East of the Mountains, David Guterson

Well, I'm sweating out my cold in thermal underwear and sweats and a flannel cap. While thus ensconced, and under many blankets, I finished reading the Guterson novel, East of the Mountains.

It's a good book, especially if you are middle aged or older, male, and bird hunt in the Pacific NW. And who should lend this to me? Well a man who is, well... male, middle aged, and hunts birds in the Pacific NW. Go figure.

I never read Snow Falling on Cedars, but people sure seemed to love it.

What can I say, in my dazed state, about this book... It's quiet, the depictions of landscape are spot-on perfect. The writing style is flat -- like, who is that guy, Hemingway? It's not *like* Hemingway, per se, but it is flat.

The narration is written with such skill that it seems almost boring. It's not wild, it's not flashy, but it is sold -- very solid.

If you are a writer, this is a good book. If you live in the Pacific NW, it is a good book -- especially if you hunt or hike or grew up on apple orchards. For the rest of the world, I bet it is a little staid.

I know I enjoyed it -- the author managed to contemplate mortality without being heavy handed, that's not a small task.

I'll give it a B.