Viking, 228 pp., $10.95
When the long sections of Laughing in the Hills appeared in The New Yorker, I was delighted and envious. I have myself written about Longacres, the race track in Seattle, trying to say what it is to be a bettor and absorbed onlooker. Bill Barich spent the spring of 1978 at a similar track in northern California, Golden Gate Fields in the East Bay, longing for 'an escape into orderliness'; 'the track seemed circumscribed and manageable, especially when compared to the complex filigree of nature, hydrogen intertwined with embryos and tumors.' He did so with an intrepidness I can seldom muster because backstretches and jockey rooms, while friendly enough, never welcome an outsider. He hung around, moving from barn to clubhouse to boardroom, bars, and betting lines with apparent ease, critical sympathy, and a clear eye. He changed what is a pastime for some, a serious hobby for me, into a real subject.
Review, 1806 words
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