Two books, poles apart

Two recent trips to the bargain books section yielded two engrossing reads -- one a gothic crime story set in the American South, the other an enchanting narrative about a young roughneck in the wild, windy oil fields of Wyoming. 

First up: "A SHOCKING CRIME, A SMALL SOUTHERN TOWN, AND A MAN ON THE EDGE OF SANITY..."

That's a sure attention-getter, a direct quote (in boldface caps) from the back cover of "Paris Trout." Published in 1988, it won the National Book Award for Fiction for Pete Dexter, a daily newspaper columnist who went on to write seven novels, and landed on the Used Books shelf at my neighborhood Goodwill store. (At 306 pages and priced at $2.99, turns out the cost of a great read was about $1 per page.)

I could have sworn I'd picked it up years ago and started or at least thumbed through it. In any case, I never finished it. That's puzzling because it's a captivating read. For sure, it's a dark story, featuring a bitter, paranoid, racist owner of a general store in a small Georgia town. Paris Trout abuses his wife, disrespects his sole employee, cheats his customers and in every word and deed comes as a malevolent bastard.

The cast of characters is relatively small but that works to the novel's advantage. Dexter is a fine writer who draws convincing sketches of the descpicable Trout, as well as the prominent lawyer, Harry Seagraves, who winds up defending Trout after he fatally shoots a young black girl and wounds a family friend; and Hanna Trout, the refined but lonely wife of the protagonist.

The novel evolves into a psychological thriller as Trout edges toward madness, with threatened or actual violence never far below the surface, while Harry and Hanna gravitate toward each other, each emotionally starved and searching for meaning in the suffocating town of Cotton Point.

Contrast that with a slim work of nonfiction set in the great plains of the American West: "Colton knew there were a hundred ways to die in Wyoming. That's why he figured there was only way to live -- with all his heart."

I picked up "The Legend of Colton H. Bryant" for $4.98 at the airport, drawn to it by the reputation of Alexandra Fuller, author of the best-selling "Don't Let's Go To The Dogs Tonight," and a curiosity seeded by my recent travel through Wyoming. (Talk about a fast read -- 197 pages and most chapters are four pages or less.)

It's written in the style of journalist Bob Woodward, deeply reported but with copious direct quotes recreated (or imagined?) based on interviews with family members, friends and co-workers of this real-life cowboy named Colton. Born to a taciturn father, a no-nonsense mother and a way of life unknown (and probably inconceivable) to most urban dwellers, young Colton progresses from rambunctious adolescent to restless, young family man.

He's an ordinary kid -- a lover of hunting and horses, ketchup and Mountain Dew, pickup trucks and the great outdoors -- with a big heart and impossibly blue eyes. He's also a faithful friend; a devoted son, husband and father; and a fearless worker who braves the monstrous winds and icy cold to work on the oil rigs that power the state's economy while feeding California's gluttonous appetite for energy. It's dangerous work, exerting an irresistible pull on Colton and others like him -- young and older men alike, with limited educations and job opportunities in a sparsely populated state.

Told with a tender eye and graceful prose, the story of Colton H. Bryant is that of a real-life character you root for even as you sense things will end badly. Its emotional impact is reinforced, by the knowledge that his is just one story in an industry marked by big profits and sometimes deadly working conditions. Read it and you'll remember Colton for a long time.