But just pages into the book, I knew The Perfect Horse was destined to disappoint - and even to annoy me. I debated even writing a negative word about it on this, my unread blog. Elizabeth Letts worked hard and birthed a book that the vast majority of reviewers loved. They praised her research, her passion, and her eloquence. And I was but three pages in when I started to sigh and shake my head at the cliche-ridden, stylistically-painful tome.
I use the word "tome" ironically here. How many people actually use the word tome unironically? Probably about as many as there are horsemen who carry sugar lumps in their pockets and refer to their horses as "steeds" and continually wax poetic about their prancing hooves, velvet noses, majestic presence, deep brown eyes, and full-throated whinny. And therein is what drove me utterly crazy about Letts' book: it's written like a bodice-ripper for horsewomen. No sentence is free of incessant strings of adjectives. There's no simple "blue sky," or even an azure sky; instead, every sky is radiant blue. The horses are imbued with human qualities and even prescience at every turn of phrase. Since no one knows what people were actually thinking or feeling during the moments she dwells upon with such full-throated ecstasy, Letts goes out of her way to fully describe what they must have been thinking, or how they would certainly have known. No one rises from his chair; they all spring, or leap, or coil.
Lest you think I'm unduly harsh, here's a bodice-ripper sample for you, chosen randomly by just flipping the book open to page 44: "The stallion's crest was arched, his nose was perpendicular to the floor, and his hind legs were gathered underneath him, showing off the powerfully developed muscles in his massive hindquarters." Be still, my beating heart! I need a cigarette. (I've never smoked one, but how else to convey my quivering orgiastic sensation after reading such a purple passage?) Throughout the book, we have soldiers constantly stroking velvet noses, an act many real-life horsemen hesitate to engage in because it encourages nipping - especially in stallions - and when they aren't stroking velvety noses, they're "handing out lumps of sugar" to each horse, an even more egregious act of encouraging bad manners. That's not to say that these battle-hardened soldiers didn't carry sugar cubes in every pocket and constantly stuff them into all available velvety muzzles; it's just, well, unlikely. The velvet and sweetness prevails throughout the length of the book. On page 247, we have "Witez, with his velvety nose ..." and those velvety noses and their accompanying "soft whinnies and friendly nudges" were often greeted with "soothing words" from their human handlers. Your stallions have gotten loose together on a thrashing ship on stormy seas? Breathe soothing words at them!
The horses were ennobled and humanized to the point of hilarity. They constantly "seemed to understand the danger" or acted in such a way "as if to say ..." Their nostrils constantly trumpeted, and their hooves constantly stamped. Coats shone like burnished bronze. When first we meet Witez, we're introduced to his "luminous dark brown eyes" and his "delicate flaring nostrils." On page 266, "Witez cantered along a hillside trail, kicking up small puffs of dust with each stride. His coat shone with a coppery fire; his black tail floated behind him like plumes of blowing smoke." On 273, Witez's "large dark eyes" survey his kingdom as he shows his "well-shaped head and sculpted muzzle." Just three pages later, his "fine boned head turned, deep brown eyes lighting up in recognition" and he emits a "deep, full-throated whinny" with "dark eyes set off by an irregular white star, the curved ears that seemed almost to touch when he pricked them forward." Here we have a reunion, and Witez's "nostrils fluted, showing delicate pink inside," as he extends his velvety muzzle to be stroked by one of the soldiers who'd brought the horse to America. I am certain the man offered him a lump of sugar. The stallion deserved it, for he'd live on to be 27, when his "dappled coat shone and his tail floated on the soft California breeze." By page 280, I was inwardly groaning when I read, "The polished brass of his leather halter jingling as his hooved thumped on the ramp. He raised his head, flicked his ears, and trumpeted his pink-and-black speckled nostrils ... Picking a familiar face out of the crowd, he lowered his head and let out a warm whinny." Can we quit trumpeting nostrils, Bueller? How many flicked ears and deep dark eyes must we endure?
In between the soft-eyed-horse-porn full-throated whinnies and the floating tails, Letts actually introduces a lot of damned good information. It's a compelling story, for sure; precious bloodstock rescued from the clutches of brutal Nazis and delivered in a harrowing mission across the ocean to what turns out to be a rather uncaring America. Letts accompanies her text with an excellent selection of photographs of horses and men alike. But you must get past the constant cliches: "the cream of the crop," blending in "like a chameleon," "his face showed no emotion, but inside he was a nervous wreck," and "as still as porcelain statues." Letts brings a lot of solid characters to life, if you don't mind the repetition of paired adjectives. With proper editing, this 350-page book could have been an outstanding 250-page adventure. But somehow redundant and fluffy writing like this slipped past the editorial team - both of these examples are even on the same page, 117: "After one last lump of sugar, one last pat on the neck, Hank said goodbye to his ponies ..." and "Horsemen proffered an extra sugar lump, feeling the tickle of whiskers on the flat of their hands as they looked into their four-legged friends' inscrutable dark eyes." With a few cups less sugar and a lot less gazing into each others' dark eyes, Letts might have had a finely-written tale.
Would I discourage anyone from reading Letts' book? Absolutely not. It's worth it for the historical perspective and for the memory of the truly great Arabian and Lipizzaner stallions rescued during an inhumane war. Kudos to Elizabeth Letts for fully researching and retelling their story. If you'd like to form your own opinion, here's an affiliate link to buy your own copy through Amazon: The Perfect Horse. Heck, it's a New York Times Bestseller, and a winner of research non-fiction awards. You'll probably love it. But if you find the full-throated whinnies and dancing hooves a bit cloying, don't say I didn't warn you.
