The Man Who Owned Vermont

customer reviews

When Rick Wheeler's wife walks out on him, he nearly drowns in despair. So the RC Cola salesman throws himself into work -- setting sales records, winning a promotion, burying himself in the lonely present while he scours the past for hope. Then at last on a cold Vermont morning, a hunter and his prey show him unexpectedly, haltingly, the way back to love and faith.

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Book details:

Washington Square Press |
240 pages |
ISBN 9780671038205 |
January 1999

$19.99 List Price

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Praise

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“The New York Times Book Review Subtle...powerful...with a profound understanding of the precarious condition called marriage. ”

“James Atlas A powerful and poignant tale...About work and marriage and the ways we betray -- and redeem”

– ourselves....Impressive.

“The New York Times The Man Who Owned Vermont is a moving first novel....Bret Lott knows how ordinary people work and love...how intractable human feelings can be...and he shows us, as well, the redemptive powers of love. ”

“Publishers Weekly Snares the reader in the very first sentence...a gripping novel that rings true with uncommon resonance....affecting. ”

“Columbus Dispatch Fully realized and memorable....Anyone who picks up this book will be moved. ”

“Los Angeles Times Engrossing...one of the most interesting stories of the sadness of American men. ”

“Time Recommended Fiction A vivid example of mind and spirit grappling with oppressive fates. ”

“Phillip Lopate author of The Rug Merchant Beautifully written, quietly thrilling, exemplary in its compassion...a stunning debut. ”

“Barry Hannah author of Airships and Hey Jack! Bret Lott is a superb writer. The Man Who Owned Vermont has a deep and truthful message. ”

“Josephine Humphreys author of Dreams of Sleep and Rich In Love An extraordinary book...full of surprises. Bret Lott is a talent to be reckoned with. ”

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Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

I liked this plumber. He had come to the front door and knocked solidly three times, then three times more before I could answer. I liked that, liked the sound six square knocks made through the apartment. I was there alone. I had things to sort out.

I opened the door, and the plumber stuck out his hand. "Lonny Thompson," he said. "Landlord sent me up. You've got a leak somewhere in your bathroom."

"Rick," I said. We shook hands. He knew how to shake hands; grasped my hand just past the knuckles, then squeezed hard and shook. I judged he was fifty, fifty-five years old.

He said, "Glad to meet you. Now where's this damned...