Hagridden, a novel of Samuel Snoek-Brown
For disclosure purposes, Sam is a friend of mine from a few years back. But I must try to assure you that even if he were a total stranger to me this critique would be essentially the same. Objectivity may, indeed, be difficult. But our acquaintance cannot alter the fact that Sam's writing is superb. And let it be known that I do not like this site's star-category descriptions, and hence have given five stars only twice, so far. But Sam's book is one of them.
Even if you have not previously read anything by this author, it shouldn't take you long to recognize what you are holding in your hands as you begin to read his first novel. I had the privilege of reading his chapbook, Boxcutters, prior to getting a copy of @Hagridden. So I knew a little bit about what to expect of this novel. But knowing what to expect and actually reading it are two separate things.
By the end of the very short first chapter, there have been three murders committed and this reader was bathed in a mesmerizing environment of difficult poverty and dangers, human and otherwise. One idea repeatedly presented itself in my thoughts: Immersed. I was immersed in the period, the place, and the language context.
It is near the end of the American Civil War in the marshes of Louisiana, and two women living alone are fighting to survive in a hostile environment. Sam's descriptive imagery presents in vivid detail the people, their misery and the drudgery of their lives, the dangers of both the war and the salt marsh, and the altered morality demanded for survival.
Sam chose to eliminate some dialog tags and all quotation punctuation, neither of which was particularly noticeable at first, and later only momentarily distracting. It felt for just a moment as if he were playing a little trick on the reader, attempting perhaps to imitate one of the characteristic idiosyncrasies of a William Faulkner. Perhaps a bit pretentious, I thought. But very quickly a realization swept over me as I read on. There was no pretense here. This was no pretext. There was good reason to step outside convention and eliminate quotation marks and dialog tags. This was no idle imitation, it was an echo.
P. D. Ouspensky titled his monumental philosophical work Tertium Organum, and by so doing boldly claimed his place alongside Aristotle and Bacon who had given the world Organon and Novum Organum. And just as Ouspensky claimed his rightful place among the bright lights of scholarly greatness, Sam Snoek-Brown has claimed his place alongside the likes of Faulkner. Yes, I said that. And let it be known that this review is written in September, 2014, before this book is nominated for the awards for which is is certainly eligible. There are good reasons why Sam's work has been compared to that of Cormac McCarthy.
Sam's undeniable gift for imagery through metaphor is the most rewarding component of his writing, at least for me. But this book also presents a depth of context that only comes from diligent research. The Louisiana salt marsh environment was completely foreign to me before reading Hagridden. Now I feel as if I know the place almost like my hometown. The book's detail and imagery are wonderfully offered up to the eager reader. Right down to the liver spots on that woman's feet. And I say, 'that woman,' because the two main characters are never named other than as the girl and the old woman. And yet long before the book concludes, you will have the distinct impression that you know them intimately well.
It's time to make room at the big folks' table. And we should look forward to many more novels by Samuel Snoek-Brown.