldn't put this book down! Curnutt kept me so wrapped up in this story of Colin St. Clair, a father so damaged by the disappreance of his son, that I found myself talking outloud to the book! It's a rare writer that can make you forget it's a story and not real life. I love books that make me feel, whether it's rage, fear, intense lonliness or laugh-out-loud enjoyment-that's what Curnutt has done with Breathing Out the Ghost. His turn of a phrase, and the incredible descriptions, are all intense and vivid.
July 22, 2009
This was a truly frightening book, but in a very real way. I was already an over protective father, after reading Breathing Out the Ghost I don't even want my kids to leave the house. I actually had to put this book down and read something a little less realistic to calm my nerves a little. It got to me that much. This is a graphic and very blunt look at how different people cope with the abduction of their children and the effect it has on their relationships with others. Very well written and disturbing, a great read, but not for the faint of heart.
June 19, 2010
Please, if this book goes into a second printing, hire a proofreader. There's no excuse for mistakes like "for all intensive purposes". There were too many missing words and typos -- the book deserves better treatment. (And I hope there are LOTS of printings.)
Want to Read
June 14, 2011I finally going to read this book this year...when I first read about it coming to GR, I felt I was not strong enough to handle the story, but now I am.
June 3, 2022
This is a very good book. The prose is excellent--poetic and evocative without ever becoming purple. (Except for one character's disjointed monologues, but that's on purpose.) Author Curnutt successfully takes us inside the heads of myriad narrators--parents with missing children, parents with murdered children, children with missing or murdered siblings, geriatrics with dementia, pedophiles--and renders them all believable and psychologically grounded. Some characters rail against their lots in life, while others accept them and move on. The setting (generally Middle America, as characters move hundreds of miles over highways and back roads in their endless quests) is well-drawn, the details precise.
I think the most interesting aspect of the book is the way that characters like Sis and St. Claire--the former lost her daughter to a rapist/murderer while the second has a missing son--are constantly accused (even by their own spouses) of selfishness for refusing to let their children's memories die. Of course, it's also selfish to demand a traumatized loved one "snap back" to normal, but that's easier for most people to understand. There's an implication that others are only willing to extend you so much grace for your grief; when you haven't recovered on their timeline, they grow impatient and angry because they are no longer willing to stay in that dark place with you. The character of Sis constantly finds herself having to be polite to others, staying conscientious of their feelings, even though she's the one whose daughter was murdered. In a way, these interlocutors are much more fragile than they accuse Sis of being.
The last chapter threw me for a loop. While the book seems to state, thematically, that the grief-stricken characters must either find a way to move on or simply give up on life, the last chapter implies that their obsessive (and self-destructive) vigilance is necessary to keeping children safe. Which one is true? Should we be rooting for these characters to keep chasing after missing children and pedophiles, at the expense of their own (and their families') well-being and livelihood, or is it healthier for them to give up the quest, return home and establish some semblance of normalcy? Which option makes the world a better place? Perhaps the last chapter is there to suggest that there is no winning, that the world is going to keep on being terrible no matter what choice you make personally. It struck me as a bit alarmist, though, and seems to vindicate St. Claire's vigilantism, which is otherwise frowned upon. It's a dour ending that erases all previous stabs at hope.
Oh, well. Life is messy, so I suppose stories are allowed to be messy, as well, even if that means a conclusion leaves you feeling unsatisfied.
I think the most interesting aspect of the book is the way that characters like Sis and St. Claire--the former lost her daughter to a rapist/murderer while the second has a missing son--are constantly accused (even by their own spouses) of selfishness for refusing to let their children's memories die. Of course, it's also selfish to demand a traumatized loved one "snap back" to normal, but that's easier for most people to understand. There's an implication that others are only willing to extend you so much grace for your grief; when you haven't recovered on their timeline, they grow impatient and angry because they are no longer willing to stay in that dark place with you. The character of Sis constantly finds herself having to be polite to others, staying conscientious of their feelings, even though she's the one whose daughter was murdered. In a way, these interlocutors are much more fragile than they accuse Sis of being.
The last chapter threw me for a loop. While the book seems to state, thematically, that the grief-stricken characters must either find a way to move on or simply give up on life, the last chapter implies that their obsessive (and self-destructive) vigilance is necessary to keeping children safe. Which one is true? Should we be rooting for these characters to keep chasing after missing children and pedophiles, at the expense of their own (and their families') well-being and livelihood, or is it healthier for them to give up the quest, return home and establish some semblance of normalcy? Which option makes the world a better place? Perhaps the last chapter is there to suggest that there is no winning, that the world is going to keep on being terrible no matter what choice you make personally. It struck me as a bit alarmist, though, and seems to vindicate St. Claire's vigilantism, which is otherwise frowned upon. It's a dour ending that erases all previous stabs at hope.
Oh, well. Life is messy, so I suppose stories are allowed to be messy, as well, even if that means a conclusion leaves you feeling unsatisfied.
January 11, 2009
How would you react if you lost a child? What is the appropriate reaction for a parent who has lost a child? These are the questions tackled in Breathing Out the Ghost. Moving on after a child has disappeared or murdered is unimaginable, but life does move on; but how it moves on is up to the family impacted by these tragedies.
"From inside the cab of the combine, Pete watched the reels of the header bat down row after row of soybeans. As the stalks fell backwards, their stems snipped clean by a line of saw teeth on the header's bottom cutter bar, the bean pods scratched against the metal of the machinery, making the sound of a whisking broom on carpet." (page 244)
This passage signifies how both Sis and Pete Pruitt and Colin and Kimm St. Claire tackle their grief and pick up the remnants of their lives. The process of rebuilding is a series of fits and starts and restarts; it's not pretty and it's never complete. Like the stalks cut down in this passage, lives are halted and lives are skinned raw. While Sis and Pete continue with their lives as best as possible and become a source of selfless comfort for others hit by tragedy in their town, Kimm is left to her own devices when her husband Colin, who calls himself a modern Ahab of the highway, sets out on a journey to find their lost son, A.J. Both stories are separate and connected, but only begin to intersect when St. Claire finds Sis Pruitt at a local fair where she and her group, Parents of Murdered Children, share their photo quilt.
Each of these characters expresses their loss in different ways, but it is more than loss that permeates the pages of this novel. The inability to control life is most evident in St. Claire's actions, but it peeks out from behind Sis' veil of normalcy as well. When Sis works with her community members to provide food for volunteers searching for a lost boy, she loses herself in the kitchen conversation, almost fooling herself into believing she's normal. It's only when she expresses herself and her memories of her dead daughter, Patty, that she realizes normalcy is not hers.
Curnutt's masterful language and description in this novel paints a vivid Midwest landscape in which these characters languish in their grief and flourish in spite of that grief. From Michigan to Indiana, readers will picture the asphalt highway that becomes St. Claire's home, office, and escape and the Pruitt's farm that provides them with order in a town where they feel they have been branded by the murder of their daughter.
One of the best passages in this book is found on page 219, where St. Claire is recording his thoughts on cassette tape for his lost son:
"When I see myself I don't see anything organic, anything original. I steal my aphorisms from outside sources. My actions pantomime the exploits of others. I'm all imitation, a gloss of a citation. Somewhere along the line I began compiling myself from the excerpts of better men."
Many of these characters are looking for ways to fill the holes inside them left by loss. And this novel is not just about the loss of loved ones; it is a novel about losing oneself in that loss, allowing it to swallow you whole. The introduction of Sis' grandmother, Ethel, who has dementia, is a nice addition to the cast. Not only has she experienced the loss of loved ones, but also her own memories and sense of self. However, she is less tortured by that loss, as she is not bound by time lines or turning points that she would like to have a chance to do over. Regret and a lack of control over life can sometimes be more powerful than actual loss. While there are some graphic details involving sexual predator Dickie-Bird, St. Claire's mythical white whale, this novel is an insightful look at grief, family, and perseverance.
"From inside the cab of the combine, Pete watched the reels of the header bat down row after row of soybeans. As the stalks fell backwards, their stems snipped clean by a line of saw teeth on the header's bottom cutter bar, the bean pods scratched against the metal of the machinery, making the sound of a whisking broom on carpet." (page 244)
This passage signifies how both Sis and Pete Pruitt and Colin and Kimm St. Claire tackle their grief and pick up the remnants of their lives. The process of rebuilding is a series of fits and starts and restarts; it's not pretty and it's never complete. Like the stalks cut down in this passage, lives are halted and lives are skinned raw. While Sis and Pete continue with their lives as best as possible and become a source of selfless comfort for others hit by tragedy in their town, Kimm is left to her own devices when her husband Colin, who calls himself a modern Ahab of the highway, sets out on a journey to find their lost son, A.J. Both stories are separate and connected, but only begin to intersect when St. Claire finds Sis Pruitt at a local fair where she and her group, Parents of Murdered Children, share their photo quilt.
Each of these characters expresses their loss in different ways, but it is more than loss that permeates the pages of this novel. The inability to control life is most evident in St. Claire's actions, but it peeks out from behind Sis' veil of normalcy as well. When Sis works with her community members to provide food for volunteers searching for a lost boy, she loses herself in the kitchen conversation, almost fooling herself into believing she's normal. It's only when she expresses herself and her memories of her dead daughter, Patty, that she realizes normalcy is not hers.
Curnutt's masterful language and description in this novel paints a vivid Midwest landscape in which these characters languish in their grief and flourish in spite of that grief. From Michigan to Indiana, readers will picture the asphalt highway that becomes St. Claire's home, office, and escape and the Pruitt's farm that provides them with order in a town where they feel they have been branded by the murder of their daughter.
One of the best passages in this book is found on page 219, where St. Claire is recording his thoughts on cassette tape for his lost son:
"When I see myself I don't see anything organic, anything original. I steal my aphorisms from outside sources. My actions pantomime the exploits of others. I'm all imitation, a gloss of a citation. Somewhere along the line I began compiling myself from the excerpts of better men."
Many of these characters are looking for ways to fill the holes inside them left by loss. And this novel is not just about the loss of loved ones; it is a novel about losing oneself in that loss, allowing it to swallow you whole. The introduction of Sis' grandmother, Ethel, who has dementia, is a nice addition to the cast. Not only has she experienced the loss of loved ones, but also her own memories and sense of self. However, she is less tortured by that loss, as she is not bound by time lines or turning points that she would like to have a chance to do over. Regret and a lack of control over life can sometimes be more powerful than actual loss. While there are some graphic details involving sexual predator Dickie-Bird, St. Claire's mythical white whale, this novel is an insightful look at grief, family, and perseverance.
May 1, 2009
Colin St. Claire lost his son. Kidnapped. There was no resolution for him because there was never a body found. All St. Claire had was a suspect and the ghost of his son. Following his ‘whale,’ St. Claire goes off on a speed fueled mission to find his son and punish the man he thinks did it. Following him is an ex-detective named Heim who can’t seem to let St. Claire go just as much as St. Claire can‘t let go of his son. Sacrificing his own family and his own career, Heim is determined to save St. Claire even if St. Claire won’t save himself. Mixed into this is a woman they both come to know, a woman named Sis Pruitt- paths crossing and connecting by the experience of pure and plain suffering- who too lost her daughter Patty when she was murdered. The subject matter isn’t something that can be shaken away or read with a light heart.
Curnutt’s masterful use of description and language is almost poetic. Yet, instead of beautifying the story and masking the horror of what has happened, it only illuminates the darker context under which every one and everything moves and works. Time and time again I caught myself rereading passages, sometimes just because I like how they sounded and sometimes because I wanted to absorb the words into myself. I wanted to understand what was being said and try to feel every bit of it because it was so plainly written. Underneath the prose is something so harshly true to life that it sinks into you. You realize as you read it, “this is really how we are and think.” Only, we don’t often delve that deeply into our nature to find out.
Breathing Out the Ghost tells us how people cope. Or rather, how unrealistic an expectation it is for us to expect people to move on after tragedy, as well as how people function and react in unique ways. It’s about pain and obsession and destruction and failed attempts at redemption. This book exposes how we think and feel about tragedy, both those who experience it and those who witness it as outsiders. I came to see through reading this book that we all are more comfortable assuming that life goes on. Yet, the truth of the matter is that it’s not so easy. Time and time again I found myself frustrated with St. Claire. He was selfish to think that his quest was not hurting anyone or that his pain was larger than other people. But isn’t it also selfish for people to assume that he should let go and move on? Who was I to judge him? It was all very painful to be a part of, but not in a way that made me want to close the book and avoid picking it back up.
This book offers absolutely no resolution. I don’t say that to criticize. At the end of the book, no one has found peace. Curnutt doesn’t try to create drama so that he can fix it and leave his readers with a warm and fulfilled feeling at the end. The drama is the story itself and reflects the hard truth of reality: sometimes there is no end, there is no peace, there is no happiness or light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes all that there is at the end is just more wandering and wondering, tediously carrying forward for each day.
Curnutt’s masterful use of description and language is almost poetic. Yet, instead of beautifying the story and masking the horror of what has happened, it only illuminates the darker context under which every one and everything moves and works. Time and time again I caught myself rereading passages, sometimes just because I like how they sounded and sometimes because I wanted to absorb the words into myself. I wanted to understand what was being said and try to feel every bit of it because it was so plainly written. Underneath the prose is something so harshly true to life that it sinks into you. You realize as you read it, “this is really how we are and think.” Only, we don’t often delve that deeply into our nature to find out.
Breathing Out the Ghost tells us how people cope. Or rather, how unrealistic an expectation it is for us to expect people to move on after tragedy, as well as how people function and react in unique ways. It’s about pain and obsession and destruction and failed attempts at redemption. This book exposes how we think and feel about tragedy, both those who experience it and those who witness it as outsiders. I came to see through reading this book that we all are more comfortable assuming that life goes on. Yet, the truth of the matter is that it’s not so easy. Time and time again I found myself frustrated with St. Claire. He was selfish to think that his quest was not hurting anyone or that his pain was larger than other people. But isn’t it also selfish for people to assume that he should let go and move on? Who was I to judge him? It was all very painful to be a part of, but not in a way that made me want to close the book and avoid picking it back up.
This book offers absolutely no resolution. I don’t say that to criticize. At the end of the book, no one has found peace. Curnutt doesn’t try to create drama so that he can fix it and leave his readers with a warm and fulfilled feeling at the end. The drama is the story itself and reflects the hard truth of reality: sometimes there is no end, there is no peace, there is no happiness or light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes all that there is at the end is just more wandering and wondering, tediously carrying forward for each day.
April 6, 2009
Breathing Out the Ghost, dubbed a “noir thriller” on the inside flap, didn’t disappoint. Kirk Curnutt expertly weaves together the lives of three people: Colin St. Claire, a man haunted by his young son’s disappearance who travels in search of the pedophile he thinks is responsible and turns up in towns where children have recently disappeared in hopes of finding his son; Robert Heim, the private investigator who lost his license in an incident involving Colin and the child molester and lies to his wife to go out one more time in search of the truth about Colin’s son; and Sis Pruitt, a woman whose daughter was murdered years ago who comes in contact with Colin and Heim after a local boy goes missing.
Breathing Out the Ghost is a well-written, character-driven novel, and Curnutt appears to be an expert at characterization. When Heim lies to his wife to go in search of Colin, you feel his pull to his family losing out to his need to find justice. When Colin records messages to his missing son while on a drug trip, you feel the depth of his pain. You can feel the tension and pain between Sis and her husband, Pete, and you can understand how hard it is for them to bridge the gap after so many years dealing with the grief on their own.
This book isn’t for the faint of heart. There is foul language, and in the scenes involving the pedophile, Dickie, there are graphic descriptions of child molestation. However, Curnutt uses these descriptions not solely for their shock value, but to give the reader a glimpse into the mind of a sick person. While these scenes made the book hard to read, I found the book to be a page-turner.
Full review on Diary of an Eccentric.
Breathing Out the Ghost is a well-written, character-driven novel, and Curnutt appears to be an expert at characterization. When Heim lies to his wife to go in search of Colin, you feel his pull to his family losing out to his need to find justice. When Colin records messages to his missing son while on a drug trip, you feel the depth of his pain. You can feel the tension and pain between Sis and her husband, Pete, and you can understand how hard it is for them to bridge the gap after so many years dealing with the grief on their own.
This book isn’t for the faint of heart. There is foul language, and in the scenes involving the pedophile, Dickie, there are graphic descriptions of child molestation. However, Curnutt uses these descriptions not solely for their shock value, but to give the reader a glimpse into the mind of a sick person. While these scenes made the book hard to read, I found the book to be a page-turner.
Full review on Diary of an Eccentric.
December 31, 2015
After reading Curnutt's Dixie Noir, I couldn't wait to dive into this. (Insert an empty swimming pool metaphor here.)
It was more painful than an empty pool. It was horrible. Characters drone on and on about this and that and nothing--I mean NOTHING--ever happens. I understand that this was supposed to be a character driven story, but not only are the characters weird in a badly written way, nothing much changes with them. They just keep on keeping on--and not in an interesting way at all. The one exception is the woman, but she is NOT enough to save this book. I don't know if an invasion of aliens would be enough to save this book. It was that bad.
It was more painful than an empty pool. It was horrible. Characters drone on and on about this and that and nothing--I mean NOTHING--ever happens. I understand that this was supposed to be a character driven story, but not only are the characters weird in a badly written way, nothing much changes with them. They just keep on keeping on--and not in an interesting way at all. The one exception is the woman, but she is NOT enough to save this book. I don't know if an invasion of aliens would be enough to save this book. It was that bad.
February 8, 2011
This book is sooooo well written! You find yourself with real empathy for some of the characters as their choices resonate in your own life and history. The subject matter, abducted and/or murdered children, is a heart rending one, but he handled it well. I had difficulty with the ending.....it stayed with me for the longest time. All in all, though, this is an excellent book.
August 17, 2010
Very good fictional novel telling how parents who have lost children and children who were murdered deal differently with their feelings and actions. The author makes you feel for the parents in each circumstance. This book can be hard to find. Luckily I was able to find a copy on half.com.
June 19, 2008
again. another book i just couldn't get into. why is it so difficult to find a good book to read?
September 5, 2008
I found this book hard in the beginning because the language and story required greater attention than I was used to paying....but once i listened it was a really nice piece of work ...
January 12, 2009
Really wish I could give 1/2 stars. This was more of a 2 1/2 ...
Looking forward to discussing this with Bookclub.
Looking forward to discussing this with Bookclub.
January 23, 2009
This book was interesting...but the subject matter was difficult. I absoultely hated the final chapter, but was probably appropriate based on the overall theme.
January 13, 2009
This book was very well written, but the end disappointed me - actually, it made me mad. I loved the interplay between the books characters, but the end ruined it for me. Sigh.
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September 12, 2011Wasn't my favorite, but was still good.
February 16, 2012
This is one of the most intense books I've ever read. Readers will feel a whirlwind of emotions. It is carefully written to ensure the ultimate reading experience. Great book.
February 18, 2014
This tale clicks along and makes you stay up late.
Displaying 1 - 29 of 29 reviews