I don't read a lot of reviews, but I read several about the Jesus Cow. I read them because I had not previously read anything fictional by Michael Perry, but thought Population 485 and the memoirs that followed to be incredible. Several of the reviews I read said it was "slow," but I think that completely misses the point: this book is about the rural Midwest. Life there is a bit slower-paced than downtown Manhattan or Miami. That's the point. This book is not meant to be played in fast motion.
These stories of life in small town Wisconsin -- fictional and not -- eloquently capture the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, and the beautifully tragic of what it means to be a person whose life is interconnected to those of others, whether living in a small rural community or the largest of metro areas. My understanding is that The Jesus Cow is set in a fictional community not too terribly different (and probably based loosely) from Mr. Perry's hometown of New Auburn (which he says is correctly pronounced "N'obbern"), Wisconsin. The story centers around a young man who owns a small farm in a small town not thriving in today's economy. Like so many small midwestern town, there is little economic base in this small community and its population is slowly dwindling. The main character works in a factory but also maintains a small farm on land owned by his family. Their farm had been much larger but it had been whittled away over the years. A significant chunk of the family farm was now a housing development owned by a developer who lives in the town down the road who, despite his big plans, is himself also struggling. The housing development (and many of his other ventures) had not gone as planned. Hoping to turn the corner, this developer sets his sights on acquiring the remaining farmland owned by the protagonist. I won't go into the story, other than to say another central character is a cow (yes, the Jesus Cow), but I'll leave the story behind the unusual name to Mr. Perry. What I think I enjoyed most were passages that spoke to "farm life" in the midwest. Take the following:
"Most people these days used round bales, the ones that resembled cigar stubs or were wrapped in white plastic and looked like elephantine marshmallows. You spiked them with a tractor and they'd feed the cows for several days. But Harley stuck with the old-school bales, the ones that were a packet of hay contained by two loops of knotted twine. They were more work, but he still liked using his dad's old John Deere baler. Billy would drive the tractor while Harley stacked bales on the wagon, the roar of the engine rising and falling to the rhythm of the plunger. Harley found this mechanical harmony soothing, and evocative of a time when everything made sense. Or was at least containable."
Here was a passage about the community that sounds like so much of the rural midwest I know:
"The water tower -- a classic witch-hatted four legger - stands on an elevated patch of land tucked within the armpit angle formed by the interstate off ramp and County Road M. The rare visitor who chooses to exit the freeway and following the gentle decline of County Road M into the dwindled heart of Swivel itself will be greeted by an outdated and optimistic green-and-white population sign declaring 562 citizens, when in fact a real estate death spiral and lack of local industry has drained the census well below that. There was a time when the state two-lane ran smack through town and on holiday weekends the burg could muster up a bustle, but when the bulldozers pushed the new four-lane through they bypassed Swivel and left it to whither.
And yet, life persists. Across the road, the halogen-lit Kwik Pump is open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Even now, near midnight on Christmas Eve, its logo glows against the sky on a long-stemmed sign visible from the interstate, advertising the only local attraction capable of convincing tourists to switch off the cruise control and visit -- and even then only for as long as it takes to top off the tank. Over the years the Kwik Pump had displaced all four of Swivel's gas stations, two of its three cafes, and the last lingering grocery store. There had been a lot of grumbling, but these days the grumblers filled their tanks and stood in line with everyone else for lottery tickets, loss-leader milk, and heat-lamped breakfast burritos."
I'm afraid I haven't done much in this review to share insights into Mr. Perry's humor and insight, but I think this is a good one: "...you attempt to render existence in terms of perfection. Life is a rough approximation of things hoped for. You need to revel in the misfires. In the scars and dings. You need to develop a taste for regret. It's the malt vinegar of emotions -- drink it straight from the bottle and it will eat yer guts. Add a sprinkle here and there and it puts a living edge on things."
I loved The Jesus Cow. For those not familiar with Mr. Perry I would steer them towards Population 485 first. This is a wonderful book, but it's not as powerful as reading the real life experience of the author who moves back to his small-town home after years away and rediscovers the essence of living authentically in a place most of us could not find on a map. But you can't go wrong choosing either. Mr. Perry and his works are the real deal.