Sixteen intriguing stories, beating out the rhythm of an atmospheric heart for one canyon in Oregon.
The size of the sky in the place you’re from can have much to do with how you view the world, and often how you choose to conduct yourself in that world. Such is the case for people of Oregon’s North Santiam Canyon, situated amid the raindrops and heavy underbrush of the western foothills of the Cascade Mountains.
It’s a place where the trees are tall, the sky is small, and many people see their options as limited…unless they escape. This canyon can be a crucible of longing. It packs people together in close proximity, forcing conversations of consequence and collisions of will that forever alter lives.
THE CANYON CUTS BOTH WAYS is a collection of stories—literary/upmarket commercial fiction—crafted to welcome readers into that canyon. The key characters in these stories are intricately rendered in a nearly visual manner. Their voices are authentic and vivid, and often oddly elegant despite their lack of formal education. When experienced within the context of their respective scenes, these characters come alive, each with their own unique idiosyncrasies. But when considered from a distance—looking at the montage as a whole—they become members of a Greek chorus with a Pacific Northwest vibe; one hailing from a place that has an equal number of church pews and barstools, where the truth of things eventually becomes as clear as the pellucid, snow-fed river water that has been scouring out the North Santiam Canyon since the beginning of time.
Ask for it wherever you buy books.
“Reading Dan T. Cox’s new collection of short stories is like living in Oregon’s North Santiam Canyon for a while. The stories overlap just enough you feel like you know the community, with its small towns, mills, forested hills, bad weather, and difficult lives of the people who live in this beautiful but struggling pocket of Oregon. Cox is an excellent writer in that you don’t notice his writing — the stories come straight at you. If you are a fan of Raymond Carver, you’ll love The Canyon Cuts Both Ways.”
Reviews for The Canyon Cuts Both Ways
Author’s Note: I made the decision to include the entirety of these subjective reviews here—verbatim—even though there is some criticism. It seemed like the most honest approach. What one reviewer describes as “a set of uneven tales” is described by another reviewer as “a range of tone and tenor.” That’s how these things go.
Sometimes a short story collection is just that: an anthology of simple, vaguely interesting stories that are soon forgotten after reading . . . and sometimes a collection stays with you in the way fond memories do. The Canyon Cuts Both Ways by Dan T. Cox is one of the later collections, with moving tales that remain in your mind. Welcome to the Canyon, located in Central Oregon, close to the Cascade Mountains, where all the elements make themselves known. “To embrace it best, you have to be somewhere along that stretch of river that flows from the base of Big Cliff Dam toward the rocky narrows of Niagara, where the North Santiam resisted long-ago efforts to dam it with chunks of chiseled stone and Chinese labor.” And it is the people, the residents who breathe life and vitality into the Canyon. In the style of Steinbeck with the sharp rural way of life of Flannery O’Connor, you may sometimes agree with these people, and sometimes you may disagree, but the canyon cut both ways after all. The opening tale, “King Bean,” tells a story of farming, of the tradition of picking green pole beans in August. The workers come from all over—both young and old—but all needing the small amount of money this hard labor offers. Before long, the bean fields will echo and ricochet with the tin sounds of beans landing in metal buckets. There is the made-up game of King Bean, where the largest beans have grown into a horseshoe shape and are brought together in a fierce tug-of-war, with the strongest bean remaining intact, the weaker breaking. But this time Virgil is sure he’s picked a winner and will finally give Sam a run for the title. Or there is the story of a family in “The Teachings of Anna” where seven-year-old Charlie is looked after by his aunt and uncle because his mother made some bad choices in her life and continues to do so. Charlie may not be as sharp and bright as other boys his age, but there is a magical personality about that him that makes him truly lovable and unique. In “The Unlit Woods,” a raw hunting tale is told as brawny men linked by family are out looking to take down some deer, yet Paul secretly hates doing this whole thing, but at the same time wants to impress Lyle. And then there is the mythical tale of one Shiner Black that echoes American folklore. The language is rich and alive in “The Canyon Cuts Both Ways,” with wonderful descriptions of nature and the natural world; the words possessing a lyrical quality that make it seem like they might be accompanied by music. The collection is ideal for either being consumed whole-heartedly in a long sitting, like a many-course delicious meal, or in shorter sittings: a series of tasty snacks to be savored.
—By Alex C. Telander for San Francisco Book Review
A collection of interwoven short stories set in a remote, rural Oregon community. Cox (A Bigger Piece of Blue: Stories, 2017) has pulled together 16 tales in this collection, which mostly take place in and around North Santiam Canyon, in a “community that’s dominated by logging and family farms.” Descriptions of the manzanita, Douglas fir, and juniper trees create a convincing portrait of the isolated, tall-walled canyons and remote terrain. The characters are loggers, bartenders, firefighters, and ne’er-do-wells trying their best to navigate their social and physical environs. At its best, Cox’s storytelling illuminates human truths and offers keen insight into the human experience. One of the most compelling stories here is “A Night by the Fire,” in which plywood millworker George Howard and his co-worker and hunting companion Ivan Thrower go on an overnight hunting trip to backcountry Tumblejack Mountain. While navigating unfamiliar terrain without a map, the pair inadvertently split up just before the weather takes a turn for the worse. A night apart in the wilderness changes the nature of their trip, and their friendship, for good. Cox’s insight into human psychology shines brightest here. However, other pieces feel underdeveloped and could have benefited from richer detail or better structuring. Some tales suffer from confusing plotting, unnatural dialogue, or awkward, distracting use of dialect, as in “The Taverner Place”: “I look up at the mountains facing the house and think about how he musta done the same. How he mighta sat there with a cup of coffee.” Nevertheless, these stories convey a strong sense of the region, and most of the characters are written with depth and realism. An uneven set of tales that still captures the strong spirit of Oregonians in the Cascade Range.
—Kirkus Reviews
Sixteen intriguing stories, taking place in the Cascade Mountains in Central Oregon, comprise this collection. These stories flow like the local North Santiam River in the canyon. Each one describes the interesting personalities and lives of its residents. The settings vary from the local lumber mill to its hunting grounds to its farms. Most fascinating are the relationships between its people; the study of several married couples is complex and enlightening. Author Dan T. Cox has penned a wonderfully diverse group of stories, all set within a small section of Oregon in The Canyon Cuts Both Ways: Hidden Stories. Each one is unique but is connected to others in sometimes subtle but also unforeseen ways. These short stories are well-written; the writing is clear and concise. The descriptions of both the Oregon landscape and the people are easy to picture. The reader is immediately placed within the setting and has a quick understanding of the personalities involved. One example of this is the story, “A Night By the Fire.” The descriptions of George Howard and Ivan Thrower and their complicated relationship captivates the reader and the ending is unknown until the last paragraphs. It is probably the story that will be most remembered by the reader, although the others are just as fascinating. Many of the stories’ endings are surprising and yet mesh with the plot of the vignette. The Canyon Cuts Both Ways/hidden stories, written by Dan T. Cox, is an absorbing, thought-provoking read. A book not to be missed!
—(Five Stars) by Deborah Lloyd for Readers' Favorite
The Canyon Cuts Both Ways by Dan T. Cox is an anthology of fifteen short stories, all taking place in the rural Oregon setting of North Santiam Canyon. Each story is able to stand independently on its own but, woven together, the collaboration brings the Canyon and those who have resided there to life. They range in both tone and tenor, with tales such as No Bears Out Tonight, which deals with the vigilante aftermath of an abuse of trust as wild as the Canyon itself, to Pecking Order, where an ambitious but naively selfish husband literally gets cooped up as his war bride finally spreads her wings. The Canyon Cuts Both Ways is an entertaining and engrossing compilation. Dan T. Cox is able to deliver narratives that sound original with each new story, while still allowing enough unity between them to permit a reader to feel as though they are more than just a casual observer. I honestly felt like an interloper, and it was fascinating. Even when the stories or, rather, their characters veer outside of the Canyon, there's a weird comfort in knowing that's where they will ultimately end up. I don't know if it was the comfort I found in this style of continuity or if it was the satisfying of an expectation, but it works beautifully. What also works is the combination of a time-frame in the past, with themes and emotions that still resonate today. And I write this review from a sofa in London, longing for a trip to discover the little space in the huge canyon in Oregon.
—(Five Stars) by Jamie Michelle for Readers' Favorite
The Canyon Cuts Both Ways is a collection of stories in the field of literary fiction and was penned by author Dan T. Cox. Separated into two parts which comprise a total of fifteen stories between them, this collection is dedicated not to a single theme, genre or character, but to a very special place in the state of Oregon. The North Santiam Canyon, its center and surrounds play host to each of the tales as we explore rural living from different perspectives. Against this beautiful big sky backdrop, we discover life at all ages and stages, with an overall picture of the melding of cultures and ideas coming together to form cohesion.
Author Dan T. Cox has a real flair for character, and his variety of work displays this skill even in short story format. From the first moments of King Bean, we begin to get to know characters instantly from the stylistic choices and insertion of idiosyncrasies that we all recognize and love and are swept up with them into the minutiae of their daily goings-on. The narrative voice keeps us close by, but nicely neutral, observing the scenes as if we were part of the Canyon’s majestic scenery ourselves. Particular favorites from the collection included the aforementioned King Bean, The Unlit Woods and People Cuss The Crows. All of the stories share an atmospheric heart that beats out the rhythm of a culture and climate of its own. Overall, The Canyon Cuts Both Ways is an excellent collection not to be missed.
—(Five Stars) by K.C. Finn for Readers' Favorite
Sample Pages: the story titled King Bean
King Bean Green pole beans came ready in August. Retired yellow school buses pulled up to the edges of fields at daybreak with sleepy-eyed pickers. They were kids from up the North Santiam Canyon who were old enough to work but too young for jobs of distinction. Country kids doing fieldwork. United by their dislike for bean picking. Motivated by their need to earn money for the state fair and new school clothes. Kids like the Sawyer boys.
Virgil was the older brother at fourteen. Sam was two years younger. Virgil was an overweight, pimple-faced, slow-witted disappointment to their parents. Sam was exactly the opposite. The only thing they did well together was fight. And though Virgil’s size often allowed him the advantage of simply sitting on his little brother, it was Sam who typically inflicted more damage. Because of the things he’d say.
They were collected each dark morning at the end of their driveway by a bus that no longer had the authority of flashing red lights. They went each day with sack lunches and frozen cans of pop insulated with newspaper. They sat apart on the bus. Yet they shared a reluctance to leave the warmth and drowsy rhythm of the bus for the stiffening chill of the fields.
With a five-gallon bucket in one hand and a dirty brown burlap sack in the other, Virgil and Sam trudged with the others behind the row boss—an unremarkable middle school math teacher named Mary Soderberg who also needed summer money—following her along the dirt road that circled the field to the section due for picking. The numbered rows were assigned at random to pairs of pickers, one for each side of the tall wall of vines. Gunnysacks were dropped to the ground, where they’d wait to be filled by the bucketful. And then came the sound of those first few beans hitting the bottoms of metal buckets. Firm green beans bouncing off of thin, cold metal, echoing upward out of the empty buckets like crude megaphones. Proof to humorless Mary that someone was actually working. Virgil and Sam worked near each other, but not together.
Long sleeves were necessary when the picking day began, because the unfriendly green vines were wet and cold from overnight irrigation or heavy dew. There was no way to keep arms dry or hands warm. The only option for most kids was to pick hard and wait for the arrival of direct sunlight. For the Sawyer boys and a few mischievous friends, however, there were better things to do. Like smoking stolen cigarettes. Or reaching through the vines to steal beans from the buckets of more industrious pickers. Or throwing beans at girls in an all-out effort to target their breasts. Anything to avoid picking. But the favorite distraction of all was a competition called King Bean. The idea was to find a large, overripe bean that had grown into the shape of a horseshoe. The bean was held in one hand by forming a fist and inserting the ends of the bean on either side of the middle finger, snug into the webbing at the base of the fingers. Before all this, though, the bean had to be looped through the horseshoe shape of the opponent’s bean. With the battling beans interlocked, it became a simple tug-o-war. One bean broke. One didn’t. The winner was the King. Sam had a knack for picking winners. Virgil did not.
And so it happened that on the morning of the last day of the picking season, Sam had a bean that defeated all challengers. He was delirious with self-congratulatory excess—whooping and hollering and aping through the rows like a crazed court jester, completely unaware or unconcerned that he’d become an irritant to everyone within earshot. Especially to Virgil, who’d long since given up hope of ever finding a King Bean, and who deeply resented his brother’s grandstanding.
Then Virgil saw it. The bean. The potential heir to the throne. Hanging right there on the vine. Right in front of him. The perfect u-shaped bean. Ready for battle. Virgil picked the bean carefully, and marched through the rows toward his loud-mouthed brother.
“Well whadaya know,” said Sam in a voice for all to hear. “Looks like Fat Boy wants to play. Whadaya say, Fat Boy? Wanna take on the King? Ya wanna try, Lard Ass? Because I gotta warn ya. I’m invincible. And you’re gonna get screwed, blued, and tattooed. So ya better not try if you’re not—.”
“C’mon,” said Virgil abruptly.
With that, the Sawyer brothers faced one another there among the pole beans and the pickers and the buckets and the gunnysacks. They each presented their beans with methodical, ritualistic motions. Sam’s bean was in position first, directly in front of Virgil’s chest, held loosely in Sam’s untightened fist. Virgil lifted his hands toward Sam’s fist, preparing to loop his challenger behind the defending champion.
But just as his hands neared his brother, Virgil hesitated. A look of confidence washed over his face. And then, with uncharacteristic speed, he snatched Sam’s bean away and instantly stuffed it into his own mouth. Virgil smiled as he chewed Sam’s bean into oblivion.
The King was dead.
Stunned by his brother’s coup, Sam’s eyes filled with tears. Then anger. Then he launched himself into Virgil’s legs, low and hard. And with that, the brothers fought what they would later refer to as their famous bean field fight, the one that somehow changed their relationship for the better. Meanwhile, Mary Soderberg leaned against the fender of the dirty yellow school bus in the morning sun. She listened to the commotion caused by the Sawyer boys as if it was distant music, drew deliberately on a slender cigarette, and revisited the grinding regret flowing from a particular memory: that sweaty summer evening three years prior when she closed down the Narrows Tavern with Russ Sawyer, the boys’ father, and then went with him into the shadows of the lonely parking lot to do something that helped neither her marriage nor her standing in the canyon.