Laughing in the Hills

"Laughing in the Hills" was born out of loss, which Bill Barich illustrates at the inception of his 1978 work, "For me it did not begin with horses. They came later, after a phone call and a simple statement of fact: Your mother has cancer." Lost and full of reprieve, Barich turns to the unlikeliest of cathedrals for inspiration in his time of mourning: the racetrack. The connection as to why or what made him turn to the track is underdeveloped, but this matters little. What does matter is Barich's ability to unveil with an adept and philosophical eye the intricacies and pulse of life at the track. The track for Barich becomes an insular world where he turns "to get past the sadness." It provides a framework, a construction, within which he can repair the tatters of his grief-filled life, temporarily shattered by the loss and death of his mother. The book arrives at a mystical solution to that pain in that it is not until Barich abandons constructions and narratives all together that his own enlightenment becomes possible. Barich is the consummate Renaissance man, as well versed in the history of thoroughbred horseracing, as philosophy, or the offerings of Florence's Uffizi Gallery. And it is wearing these multiple hats of the artist, philosopher, and sportsman that Barich expresses a personal fear that a moral and cultural decay was upon him and his fellow man in the late `70's. And it was out of this time that Barich feared television would emerge as the preferred medium of entertainment, and in so doing become a murderer of culture, creating a time of "flattened perceptions and a cathodal substratum too insubstantial to support human life." It is out of this fear that Barich turns to art, more particularly writing and other modes of entertainment, rather than television, in a desperate search for his own salvation. But why out of all places turn to the racetrack? Why to a place popularly believed to be the playground of the ill-repute? "The track, it seemed, was just like life, unjust and aleatory," Barich argues. In the track, Barich found the ultimate metaphor for life, the quintessential subject for his pen. A framework for his philosophy. The place to play out two parallel journeys. The narrative thrust of "Laughing in the Hills" is concerned with Barich's evolving relationship with the racetrack (and thus with life) in all its aleatory splendor, his attempts to wrest life's uncertainty under his control, and his ultimate acceptance of the nature of chance. It is in Barich's ultimate concession to chance that the beauty of the book radiates. The track is, above all, a home for people. For characters. And it is with the acute eye of a seasoned writer that Barich is able to carve out for every person he encounters from stable groom to bar fly, their rightful claim on the stage of life. In "Laughing in the Hills" we are introduced to Arnold Walker, a frequenter of The Turf Club and master weaver of tall tales, Richard Labar

Probably the most intelligent, well written book ever published on horse racing. To call it a "sports book" or even a racing book really misses the mark, for it certainly transcends that topic-while it includes gritty and and closely observed descriptions of track life, Barich ultimately portrays racing as a kind of metaphor for life. His unique insights and voice as a writer elevate this gem into the stratosphere of contemporary literature.

After I read Barich's New Yorker essay "At the Fountain," I (A) gave a copy to every one of my friends, and (B) pilgramiged to read and know the other published work of this amazing author. 'Laughing in the Hills' could have been about how beans are canned, and it would still be a classic. This book is in a class with the best of Constantine, Auster, and Hardy - and they should consider THEMselves lucky to be compared with Barich.

I'm not even finished with this book yet, but I got online to see what kind of response it has received. I'm staggered to see it is not ranked higher and had only a few reviews. This is one of those books where every page brings insights so painful, or so beautiful, I shake my head in amazement. I'm reading it slowly, lovingly, and I'll tell all my friends about it. I'm a writer, and have written a novel about horse racing. I've explored this same territory. I almost wish I'd written this book. It is filled with truth and sadness and many, many fine portraits of the people that hang around on the backside of the track.

This unusual and beautifully written work gets right to the heart of its topics. OK, I happen to love racing and fine horses, appreciate Florentine art and culture, and enjoy fly fishing, but I believe "Laughing in the Hills" would appeal to all who enjoy good writing. I have read this book a few times since first discovering it, and have shared it with friends as well.