Dream Wheels

by Richard Wagamese

Rodeo cowboy Joe Willie Wolfchild, riding an explosive bull called See Four and moments away from becoming World Champion, suffers a devastating accident. His parents and grandparents use all their native wisdom to ease him out of his subsequent bitter depression, but without success. Meanwhile, in a distant city, a troubled young kid named Aiden plans a holdup that goes wrong and lands himself in jail. When he emerges, a sympathetic police officer arranges a job at a ranch, where his mother Claire will accompany him in an attempt to restore their relationship. It is the Wolfchild ranch.
Supported by the ferocious strength and native spirituality of the Wolfchild women, Joe Willie and Aiden fight through painful transformations, and their physical and mental rehabilitations are mirrored in the age-worn chrome of an ancient pickup truck they restore together. As the two men first clash and then come together in a friendship that helps each overcome the challenge of reentering a world that's forever changed, Claire's eyes are opened to a life she has never hoped for and opens her heart to a love she still can't convince herself she deserves. Written with lyric intensity and a great respect for native teachings, Dream Wheels announces the presence of a major new literary talent, sure to take his rightful place alongside writers like Cormac McCarthy and Jim Harrison as a gifted chronicler of the modern West.

Genres: Fiction, Indigenous, Canada, Westerns, Literary Fiction, Cultural, Contemporary

416 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2006

About the author

Richard Wagamese was one of Canada's foremost Native authors and storytellers. He worked as a professional writer since 1979. He was a newspaper columnist and reporter, radio and television broadcaster and producer, documentary producer and the author of twelve titles from major Canadian publishers.

Reviews

[Angela M · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is one of those novels that I couldn’t stop reading, but didn’t want to end. This is the third novel by Richard Wagamese that I’ve read and with each, I have been taken by his remarkable storytelling. His beautiful writing takes you exactly where the characters are - in their physical presence and in their heads and hearts. Two stories at first, narrated together with paragraphs of one, then the other. One of a broken man, a bull rider from a family connected by love and tradition, the other a broken teenage boy, his only family, a single loving mom, herself broken by her past and circumstances. Both are separately living through their own darkness, pent up in their prison, one in actuality, and one enduring physical and emotional injury. I anxiously waited for the time that their stories, their lives would converge . The story then becomes one, one of healing together through self awareness, through giving of themselves with love and support of family and tradition. I felt as if I knew every one of the characters, as Wagamese wonderfully allows his readers that intimacy to know them. It was hard to leave them. I’ve also read a book of his meditations and with each book I read , I’m more eager to get to the rest of them. But I’m going slowly, since Wagamese as passed and I’ll be sad when there are no more of his books to read. I don’t often reread books , but I may have to make exceptions when I get to that point.

[Chrissie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Why am I giving this book four stars?

Its message is important. It strikes home with me. Who we are is determined by the choices we make. Life punches all of us. How we respond to these punches determines who we are. Self-understanding comes through asking ourselves WHY we have made these choices. I like this message. I think it is an important message.

Secondly, the author vividly draws widely disparate experiences, places and milieux. Life in jail, physical and psychological abuse in a couple’s relationship, landscape out west in the US, overcoming a physical injury, the art, thrill and excitement of rodeo riding, Native American traditions and beliefs are all intimately experienced. Good relationships and shallow relationships are equally well described. I like the mix of the good and the bad. The book kept my attention from start to finish.

The title is not insignificant. It has a message too. It captures the essence of the story.

The writing style has given me trouble. We are told that the youth of today have a short attention span. In the telling of the tale, we rapidly hop from character to character and subject to subject. Sometimes, there’s only a paragraph or two before there is another hop. No warning is given. Until a name is spoken, you don’t know where you are or who is being talked about! I find this disconcerting. The book is perhaps intended to appeal to the young with short attention spans. Perhaps, but this Is not to my taste. The rapid jumps stop as the story reaches its conclusion. At the end, all the characters meet up at the same place. Now the telling is easier to follow!

The audiobook is very well read by Tom Stechschulte. He captures the essence of each character. Nor does he overdramatize. Four stars for the narration.

The author died in 2017. He was a mere sixty-two! What a terrible shame!

Thank you, Carmel, for recommending this book to me!

[Carmel Hanes · Rating 5 out of 5]

This might be my favorite Wagamese so far. Some books fly by in the fast lane, other weave in and out of traffic, but Dream Wheels is the story equivalent of a ride in an Amish buggy. It takes its time, it drenches you in scenery, and it gives you a microscopic view of every blade of grass when life events bring you to a screeching halt, forcing you to reassess.

There is a minimal and focused story here, and an arc, but the real beauty of this book is Wagamese' writing.

"He watched her gather herself. It was a familiar thing and he'd always been impressed by it. It started somewhere at the back of her eyes, a movement but not really, more like energy pulling itself together like a fist, positioning itself for maximum release."

"Trust. They wouldn't have called it that. The world gives outsized names to simple things and, for Joe Willie and Lionel, trust was too big a loop to throw over the horns of what they felt. It was an elbows-on-the-fence-rail kind of thing, all leaned back and casual, existing without definition or borders, a line of certainty that ran from the edges of what they did to the uncertainty of the risks they took."

These characters quietly inhabited the pages, slowly coming into focus, circling each other like wary bears. A rodeo champion with a life-changing injury, a mother and son living harsh realities they need to move past, an assortment of family and concerned others bringing quiet support and opportunities to the splintered lives; Wagamese is a master of understated eloquence when it comes to dialogue and description. He conveys an entire world with a few sentences. He gently leads you into the spiritual caverns that hold our pain and redemption.

"What bothered her more was women with elastic characters, the ones who had never found a moral ground to stand on, never found a principled territory to defend and consequently never found a woman to be."

I'm not a cowboy and I know nothing about riding bulls. But through his prose, I rode those bulls along with Aiden and Joe Willie. I felt that thumping, I smelled that fear and sweat. Because of this kind of writing:

"He could feel the openness work against his insides. As his eyes reached farther down the length of the valley he felt smaller and larger at the same time. As the car ate up the distance, he felt less like he was moving through it as he was moving through it, becoming a part of the sage and pasture and draw of the severe slope of the valley..."

I did not move through this story, I became part of it, "larger and smaller at the same time". That's how immersive it is. Like being pulled into a universe simultaneously zeroed in and infinitely expansive.

I'm going to miss this group of people.

[Linda Robinson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wagamese's skill, clear understanding and heart glow in the storytelling of Joe Willie Wolfchild and Aiden, two men galaxies apart in experience, yet twin stars in an embattled dust-choked rodeo arena that can mean glory or death. There is a rightness to the ancient dance of humans and nature as Wagamese writes, respect for skills and - most welcome - an abiding belief in the power and dignity of females. For that alone, I can praise Wagamese mightily. The prose is heart grabbing. The sounds and silent fury of the bull pen before a ride that will define everyone in the stall: See Four, rolling eyes upward to view the beast on his back. A father with a hand on his son's chest as the seconds to launch tick by. A mother bear, grieved and starving, who stands to sniff the scent of food, and the miasma of power calling to power. The dust of the arena duelling the dust of the barn where the ranch hands yank on ropes to make the mechanical bull spin and buck. Like life: unforgiving, unpredictable, unavoidable. The menfolk - Lionel who believes trucks carry the story of their lives - Aiden who must unclench his heart while he clenches his teeth and Birch and Joe Willie in between, the dreams and hopes of a father for a son. Each character is richly painted on the dance card of the still living. In the background, there is Iron Mountain and the treacherous, winding uphill climb. Waiting in the garage, a battered, cigarette-scarred, block broke truck with faded paint, the ghosts of country songs, the bench seat molded by those who came before. A dreamscape, unforgettable.

[Debbie Zapata · Rating 4 out of 5]

Mar 23, 1030am ~~ Review asap.

Mar 24, 1040am ~~ This book took some getting used to for me. From the very beginning there is a lot of anger here, it was almost overwhelming at times and if not for my curiosity about how the different characters were to come together, I would have given up before the halfway point.

I also had to adjust to switching from one character to another within the same chapter. That is often a jolt for me: to get involved in one person's story and with the next paragraph get shifted over to another person without any warning. I kept going in the book mainly to see how and when the two main characters would intersect, because I knew they had to eventually or else nothing in the story would have made any sense.

I say two main characters, but in a way everyone in this book is a main character. There is Joe Willie Wolfchild, rodeo star who is horribly injured in the first pages. His parents. His grandparents. They are very much a main force in the story.

But then we also have Claire and her teenage son Aiden. Claire has lived through a string of men hoping one would be the knight in shining armor to fix her life. Current man Eric turns out to be the same as all the rest, only more so. The parts of the story featuring Claire were traumatic to read even for a woman like myself who has never suffered physical abuse, so be warned!

Claire's teenage son Aiden is coping the only way he knows how: by shutting down and beginning to explore the world of drugs and crime. He thinks he is tough, but is he tough enough to discover real life and not merely escape from it?

The author did a very good job of allowing the reader inside each character's mind, even into the mind of See Four the bull in the earliest pages. I never did get completely adapted to flipping back and forth from person to person, but I enjoyed the time spent with each character. Eventually I guessed broadly how it would all end up and I was pretty much correct. But when Wagamese tied all the threads of his story together, he was able to move me to unexpected tears.

It is an angry, violent book, but the whole point was to see how the characters handled the traumas that had taken control of their lives. Would they be defeated or would they find the courage to stand up and dare to change their destinies?

[Sarah · Rating 4 out of 5]

When I heard of Richard's passing last month, I surprised myself at how hard it hit me. I'd been lucky enough to meet him a couple times, most recently last summer, and he is without a doubt one of my favourite authors. The loss of him in the world is so sad but his spirit and his books are immortal. On that day, Mar 11th, I knew exactly where on my bookshelves his books were and I picked Dream Wheels as the one book of his that I own but hadn't read yet. I read it slowly, savouring the words. It's one of his earlier novels and has themes and scenes that show up again in his later writing, like the medicine walk and of family stories told around a fire being like embers that burn through generations. Dream Wheels is the story of Joe Willie, a rodeo star who suffers a career ending injury, and of Aiden, coming out of 2 yrs at juvie and needing a fresh start. At a ranch in the Chilcotin region of British Columbia (where Wagamese lived), these two young men heal. "To his eyes, used to the dullness of concrete and steel, it was a feast, and Aiden sat straighter, watching it unroll before them. He could feel the openness work against his insides. As his eyes reached farther down the length of the valley, he felt smaller and larger at the same time. He felt less like he was moving through it as he was moving with it, becoming part of the sage and pasture and draw and the severe slope of the valley, and the feeling crested and broke against his ribs and he exhaled long and slow". Beautiful writing. A natural storyteller.

[Alena · Rating 5 out of 5]

Faith is what we earn when we have enough courage to face what’s in front of us.

It’s been awhile since I read and loved a novel so blatantly about redemption. I did not expect to find that in a story so deeply rooted in the cowboy life of the American west, but from the opening lines, “The Old Ones say that fate has a smell, a feel, a presence, a tactile heft in the air. Animals know it. It’s what brings hunter and prey together” and a prologue told from the perspective of a rodeo bull, I knew I had found something special.
Wagamese weaves together the stories of people (a rodeo star and a mother and son) all broken by circumstances and by choices with unflinching honesty and detail. He strikes a balance between brutality and hope from the start.

She looked at him. She could feel his defiance. It radiated outward from the dark pools of his eyes and the solid plant of his feet. There was nothing of what she remembers of her son in him now. He’s moved beyond it somehow and she’s missed the passing.

You didn’t learn to cowboy by being graceful but you learned to be a man that way. First thing you had to learn in order to cowboy was how to fall. First thing you had to learn to be a man was how to stand up, dust yourself off and move on. The grace is in the dusting off.

Recently I’ve found that constantly shifting perspectives have prevented me from truly engaging with characters, but this author handles the transitions and details of character and setting so deftly that I found the constant movement compelled me more deeply into the rich world of his novel. There is poetry to his language and to the native Ojibwe and Sioux wisdom this novel imparts throughout.

That’s what everyone thinks, son. That it’s too late now. But we’re all tribal people. Every last one of us living and breathing right now started as the same kind of people. People who lived in community and together on the land. All the things we call Indian were the same for everyone at one time.

A true 5-star read for me - I never wanted to put it down and I never wanted it to end.

Because of that it is a difficult path and only the most courageous and purest of heart have the humility to walk it. It takes great strength, warrior strength, to court doubt and darkness as the cost of knowing, to wield the power of choice like a lance and probe the way forward to the fullest expression of who you are created to be.

[Kay McCracken · Rating 5 out of 5]

Richard's novel takes the reader into many unforgettable places: into the mind of a bull (extraordinay!), into the pain of a champion bull rider who has been badly damaged -- both physically and emotionally -- into the inner life of a single parent who finally gathers the courage to escape her abusive husband, into the psyche of her teenage son who is in danger of locking his emotions away forever, and into the warmth and wisdom of the Native family who open their ranch and their hearts to these damaged people. You will never look at rodeo or bull riders the same way again!

[Krista · Rating 4 out of 5]

I’m talking about us, son. I’m talking about the stories of the lives of a people. Doesn’t have to be a nation. Can be a family or a town, a valley like this or a broken-down old truck like that old girl out there. A dream wheel is the sum total of a peoples’ story. All its dreams, all its visions, all its experiences gathered together. Looped together. Woven together in a big wheel of dreaming.

I’ve read quite a lot of Richard Wagamese and I’ve come to the conclusion that I prefer his nonfiction: Wagamese was a deep thinker, a powerful storyteller, and generous in his love for humanity and willingness to share his hard-won wisdom. I connect deeply with his wit and wisdom when he’s flat out telling me about his life and lessons learned, but I don’t connect so completely with his fictional style; and I can admit that that comes down to personal taste. Dream Wheels is basically the story of two young(ish) men: Joe Willie Wolfchild (the best rodeo cowboy on the circuit, about to win the coveted World Champion title at the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas in the novel’s first pages, but a massive bull named See Four has other plans for Joe Willie) and Aiden Hartley (disaffected teenaged son of an African-American single mom, Aiden makes bad choices that seem to doom him to a life of criminality). The storyline rotates between these two men — with Joe Willie recovering from his injuries at his family’s working ranch (and being encouraged to restore the old jalopy of a truck that drove generations of his family around the rodeo circuit; a truck ironically referred to as “Dream Wheels”) — and with Aiden doing a stretch in juvenile lockup and being trained as a mechanic, there’s nothing very surprising about the plotlines eventually converging, with two bitter young men, each trapped in a kind of mental hopelessness, and eventually seeing that they each had much to teach and learn from the other. At the ranch, the Wolfchild family recognises that city slicker Aiden is a once-in-a-generation natural bull rider (because, of course), and like any great sports story, the most exciting writing comes when Aiden is training and competing. Along the way, Wagamese writes beautifully of the rugged landscape, shares deep and universal truths about humanity, and peoples his rough-and-tumble masculine story of cowboys and prison with wise female characters who remind everyone that what’s most important in life is community, connection, and tradition. All this to say: the plot and its execution didn’t wow me here, but I love Wagamese’s sentences and thought that he was a wonderful teacher; another reader might connect with this more completely.

He’d always been strong and tough, but Johanna had found a way to make him graceful. Graceful. You didn’t learn to cowboy by being graceful but you learned to be a man that way. First thing you had to learn in order to cowboy well was how to fall. First thing you had to learn to be a man was how to stand up, dust yourself off and move on. The grace was in the dusting off.

Grit and gumption and grace, being both talented and lucky: that’s what takes you to the top of the rodeo circuit, and Joe Willie was fortunate to have been born into a family that both taught and lived these virtues. On the other hand, and this made me a bit uncomfortable, Aiden's mother, Claire, provided no stability for her son; hopping from weak white man to bad white man; none of them as interested in being a father figure to Aiden as bedding his beautiful Black mother. I don’t know if I bought the scenario that put Aiden in lockup Okay, Aiden did come up with a plan for a heist, bought a gun, and hid it at his friend, Cort’s, house, but when Cort decided to pull the stickup on his own — and actually shot at police officers while it went down — Cort was able to get a reduced sentence of a few months by blaming everything on Aiden? Yes, Aiden gave Cort a beating for being a rat when he eventually got sent to juvie to do his own time, but even if this was meant to demonstrate that Black youth get harsher sentences than white, it still didn’t follow to me that a fifteen-year-old with no prior record would get years for “conspiracy” while another kid actually shot at police officers and could get a plea deal by blaming everything on someone who wasn’t even there. That’s too convoluted for me to just accept, and ultimately, I don’t know if Wagamese should have brought in African American characters to this novel to use in this way.. And I don’t know if I bought how the convict and the cowboys came together I don’t understand why the detective, Golec, based on available information, would have wanted to take a chance on Aiden and arrange to send him, and his mother, off to his old friends’ ranch to work on their demons. By the time Aiden was released — now seventeen, hardened in jailhouse attitude, and with a violent attack on his record — Golec hadn’t seen him in years; knew nothing of his character, but somehow intuited it would all work out. Also: we learn that Claire has sworn off men, has a good job (maybe as a counsellor; it’s not clear), and an apartment she had spent two years setting up for the return of her son, and she’s just going off to the ranch for an open-ended stay? There’s no mention of a leave of absence from her job, no mention if it’s hard to keep paying rent on the apartment — is she contributing to their keep at the Wolfchilds’? — without working, and although it was telegraphed along the way, I don’t know if I liked that the author chose to have this “confirmed celibate” start a romance with broken Joe Willie (whose age I couldn’t get a hold on). But if I didn’t buy the plot, I did appreciate the lessons it was teaching:

That’s what everyone thinks, son. That it’s too late now. But we’re all tribal people. Every last one of us living and breathing right now started out as the same kind of people. People who lived in community and together on the land. All the things we call Indian were the same for everybody at one time. The reason we get so far away from each other is because we’ve learned to think we’re different. But we’re not. Take anybody and put them in the middle of something as beautiful as that alpine lake up in the pass over there and they’re going to be touched by it, feel something move inside themselves. Hear that old voice that tells them they remember. It takes time and commitment to remember how to really hear it, but anyone can do it.

Sitting by a fire and talking into the night, working our bodies to healthy exhaustion, communing with nature and recognising our places within it: these are our common heritage and the medicine that can heal individuals and society. In a nice bit of symmetry, these are exactly the lessons laid out in the nonfiction work, Challenge to Civilization that I recently read by another Indigenous writer, Blair Stonechild; confirming that if I’m having trouble buying an author’s fictional plot, I’d rather have his lessons laid out in plain language; a personal preference that’s not necessarily universal. There is much to admire and enjoy in Dream Wheels, and as it was the only book given to me for Christmas of ‘23, I am grateful for this gift and what it taught me.

[John Benson · Rating 5 out of 5]

This novel has a little bit different feel to it than some of his other novels that seem much more tied to Canadian First Nations and Ojibwe life. This one centers around a ranch owned by a Native rodeo family. Three generations of Wolfchild men have all been rodeo riders. The book begins with the youngest, Joe Willie, being hurt so bad in his last ride that he can never ride again. In a city nearby, a young black woman, Claire, and her son, Aiden are struggling with their lives. Claire has been abused by many men and Aiden enters a life of crime. After serving time in prison, a parole officer suggests that they both go to the Wolfchild ranch where Joe Willie, Claire, and Aiden begin the process of healing through different paths but that eventually overlap. Another good novel by Richard Wagamese.

[Barbara Morris · Rating 5 out of 5]

I _loved_ this book. I would never have imagined that I'd want to read a book about jail and abuse and bull-riding. But I was immediately drawn in, and kept in, and now I want to read more by Wagamese, no matter what the subject.

It's rare for me to enjoy books that have long espository paragraphs, normally preferring books with mostly dialogue, but Wagamese has such a wonderful lyrical quality to his writing that I read them as carefully as I read the dialogue. Interestingly, many of the settings and situations of the book don't seem to lend themselves at all to lyrical writing, but Wagamese was able to make me want to continue reading even the most horrifying scenes.

[Phyllis Runyan · Rating 5 out of 5]

I finished this book a few days ago and sometimes I just have to think about a book for a few days and let it sink in before I comment about it. First, the author, Richard Wagamese, amazing writer and what a loss to the world of writing. This is the fourth book I have read by him and my goal is to read all of them.
This is the story of two families. The first is the three generation Wolfchild family who live on a ranch, train bulls and horses for the rodeo. The second family is a woman, her 15 year old son and an abusive and controlling man. They live in the city. A terrible accident occurs at the very beginning and also a crime. It's about how these people meet and the process of healing for both.

"I have this friend of mine," he said. "He says that old time Indians used to routinely give away everything they had in orderto take on a new direction. He had an Indian word for it that I can't pronounce but it comes down to being disencumbered. According to him it freed you, allowed you to meet the world again square on, like how you got here, he said. And the act of it, the giving away of what everyone else regarded as important, returned you to the humility you were born in.
So many great quotes, so much wisdom in all of books.

[MargaretDH · Rating 3 out of 5]

Though I have read and enjoyed some of Wagamese's other work in the past, I think from here on out, I'm going to say he's just not for me.

Wagamese wrote books about people in difficult circumstances overcoming tough odds, healing themselves, and ending up happy. I think he wanted to write 'feel good' books, but also write about people who struggle. I also feel like he ladles out emotional beats with a snow shovel, rather than, say, a dessert spoon. So his books usually feel predictable to me, and a tiny bit saccharine.

HOWEVER. I think I am definitely in the minority on this. Wagamese is extremely thoughtful about the characters he creates, and even the down trodden that could easily become caricatures have dignity and well constructed motivations. He's empathetic without being too sympathetic, and I imagine that, in life, he was the kind of person who could see the good in almost anyone, and would never write a person off for what others perceived as bad choices. He's also not afraid to give his books real stakes.

But because he wants the best for people, you can sort of see how things will play out. I think for some readers, being taken on a journey of redemption and personal growth with Wagamese is probably intensely satisfying. But I get frustrated because I find it all signposted too clearly, and, in the end, find the stakes meaningless, because I know there's going to be a happy ending. Plus, he always tells me how people are thinking and feeling explicitly, when I'd sometimes like a little more subtlety.

So in this book we have a victim of domestic violence, a kid who makes some bad choices and ends up incarcerated, and a rodeo champ who goes from the top of his game to rock bottom. Plus, there's a ranch with horses, bulls and a beat up old truck. There's a lot of landscape here, and Wagamese absolutely does it justice. I also appreciate that Wagamese isn't afraid to let his male characters have a lot of feelings, and never shames or judges them for taking the time to work through and process them.

If you like the kind of books where characters go through trials and tribulations, but eventually find their way out to a warm and fuzzy status, and that will not ask much of you as read, you should definitely pick this up.

[Kathleen Nightingale · Rating 4 out of 5]

Oh how I loved this book! Oh how I hated this book!

Using the analogy of sitting on the back porch downing a bottle of beer after mowing the lawn I wanted this to be a quick read and started reading the book at my typical fast pace. After fifty pages wondering what I had read and how it connected I started over again. This was a necessity because the second time I started reading I took the attitude of sitting down after dinner in front of the fire drinking a glass of port. (All that was missing was the cigar- but seeing as how I'm female this is forgivable). When I slowed down and absorbed and reflected back on what I had read and was reading I was taken on a wonderful slow story which refused to be hastened. One of the reasons I love Richard Wagamese's writing. Don't give up try try again and you will be richly rewarded with a wonderful story that you certainly will not soon forget.

[Tina · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book was beautiful, yet very repetitive. Wagamese has a way with words and beautiful prose but if you read it once, you've read it twenty times.

I found that I learned a lot about rodeo and Wagamese describes the courage and determination it takes to overcome fear and heartache very well. I am however very far removed from the world of rodeo and I still don't see the thrill in it. However I appreciate the lifestyle after reading this book. Even if it's only sightly.

[Mortira · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dream Wheels is a beautiful novel, and a delicious piece of literature. I think the most telling compliment that I can give is that there isn't a single description of food or clothing in the entire book. The existence of a hat or cup of coffee might be noted, but there is just too much story to leave room for anything else.

[Heather(Gibby) · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have read several of Richard Wagamese’s books and this one ranks right up there with his later novels. He has a real gift of getting to the heart of our humanity and what makes us tick.

[ianridewood is on Storygraph · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lotta grit, lotta gumption

[thebookybird · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the best cowboy book I’ve read, and another beautiful book by Wagamese that highlights the cultural and social struggles and triumphs of Indigenous life.

Dream Wheels opens with two alternating stories, a broken bull rider and a broken teenager. Alternating between each we get a great sense of who they are, and the stem of their great pain and eventually the two stories become one and I wasn’t prepared for how emotional and healing this convergence would be. Wagamese has a knack for getting inside the head of these characters and allows us to see them from all angles, the good, the bad and the ugly.

One thing that always stands out in his stories is the landscapes, the scenery is vivid, I am always immersed not only with the characters but the places they embody. Wagamese can make even the most resistant of empaths emotionally invested, the stories are intimate and raw.

[Dorothy · Rating 5 out of 5]

My first impression of this book was that I was not going to like it very much. The opening scene is of a rodeo and since I have no interest and indeed some dislike of this kind of spectacle I was somewhat put off. However I am very glad I persevered. I think it is a tribute to this writer's skill that by the end of the book, my feelings about rodeo changed and I appreciated the work and skill that goes into making a rodeo rider.
Part of the book takes place in the city where a teenager gets involved in crime and does 2 years in prison. One of the prison guards feels he can be saved and sends him and his mother to live on a ranch where they both become involved with the horses and with the family running the ranch. The ranch owners are native Americans and much of their culture is described which I think adds greatly to the story.

[Linda Lpp · Rating 4 out of 5]

I smiled when I read your review Sarah. I've had Dream Wheels on my book shelf for ages, and at one time even had it in a container to donate/unŕead, in an attempt to make room for all the other books stuffing my shelves with more recent additions (I think all book lovers get the picture).
I skimmed through a few reviews and decided to hold it back, to place it on the top of the pile!
I'm so glad I did!
In the first few pages it was a whole new world for me. Cowboys, rodeos, Native Indians and all the associated experiences I knew nothing about. But all senses of tragedy, loss, abuse, and hopelessness soon turned around.
A third of the way into the "wild ride" of stories, the focus has switched to challenge the afflicted to become survivors. Wow.
Am loving this book!!

[Carol A · Rating 5 out of 5]

I first came across this book as book fair coordinator at a Canadian Authors Association conference in Ottawa, where it had received the CAA Fiction award. Just reading the blurb on the back cover, the first two lines, was enough to make me want to read the rest of the book.

"The great bull was true to his name. He detonated."

I found the writing compelling, the characters well-drawn, and in places rather poetic in its phrasing. I enjoyed the descriptions of life on the rodeo circuit, the conflicts of the main characters, and the "Dream Wheel" idea is fascinating as well.

Five star read for me. And I never read "western novels".

[Gregory · Rating 3 out of 5]

A good story is a good story no matter what the genre and indeed this is a good story. In the first and last chapters my heart was pounding and had to remind myself to breathe. There were a lot of good chapters in between too. I would have given this book four stars but there were times when Joe Willie, the busted up rodeo champion didn't ring true. The Mothers and Grandmothers also got just a tad preachy on occasion. But overall this was a fine book. I liked it.

[Meredith · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is more a 3.5 rating. As always Wagamese's prose leave you breathless. The depth of his characters is always amazing. I just found the story a bit too slow and a bit repetitive. Perhaps I wouldn't have found it as slow if it hadn't been about rodeo, which I really don't care to know a lot about. I just don't get it. Not my favourite book of his but it is still worth the read for its in depth look of human nature and our souls.

[Jeri Strickland · Rating 3 out of 5]

Richard Wagamese is wonderful descriptive writer.

I read a description of Richard Wagamese's writing as "lyrical". I agree. Richard Wagamese is a Canadian First Nations Writer and periodically writes columns for the Calgary Herald newpaper.

It took a bit to get into the book, but I was definitely rewarded. Great book.

[Nancy · Rating 3 out of 5]

a little overwrought but a great vision and amazing descriptions of rodeo and the power of landscape. characters a bit too caricature... they sometimes seem more symbolic than real. very poetic and a little spiritual. in a good way.

[John · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a very sensory book, lots of sights sounds and smells. It is a very spiritual to. A lot of First Nation philosophy in this story of a son and mother finding a new path in life thanks to life on a ranch.

[Sharon · Rating 5 out of 5]

Every single time I read a book by Richard Wagamese I savor both the story he spins and the craftsmanship of the telling. He is a gifted writer!

[Dlmrose · Rating 4 out of 5]

4+

[Elizabeth · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love it when a book pulls me in right from the quote in the preface. Of course, lots of seemingly promising books fall flat, once the actual author of the book steps in. So I usually make sure to read the first page before deciding whether to keep reading.

It's so satisfying when a book follows the first-sentence-of-a-novel-must-be-compelling rule. It's the rule that makes me need to continue reading, wondering what will unfold next. (Did you go to the same school that I did? Did you sit in the darkened room to watch a grainy movie of Maynard Mack in the front of a classroom, balanced precariously on the edge of his desk, enthusiastically crying out "Call Me Ishmael!" and "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times" followed by timpani "bong bong bong Bong Bong Bong" and opening credits to his instructional film about the novel?)

Of course, sometimes it's only the first paragraph that holds the thrill and the story falters and flags. But there is no fear of that happening with Wagamese's story telling in Dream Wheels. I was snagged by the time I finished the first paragraph. And (if you'll forgive the blatant metaphor) thoroughly roped in by the time I read the second paragraph.

Which might seem odd. The book is about rodeo riders.

Of course there's quite a bit more to it that that. It's really about living. But who cares about the subject really? It's a good story. I do love a good story. And that's what Dream Wheels is. No, wait. It's not a good story; it's a great story.

Don't take my word for it. Read it for yourself.

Sometimes we arrived back separately
but still seemed inside the borders
we crossed by accident
and went there if we think it real
but we do not think it real
There is one memory
of you smiling in the darkness
and the smile has shaped the air
                          around your face
someone you met in a dream
has dreamed you waking.

-Al Purdy, Borderlands

-=* Prologue *=-

The Old ones say that fate has a smell, a feel, a presence, a tactile heft in the air. Animals know it. It's what brings hunter and prey together. They recognize the ancient call and there's a quickening in the blood that drives the senses into edginess, readiness: the wild spawned in the scent. It's why a wolf pack will halt their dash across a white tumble of snow to look at a man. Stand there in the sudden timeless quiet and gaze at him, solemn amber eyes dilating, the threat leaned forward before whirling as one dark body to disappear into the trees. They do that to return him to the wild, to make all things even once again: to restore proper knowledge. The Old Ones say animals bless a man with those moments by returning him to the senses he surrendered when he claimed language, knowledge and invention as power.
    The great bull sensed it and it shivered.

[...]

    He heaved a deep, rib-expanding breath and let it go slowly. Beneath him the bull shuddered once then settled into a curious quiet. They sat there connected by the bull rope and one gloved hand, waiting. There was a smell in the air. Joe Willie shook his head once quickly to clear it, shivered his legs against the bull's sides, raised his right arm slowly to clear the top rail of the chute and nodded solemnly to the rope man at the front of the chute.
    And the world exploded. (p.1, 7)

Other favourite passages (As previously, I've put them into spoiler tags for people like me who prefer to see a book unfold from beginning to end in the way that the author has intended.)

From the moment she'd walked him away from his friends and out on the the dance floor at he cowboy dance in Pendleton, Johanna had moved him and his life onward and upward. He'd always been strong and tough, but Johanna had found a way to make him graceful. Birch grinned at that. Graceful. You didn't learn to be a cowboy by being graceful but you learned to be a man that way. First thing you had to learn in order to cowboy well was how to fall. First thing you had to learn to be a man was how to stand up, dust yourself off and move on. The grace was in the dusting off. (p.33, 34)

The crack made him forget. For the time it lasted he could slip a shroud over his anger and let the drug take him higher, upward beyond the things that roiled within him on the ground. They'd walk then. They'd walk though the neghbourhoods and not worry about the gangs and the threat of violence that came from being a pair of unaffiliated kids. The crack let them forget. The gun, or at least the knowledge of having the gun, let them disregard it. The crack let them laugh. They'd laugh in the face of everything and as they walked they felt as though they radiated, the energy of the high pushing everything back a yard or so, making it visible, clearer, as if they were seeing it for the first time. [...] As the night fell downward, deeper, they made their way through the streets of their own neighbourhood preparing themselves to walk into the vacuums that were their homes. It was then that the crack lost its effect. It was then that Aiden knew that drugs weren't the answer for him. Being high menat you had to come down, and if all you had to come down to was the same place you left, there didn't seem to be a lot of point to it. Instead, he became more determined to see his own course through. He'd change the landscape. (p. 57)

    The sun climbed higher on the wall and he watched it, remembering how he'd loved the light of morning on the ranch. It never failed to give him a sense of melancholy so deep in the bones that he could swear purple was a feeling. He'd loved sitting on the porch in the early morning, enjoying a coffee and watching the tricks of the litht as it broke over everything. It was an old light, ancient and powerful, rich with stories, and sometimes he believed it spoke to him. There was a voice in the cackle of the ravens, the wacky wobbled call of the loons, the hushed whisper of the breeze and the soft moan of cattle. [...] [I]t reminded him of something gone but not forgotten, something in the background of everything he knew, something relevant to everything but remaining unseen, unheard except for fleeting moments in mornings when the quiet peeled back slowly to allow it a vague undertone, a beckoning [...] [H]e'd always loved the cool edge of the air and the look of the sky in the early mornings.
    This morning was different.
    It was the crutches. (p.87)

He'd been a detective on the youth squad for a few years now and he'd about seen everything. The thing was, kids these days never learned how to concentrate, how to focus their attention on one thing for more than a couple of minutes. Their music came at them in three-minute bursts. The movies they loved never stretched a scene beyond the same three-minute time frame. Hell, getting a kid to sit and read for an hour would take a court order most times, and except for computer time, the chat lines, action games, endless surfing and noodling about they did, they couldn't commit any time to anything. It wasn't their fault. No one took the time to show them the wonder of things anymore. Like music. Golec's kids went to the symphony with him and the missus every week. Their attention spans were incredible for their age, They could sit and listen to an entire symphony, and it showed in their appreciation of music in general. Sure, they still listened to the crap that was everywhere, but mixed in with the rap and hip-hop CDs were healthy dollops of Brahms, Dorak and Elgar. They got scope that way, a way to measure, a means to compare evaluate and choose. It seems to Golec that most parents neglected their kids' attention spans far too frequently and the result was a reduced ability to choose. (p.100, 101)

[S]he stood in the middle of the room and wondered why they called it a living room. When you were alone there wasn't a great deal of living going on. She glanced around at the accumulation of stuff, the small gathering of things that sat on the shelves, hung on the wall and graced the windows. None of it worked. None of it performed a function beyond the filling of space. None of it held any special properties, any attractant energy that could pull life together. None of it mattered in the end. What mattered was the energy of people. People made a living room live. History didn't lie within the things you kept. History lay within the people who filled the rooms. History was what her family needed now and she reached down and grabbed her bags and stepped toward the beginning of her history with her son. (p.188)

The land was rich in dozens of shades of green. The mountains hard against the clear blue sky scalloped the length of the valley, and the variant colours of the rock, the long, V-shaped funnelling of slides, the poked peninsulas of trees and the undulating suggestion of lesser, rounded humps of peaks before them gave it a wild kinetic energy, an intensity humming in the stillness as though all of it, the mountains, the valley, the sky, was vibrating with the effort of holding itself in. To his eyes, used to the dullness of concrete and steel, it was a feast, and Aiden sat straighter, watching it unroll before them. He could feel the openness work against his insides. As his eyes reached farther down the length of the valley he felt smaller and larger at the same time. As the car ate up the distance, he felt less like he was moving through it as he was moving with it, becoming a part of the sage and pasture and draw and the severe slope of the valley, and the feeling crested and broke against his ribs and he exhaled long and slow. (p.190, 191)

[W]ith the sun shining out of a hard electric-blue sky the land was invigorating. She pulled over to the shoulder and stepped out and allowed it to envelope her. It felt like it had hands. The breeze that blew across it brought the scent of juniper, pine and sage and animal smells that only served to heighten the sense of open space, so that standing there Claire felt the soul and the spirit of it all and she almost cried. [...] There was a song in it. She was sure of that. It was an ancient refrain that resided within everything, and she closed her eyes and let the breeze play across her face and tried to catch it, snare it with all her senses, reaching out even with her skin, so that when she hummed, a low throaty note that was more moan then melody, it felt right and good and old as the land itself. She let it rise out of her. She stretched out her hands wide at her sides with her eyes closed and her head tilted back and let the note escape her, ragged and bruised and raw, and as it slid into the air she felt the land refill her, nestle into the spot where the note had lived and slake a thirst she never knew she carried. (p.194, 195)

[W]hat they gave them was choice. In the end, it's all we ever have. We can have all the head knowing in the world, be all proper educated and smart, but life is about choices [...] That choice is our superhuman power. It allows us to change everything all at once. [...] We choose what to believe, how to behave, how to think. We choose how we live our lives. Us. No one else. Our choice. You look at things the way they are, and if you don't like it you choose to change it. (p.232)

When you're busy with your own thoughts or moving toward something you need tending to, they look at you. And it's like there's a story in their eyes, you know? The story of you. Like they can see all of you in that moment. Where you've been, what you've done, all your dreams, your wishes, everything. That look is so strong it's like they push you with their eyes, push you toward whatever it is you want, push you toward whatever you might choose, or toward what they might choose for you, wish for you, dream for you. I've never been on the receiving end of a look like that. I can only hope that it's in mine when I look at my boy. (p.301)

The coyotes began a chorus, and they looked up to see the moon hovering over the mountains to the east, full and fat and silver, pockmarked with ancient collisions, the spray of them like wrinkles on an old man's face. The wild was in the air. A horse nickered in the corral and they could hear the basso thud of bulls stamping restless hooves in their pens. There was a breeze suddenly and the flames flickered higher so that when they looked across at each other it was like their faces were in motino, flowing between age and youth, mask and reality upward into the breeze and across the draw to join the coyote chorus sailing to the moon. (p.301)

The kid had no head for tradition. Everything was all guts and glory to him. All he wanted was the thrill. For Joe Willie the thrill, the eight seconds of glory that you earned the right to, was only the culmination of the life you lived leading up to it every time. He rode as an expression of himself, a real working cowboy, and the kid, to his way of seeing, had nothing to express beyond attitude and recklessness. Well, he'd seen many broken, busted men who'd tried to forge a career on unruly posturing, and it wasn't a pretty sight. (p.312)

Things carry stories, Claire. It's why we keep things. Because the histories the bear make them precious. [...] We forget how vital those histories are to us and we get lost in the price of things instead, their worldly value, their cost. that's what we consider if we lose it. (p.330)