The Barnes & Noble Review
Each week, printing presses vomit reams upon reams of biographies and memoirs about the rich, the famous, and a dubious combination of the two (hello, Paris Hilton!). Publishers know readers love to immerse themselves in the lives of Those Who Are Not like the Rest of Us. For the space of a few hundred pages, we vicariously lap up the titillating adventures of French chefs, Revolutionary War heroes, golf pros, not-old-enough-to-vote pop singers, and White House press secretaries. But what of the humble, blue-collar American? What modern Boswell will write of the average life in as careful detail as others would of John Adams or Gene Simmons?
Alexandra Fuller has done just that in The Legend of Colton H. Bryant, an account of a Wyoming roughneck's short, happy life. Just as she did in her own memoirs of life in Africa, Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight and Scribbling the Cat, Fuller tells Colton's story in a parade of impressionistic scenes that are as much about the landscape as they are about the wide-eyed oil rigger who walks through it. In the book's opening sentences, Fuller writes: "This is the story of Colton H. Bryant and of the land that grew him. And since this is Wyoming, this story is a Western with a full cast of gun-toting boy heroes from the outskirts of town and city-shoddy villains from head office."
Colton, the unlikely hero at the center of the book, is no John Wayne, no Gary Cooper. Raised in the Upper Green River Valley of Wyoming, he loves hunting and fishing, idolizes his father (also an oil rigger), swigs Mountain Dew by the gallon, marries young, drives a Ford pickup, and works hard to provide for his family. There's nothing flashy or extraordinary about this Wyoming boy, and his biographer plays it straight nearly every step of the way. Fuller writes with a colloquial style, as if she's talking her way through a story with readers as rapt listeners. It's a quality that's been heightened and refined since her equally pitch-perfect Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight. Now, stepping outside of her own life, Fuller bottles the essence of a young American male pitted against the unforgiving landscape where "a person could evaporate….hide in the snow-blown creases that make up the endless quality of Wyoming's open spaces. You might look all your life and never find a man."
Fuller found her man several years ago while doing research for a New Yorker article about the social, economic, and environmental impact of the natural gas industry. She couldn't have found a better David to provide contrast with Goliath-sized oil companies. Despite the "legend" of the title, Colton is not larger than life, just larger than his own life. Energetic, unflappable, and recklessly brave, he bounces through the book like a human pinball. Though he's never officially diagnosed, he exhibits all the signs of attention deficit disorder. Fuller tells us his brain works
like a saddle bronc, fired up for eight seconds maximum and then bolting around the rails looking for a way out of the arena. Even on Ritalin, Colton has a way of tearing out of the chute, firing with all hooves at once. Colton doesn't have the gear between flat out and stopped. He doesn't have speed perception -- the way other people feel alarmed when they're going too fast, Colton feels alarmed when he isn't moving fast enough.
In this way, he packs a big life in a short span of time, arms flailing, legs pinwheeling, taking chances where a more reasonable person might hesitate, always plunging forward like a horse out of the rodeo chute.
His simple kind-heartedness may eventually grate on cynics' nerves or readers who want a little shadow with their sunny characters. However, by the end of the book, no matter how hard or soft your heart, it's hard to shake Colton from your mind. If nothing else, the golly-gee expression "Holy cow!" will stick in your head like a skipping record, as will Colton's favorite phrase: "Mind over matter -- I don't mind so it don't matter."
In drawing Colton and other characters, Fuller displays her allegiance to the spirit of Charles Dickens; the book delivers full-fleshed portraits (bordering on caricatures) which in the same breath tell us as much about the inner person as the outer appearance. Here, for instance, is her verbal snapshot of Colton's father:
It would be a cliché and also not entirely accurate to say that Bill looks weather-beaten, because he doesn't look beaten by the weather, or by anything else. So it might be better to say that Bill is a man uncovered by weather -- blown and rained and sunned and snowed -- to the essence of himself, more and more perfectly grained with every passing year. Stripped of unnecessary flesh in this way, he hangs faultlessly on his own bones, so self-contained that he couldn't lose his fundamental nature even if everything else were lost.
Sometimes, Fuller's sheer exuberance for description gets sloppy and sentimental, such as when she writes of Colton's "cornflower blue eyes, forgiving as Jesus, like he truly couldn't feel the pain." It's already enough that Colton is unbelievably pure-hearted -- we don't need the messianic comparison.
More than anything, The Legend of Colton H. Bryant is a story about the crushing realities facing blue-collar westerners, the once-proud pioneers who now find themselves the disposable commodities of industry and corporate greed. Colton is trapped by his circumstances, above which he'll never rise by luck, higher education, or football scholarship. Colton is an oil rigger's son destined to follow in his father's greasy footprints, knowing he has little if any choice in the matter.
From the opening page, Fuller warns us her subject is predestined for an early death: "Like all Westerns, this story is a tragedy before it even starts because there was never a way for anyone to win against all the odds out here." Fuller doesn't completely bring the "villains" on stage until the end of the book, when Colton lies dying in the hospital. An oil company safety officer pays the grieving family a visit, heartlessly telling them, "If the boy dies, we can help with the funeral, but we got to get blood and urine outta him and test for drugs. He comes up hot for anything and you ain't getting nothing." Fuller wisely resists injecting any authorial moralizing and just lets the scene play out on its own.
The most poignant chapter is saved for the end of the book: the story of Colton's birth in the front seat of a 1976 Ford Thunderbird going 70 miles per hour on Highway 6 near Payson, Utah. In his mother's arms, "Colton pulls away and begins to paddle, as if trying to feel the limits of his new world and, finding none, trying to swim away on his own umbilical pull back to the earth." The image captures perfectly the sense of a boy who could not wait to start living. This is one unforgettable American life, cut short by tragedy, written in large, beautiful strokes of the pen. --David Abrams
David Abrams's stories and essays have appeared in Esquire, Glimmer Train Stories, The Greensboro Review, and The Missouri Review. He's currently at work on a novel based in part on his experiences while deployed to Iraq with the U.S. Army.
From the Publisher
From the bestselling author of Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight and Scribbling the Cat, the unforgettable true story of a boy who comes of age in the oil-fields and open plains of Wyoming; a heartrending story of the human spirit that lays bare where it is that wisdom truly resides
Colton H. Bryant was one of Wyoming's native sons and grown by that high, dry place, he never once wanted to leave it. "Wyoming loves me," he said, and it was true. Wyoming—roughneck, wild, open, and searingly beautiful— loved him, and Colton loved it back. As a child in school, Colton never could force himself to focus on his lessons. Instead, he'd plan where he'd go fishing later, or he'd wonder how many jackrabbits he might find on his favorite hunting patch, or he'd dream about the rides he would take on the wild mare he was breaking. "At my funeral, you'll all feel sorry for making me waste so much time in school," he said to his best friend Jake—and it was true.
Two things got Colton through the boredom of school and the neighborhood "K-mart cowboys" who bullied him: His best friend Jake and his favorite mantra, a snatch of a saying he heard on TV: Mind over matter—which meant to him: If you don't mind, it don't matter. Colton and Jake grew up wanting nothing more than the freedom to sleep out under the great Wyoming night sky, to hunt and fish and chase the horizon and to be just like Colton's dad, a strong and gentle man of few words. When it was time for Colton to marry and make money on his own, he took up as a hand on an oil rig. It was dangerous work, but Colton was the third generation in his family to work on the oil patch and heclaimed it was in his blood. And anyway, he joked, he always knew he'd die young.
Colton did die young, and he died on the rig—falling to his death because the drilling company had neglected to spend two thousand dollars on the mandated safety rails that would have saved his life. His family received no compensation. But they didn't expect to—they knew the company's ways, and after all as Colton would have said: Mind over matter.
In Scribbling the Cat, Alexandra Fuller brought us the examined life of a Rhodesian soldier; now—in her inimitable poetic voice and with her pitch-perfect ear for dialogue— she brings before us the life of someone much closer to home, as unexpected as he is iconic. The moving, tough, and in many ways quintessentially American story of Colton H. Bryant's life could not be told without also telling the story of the land that grew him—the beautiful and somehow tragic Wyoming; the land where there are still such things as cowboys roaming the plains, where it's relationships that get you through, and where a just, soulful, passionate man named Colton H. Bryant lived and died.
The Washington Post -
Carolyn See
At first it would seem that The Legend of Colton H. Bryant marks an extraordinary change of pace for accomplished writer Alexandra Fuller, whose earlier books, Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight and Scribbling the Cat, are detailed, realistic narratives, both set in Africa, in some of its most inhospitable climes and dire circumstances. The Legend of Colton H. Bryant is set in Wyoming (where Fuller now resides with her husband and children). It is short, incantatory and, although true, cast as a fable, a story of why-things-are-the-way-they-are, a little like Rudyard Kipling's "How the Leopard Got His Spots." But this short "legend" has a great deal in common with the African books. They all concern men who fall helplessly in love with impossible landscapes and hopeless situations. Something within them connects to the hard times outside them, and that connection increases in strength until it snaps.
Publishers Weekly
Fuller, author of the bestselling Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight, narrates the tragically short life of Colton H. Bryant, a Wyoming roughneck in his mid-20s who in 2006 fell to his death on an oil rig owned by Patterson-UTI Energy. A Wyoming resident herself since 1994, Fuller is expert in evoking the stark landscape and recreating the speech and mentality of her adopted state's native sons. Along the way, she sheds light on the tough, unpredictable lives of Wyoming's oilmen and the toll exacted on their families. Though the book is wonderfully poignant and poetic and reads more like a novel than biography, Fuller acknowledges that she has taken narrative liberties, composed dialogue, disregarded certain aspects of Colton's life and occasionally juggled chronology "to create a smoother story line," leading readers to wonder what is true and what invented for dramatic purposes. As such, it is difficult to assess Fuller's simplistic conclusion that the company's drive to cut costs killed the young man, though she is right to highlight the strikingly high number of fatalities in the industry. As a touching portrait of a life cut short and a perceptive immersion in the environment that nurtures such men, Fuller's volume excels, but in terms of absolute veracity it should be read with caution. (May 6)
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Kirkus Reviews
A lyrical paean to an unsung . . . well, not exactly hero, but one of life's unsung people. If this book were a country song, it would be by Merle Haggard. Whether British-born Fuller (Scribbling the Cat: Travels with an African Soldier, 2004, etc.) knows from Haggard is a matter of speculation, but what is clear is that she has an unfailing eye for common people caught up in uncommon events. This story of a young Wyomingite named Colton H. Bryant is also that of the oil and gas boom wrought by deregulation in these rapacious years of Bush, "a tragedy before it even starts because there was never a way for anyone to win against all the odds out here." Alternately bullied and ignored-"Retard" is a slur-cum-nickname that figures often in these pages-Colton did most of the things a young man in the heavily Mormon southwestern corner of the state is supposed to do: ride and rope, fish and hunt, cruise around in pickup trucks. Moreover, like young men in Evanston, Colton "was born with horses and oil in his blood like his father before him and his grandfather before that and maybe his grandfather's father before that." Having endured adolescence thanks to a good friend named Jake and a slightly misquoted creed borrowed from television ("Mind over matter"), Colton followed the second birthright to the oil patch, where he quickly found work as a roughneck, an unforgiving job. "They have to keep drilling hour after hour--storm, heat, sleet, ice, sun--no matter what," writes Fuller. "They'll slap another beating heart on the rig to take your place if you're so much as five minutes late." Diligent and aware of the dangers, but needing to support a wife and baby, he fell into the well, as so manyothers have, just one of 35 Wyomingites to die on the rigs between 2000 and 2006. The petroleum company, in the meanwhile, boasted record profits-while Colton's family "received no compensation for his loss."A latter-day Silkwood, quiet and understated, beautifully written, speaking volumes about the priorities of the age.
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