A line-dancing aficionado visits his brother in jail in hopes of mending their relationship, and instead discovers his own unwitting role in his brother's failed life. After the death of his wife and children, a logger tries to survive the Thanksgiving weekend on his own. A delinquent teen's life is changed forever by a work-camp placement with a violent older boy. A truck driver seeks sanctuary from his abusive wife in a fantasy world of strip clubs and personal ads. Bristling with restlessness and brutality, these linked stories set in the Pacific Northwest catapult readers into the gritty lives of social outcasts lost in purgatories of their own making. John Vigna tempers raw and at times cruel rural masculinity with graceful prose and breathtaking tenderness to illuminate the plight of men living in small towns and backwoods who belong neither to history nor the future. A startling homage to the great Southern Gothic tradition, Bull Head is a dazzling debut that heralds a powerful and exciting new literary voice. John Vigna is an alumnus of the Iowa Writers' Workshop. His fiction and non fiction have appeared in numerous newspapers and magazines. John lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, with his wife, writer Nancy Lee.
John Vigna's first book of fiction, Bull Head, was published to critical acclaim in Canada and the US in 2012, and in France by Éditions Albin Michel in 2017. It was selected by Quill & Quire as an editor's pick of the year and was a finalist for the Danuta Gleed Literary Award. John was named one of ten writers to watch by CBC. His novel, No Man's Land, was published in Fall 2021. He lives in Steveston, BC, with his wife, the author Nancy Lee.
A series of multiple short stories detailing complicated relationships such as the quarrel between brothers, volatile marriages, and man’s relationship with other living beings. John Vigna’s language is simple, but it also delves into complex prose to conceive imagery that is horrid yet startlingly beautiful. There isn’t a single story in this collection that isn’t traumatic, and every time I hoped for a character to succeed or do the right thing, I was bitterly disappointed not because of the writing- which remained fantastic- but because of the systemic and realistic issues eating away at the men in the stories. 4/5
debut book of short stories set in a small lumbering/ranching town of "bull head" (named after the mountain looming over town) in cananda. but the mountain too has a different name, a kootnei name, talking about a mother and son traveling together to a better place. so the stories most all deal with small town life, logging, men working, men fucking up. though no actual horses are ridden , there are horses in the stories (the cowboys ride atv's). and while there are trees and streams and such, they are there to be cut down, hauled off, eaten by beatles. let the scrub grow back. there are elk and moose here, but to be shot and hauled back in pickup. there are women here, to be hounded, sexed up, abandoned, beaten, and allowed to actually run things. there are pit bulls. you know what they are for. caution, the last story is extremely gross. there's just something about pit bulls and there deficient care takers that just creeps me out too much to think about (that and having to live around them all the time, too real).
reminds me a lot of another writer from northwest north amer, jess walter in his new short stories
With rich and graceful prose Vigna pulls you into a gritty world and doesn't let go. The harsh environments and callous masculinity left me cringing at times, but he balances these moments with humanity and tenderness. The way Vigna plays with structure and format in each story shows a mastery of his craft.
Technically came out to a 2.75. I feel weird giving this collection three stars because I didn't actually like it very much, not being a huge fan of small-town hyper-masculinity which is the obvious issue at hand in Bull Head. However, I can justify the round-up rather than-down because a few of the stories really did strike a memorable, emotional note with me. If you read this collection, I highly recommend skipping the last two stories (though for Pit Bulls I acknowledge an inability/bias on my part NOT to read violence towards dogs). But Two-Step, Gas Bar, and Cutblock are all well done and memorable stories that I think accomplish what the back cover of the book suggests it wants to do: juxtapose that aforementioned small-town hyper-masculinity with a tenderness and vulnerability that it doesn't seem to allow. Cutblock might accomplish this because of a female protagonist, I haven't thought about it much yet, but Two-Step and Gas Bar are encouragingly challenging and excellently written.
John Vigna writes fearlessly in this collection of short stories. His characters are bruised and flawed and fascinating. They're angry and abusive, alcoholic and lonely, dealing with loss, obese, old, living out of their cars, surprising. A large man who dances. A widower who buys blue whale candies. An old rancher secretly obsessed with a pickup truck. These are not comfortable stories, nor are they happy. The characters are not heroes, nor do they try to be. They're just themselves.
Vigna uses description and dialogue to reveal place and character and how the two are intertwined. He shows complex relationships between brothers, exes, and strangers in a gradual, natural way. Nothing feels contrived or artificial. There were only a couple of places where I felt the description was a distracting barrage, though still evocative.
"Starlight and sagebrush on his tongue." Some of these stories will be stuck in my head for a long time.
Bull Head is a brilliant, confronting read about the reality of life in small towns across North America. Having grown up in a community similar to the one Vigna describes and having worked for eighteen years with the kind of people Vigna focuses on I can say that this is as close as you can get in the written word to what goes on behind the threadbare drapes and particle board doors. Sometimes it ain't pretty - but what I appreciated most out of Vigna's work was the sense of sympathy and almost comraderie I felt with people who I might otherwise avoid if I saw them on the street. It's a shining addition to a genre of writing that will endure because it documents a time and place easily forgotten but ignored at our own peril.
This guttural, visceral collection of short stories earned high praise from many people I know. The praise is warranted. These stories capture brutal moments in the lives of hardworking, blue collar Kootenay based men. There's a skillful mastery of language, and a tightness in the descriptive writing that was really appealing to me.
This is an excellent collection.
That said, I neglected to read the final story because a friend told me that there's a brutal dog death in it, and I can't handle reading that at this moment in time. I find reading about animal torture to be REALLY upsetting, so I skipped the story.
(Yeah, it might not include torture. You get the idea)
The first line of this book is an old, cliched joke. It is also a test, and as such, sets you up to ask yourself an important question: Do I trust this man (the author) enough to go on? If you decide to continue reading, you will be rewarded with uncommon stories, fully realized in their murky detail of desperate people faced with desperate decisions. As the stories and characters steam ahead towards their inevitabilities, you will ask yourself again and again "do I trust this man?" Trust the writer. Yes.