The Orchardist

The Orchardist

by Amanda Coplin

Hardcover

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780062188502
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date: 08/21/2012
Pages: 448
Product dimensions: 6.36(w) x 9.12(h) x 1.42(d)

About the Author

Amanda Coplin was born in Wenatchee, Washington. She received her BA from the University of Oregon and MFA from the University of Minnesota. A recipient of residencies from the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, Massachusetts, and the Omi International Arts Center at Ledig House in Ghent, New York, she lives in Portland, Oregon.

Read an Excerpt

His face was as pitted as the moon. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and thick without being stocky, though one could see how he would pass into stockiness; he had already taken on the barrel-chested sturdiness of an old man. His ears were elephantine, a feature most commented on when he was younger, when the ears stuck out from his head; but now they had darkened like the rest of his sun-exposed flesh and lay against his skull more than at any other time in his life, and were tough, the flesh granular like the rind of some fruit. He was clean-shaven, large-pored; his skin was oily. In some lights his flesh was gray; others, tallow; others, red. His lips were the same color as his face, had given way to the overall visage, had begun to disappear. His nose was large, bulbous. His eyes were cornflower blue. His eyelashes nothing to speak of now, but when he was young they were thick-black, and his cheeks bloomed, and his lips were as pure and sculpted as a cherub's. These things together made the women compulsively kiss him, lean down on their way to do other chores, collapse him to their breasts. All his mother's sisters he could no longer remember, from Arkansas, who were but shadows of shadows now in his consciousness. Oh my lovely, they would say. Oh my sweet lamb.

His arms were sun-darkened and flecked with old scars. He combed his hair over his head, a dark, sparse wing kept in place with pine-scented pomade.

He regarded the world—objects right in front of his face—as if from a great distance. For when he moved on the earth he also moved in other realms. In certain seasons, in certain shades, memories alighted on him like sharp-taloned birds: a head turning in the foliage, lantern light flaring in a room. And there were other constant preoccupations he likewise half acknowledged, in which his attention was nevertheless steeped at all times: present and past projects in the orchard; desires he had had as a young man, worries, fears, of which he remembered only the husks; trees he had hoped to plant; experiments with grafting and irrigation; jam recipes; cellar temperatures; chemical combinations for poisoning or at least discouraging a range of pests—deer and rabbits and rodents and grubs, a universe of insects; how to draw bees. Important was the weather, and patterns of certain years, the likelihood of repetition meteorologically speaking, what that would mean for the landscape; the wisdom of the almanacs, the words of other men, other orchardists, the unimportant but mostly the important words. He thought of where he would go hunting next fall. Considered constantly the state of his land, his property, his buildings, his animal. And mostly he thought of the weather that week, the temperature, and existence of, or potential for, rainfall; recent calamities and how he was responding to them; the position of the season; his position in the rigid scaffolding of chores—what he would have to do that day, that afternoon and evening, how he would prepare for the next morning's work; when were the men coming, and would he be ready for them? But he would be ready for them, he always was, he was nothing if not prepared. He considered those times in life when he had uttered words to a person—Caroline Middey or Clee, or his mother, or a stranger who had long forgotten him—he wished he had never uttered, or had uttered differently, or he thought of the times he remained silent when he should have spoken as little as a single word. He tried to recollect every word he had ever spoken to his sister, tried to detect his own meanness or thoughtlessness, his own insensitivity to certain inflections she might have employed. How long ago it was now. At times he fretted about forgetting her, though in fact—he did not like to admit this—he had already forgotten much.

Now, at his back, the shrouded bushels of apples and apricots rustled in the wagon bed, the wagon creaking forward beneath the weight; the old, old familiar rhythm in accordance with these leagues of thought. Dazzled and suspended by the sun. The mountains—cold—at his back. It was June; the road was already dusty. His frame slightly hunkered down, the floppy calfskin hat shielding his brow, under which was a scowl holding no animosity. The large hands, swollen knuckles, loosely holding the reins.

From the wheatfields he entered the town, and drew down the main street. Quiet. It was Sunday. The nearer church, he thought—the Methodist was on the other side of town—had yet to release its congregation. He hitched up outside the feed and supply store, watered the mule. While he was setting up the fruit stand—tugging forward each burlap-covered bushel in the back of the wagon and unveiling them and unloading them—a woman rounded the corner and gained the platform, approached him. Half her face was mottled and pink, as if burned, her mouth an angry pucker. She held defensively to her breast a burlap sack and bent and inspected the uptilted bushel of Arkansas Blacks. She reached for an apple but did not touch it; glanced dubiously at a bushel of paler apples he presently uncovered. What're those?

He glanced down. Greenings. Rhode Island Greenings.

When he spoke, his voice was low and sounded unused; he cleared his throat. The woman waited, considered the apples. All right. I'll take a few of those. From the folds of her skirt she brought out a dull green change purse. How much?

He told her. She pinched out the correct change and handed it to him.

As he filled the sack with fruit, the woman turned and gazed behind her. Said:

Look what the cat drug in. Those two looking over here like that, you aren't careful, they'll come rob you. Hooligan-looking. She sniffed.

After a moment he looked where she nodded. Down the street, under the awning of the hardware store, two girls—raggedy, smudge-faced—stood conspiratorially, half turned toward each other. When they saw Talmadge and the woman observing them, they turned their backs to them. He handed the burlap sack to the woman, the bottom heavy and misshapen with fruit.

The woman hesitated, still looking at the girls, then turned and nodded shortly to him, stepped off the platform, moved down the street.

From the wagon he retrieved his wooden folding chair and sat down next to the bushels. Wind gusted and threw sand onto the platform, and then it was quiet. Rain was coming; maybe that evening, or early the next day. The girls moved; stood now with their shoulders pressed together, looking into the window of the dry goods store. A gust of wind blew their dresses flat against their calves, but they remained motionless. He pulled his cap low. What did two girls mean to him? He dozed. Woke to someone addressing him:

That you, Talmadge? Those girls just robbed you.

He righted his cap. A slack-mouthed boy stood gaping at him.

I saw them do it, said the boy. I watched them do it. You give me a nickel, I'll run them down and get your apples back for you.

The girls had gotten farther than Talmadge would have expected. They made a grunting sound between them, in their effort at speed. Apples dropped from their swooped-up dresses and they crouched or bent awkwardly to retrieve them. The awkwardness was due, he saw, to their grotesquely swollen bellies. He had not realized before that they were pregnant. The nearer one—smaller, pouting, her hair a great hive around her face—looked over her shoulder and cried out, let go the hem of her dress, lurched forward through the heavy thud of apples. The other girl swung her head around. She was taller, had black eyes, the hard startle of a hawk. Her hair in a thick braid over her shoulder. She grabbed the other girl's wrist and yanked her along and they went down the empty road like that, panting, one crying, at a hobble-trot. He stopped and watched them go. The boy, at his side, looked wildly back and forth between Talmadge and the ragged duo. I can get them, I can catch them, Talmadge, he said. Wildly back and forth.

Talmadge, the boy repeated.

Talmadge watched the girls retreat.

What People are Saying About This

Salvatore Scibona

“Nearly everybody in the book compels your admiration, either for their courage or for the heavy work they do, all the time and without complaint, even when wicked men are hunting them. Transfixing. I love this book straight through.”

Holloway McCandless

“This is an extraordinarily ambitious and authoritative debut.”

Patricia Hampl

“A rare find—this debut novel that reads with masterful authority. Stately and passionate—a stunning powerhouse. THE ORCHARDIST, like Marilynne Robinson’s GILEAD, drills into history, portraying an apparently modest American way of life but finally presenting us with a great American elegy.”

Charles Baxter

“Patiently beautiful, THE ORCHARDIST builds its characters and its situations so carefully that the story becomes as real to us as this morning’s news. I am in awe of Amanda Coplin’s book, which does not feel like a first novel but a life’s work.”

Wally Lamb

“When you pick up THE ORCHARDIST, you will be lured at first by the lushness of the language. But soon enough the characters will take hold of you and you’ll read on hungrily, as if under a spell. It’s hard to believe that this is Amanda Coplin’s first novel.”

Bonnie Jo Campbell

“To read this mysterious, compelling, elemental novel is to immerse yourself in the world of an old folk song, in which the passions and sorrows of plain people rage unseen and then blossom as madly (and quietly) as apricot trees. In THE ORCHARDIST, Amanda Coplin shows us what’s unknowable.”

Ron Rash

“Amanda Coplin has depicted her northwestern landscape with such fidelity that readers will know its every sight, smell, and sound. Within this world are compelling characters and their equally compelling stories. THE ORCHARDIST is an outstanding debut.”

Interviews

A Conversation with Amanda Coplin
Your novel is set in central Washington State at the turn of the 20th century, near the area where you yourself grew up. If you were to go to Talmadge's property today, describe what you would see.
In the last century and a half, a lot has changed in that part of the country. At the same time, certain areas, in the deep forest flanking the Cascades, for example, have changed hardly at all. I remember hiking with my family in the Wenatchee Wilderness area as a child and coming upon a decrepit cabin that was so old that it seemed to have become part of the landscape itself. It had been there for maybe a hundred years. No one had torn it down, it had not disintegrated; it had just stood there empty all those years. And so maybe Talmadge's cabin would be a relic like that, empty but still standing.
But more likely that cabin would be long gone, and replaced by a small, contemporary home, and surrounded by a more uniformly cultivated landscape. These new people would have a satellite dish, and neighbors. That would be a difference; there wouldn't be that same depth of forest surrounding them that Talmadge would have experienced, that same sense of solitude. And there wouldn't be horses coming out of the trees, but maybe teenagers on ATVs, in the winter.
The central character, Talmadge, is a loner with a warm heart. What inspired this character?
My grandfather. He and my grandmother owned apple, cherry, and pear orchards just outside of Wenatchee, and my cousins, brother, and I spent a lot of time there as children. Talmadge shares my grandfather's quiet demeanor, his intense work ethic, his sense of humor. I can see a lot of my grandfather in Talmadge, and to certain degrees my own father and brother. But, ultimately, the character is distinct from the person. Talmadge became an individual over time, with his own history and identity.
How does the disappearance of Talmadge's sister and the death of his mother in the beginning of the book influence his later response to the two sisters?
I think Talmadge experiencing loss at such an early age created in him an intense kind of need, one of the most basic needs of all: for human companionship. Also, in losing his sister, he was without someone to care for, which is another human need; he was responsible for her, and failed her. The fact that we never find out what happened to her—Talmadge never finds out—only agitates the wound. Despite the years that have passed, he has still not healed. And so that makes the introduction of the two girls in the latter part of his life particularly significant; his reaction to them is exaggerated because of this earlier experience of loss.
People have commented that the landscape is almost another character in the novel. What draws you to nature and enables you to imbue it with such palpable clarity and beauty?
Spending so much time in my grandparents' orchard had a major effect on my imagination. I not only played in the orchard and spun elaborate games with my brother and cousins, but I also spent time by myself, often with a book in hand, and wandered through the aisles, and read. My love of language developed with my love of the trees, and with silence and solitude.
In time, and especially during the writing of this novel, my own intense childhood experience in the orchard caused me to reflect on the symbiotic relationship between a person and their landscape. The physical environment isn't just a stage on which human drama plays out; there is a very real organic as well as spiritual relationship between a person's interiority and the earth, sky, and weather which surrounds them. Our dreams, hopes, and fears take shape from material of the natural world. It is a part of us; we need the landscape to imagine as well as to physically survive.
Talmadge has an Orchard. Do you have a favorite kind of apple?
The last few years I've grown fond of the Honeycrisp apple, cultivated in Minnesota. It's a delicious snacking apple, firm and sweet and a little tart. I'm also partial to Granny Smiths, an apple originally cultivated in Australia but made popular in the States by Grady Auvil, an orchardist from Orondo, Washington.
Who have you discovered lately?
The last really striking book I read was Sheila Heti's How Should a Person Be? There has been such a critical hullaballoo surrounding it, and I thought, well I'm going to read this book by this woman who is my contemporary, and see what the fuss is about. I was impressed by the risks she took, structurally and thematically, and while I agree with several of the criticisms aimed at the work, something about its spirit has stuck with me. I think it is a vibrant, brave, earnest book. I definitely look forward to what Heti does in the future.
Sheila Heti's novel has a relationship, in my mind, with work of other writers I've read in the last few years and loved, especially Joanna Kavenna, Celine Curiol, and Lore Segal.

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The Orchardist 3.9 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 199 reviews.
Man_Of_La_Book_Dot_Com More than 1 year ago
The Orchardist by Amanda Chopin is a novel tak­ing place in Wash­ing­ton State at the early part of the 20thCen­tury. This is Chopin's first book and is a majes­tic debut, a new book which reads like an old friend. William Tal­madge had had a hard life, orphaned at an early age and los­ing his sis­ter mys­te­ri­ously, he made his liv­ing from a suc­cess­ful orchard which draw in all his tal­ents and energy. Tal­madge takes in two run­away teenager, sis­ters who were both abused and pregnant. Life is rough inWash­ing­ton­State­and Tal­madge is repaid for his gen­eros­ity with a series of events marked with tragedy and vio­lence, as well as a few glim­mers of joy. The Orchardist by Amanda Chopin is a beau­ti­fully writ­ten and haunt­ing novel, a mood not usu­ally cap­tured by first time authors. The prose is lyri­cal and the char­ac­ters enchant­ing, even though they might not be like­able they grow on the reader and make one invest in their future. The rea­son I requested to be on the tour for this book is actu­ally quite nos­tal­gic. Many years ago, what seems like 100 years ago (and unfor­tu­nately, what seems like 100 lbs. as well) I walked along the Inca Trail in Bolivia(slightly less famous than its Peru­vian coun­ter­part which I walked sev­eral weeks later). After a few days we came upon an orchard in the Andes Moun­tains, ran by a Japan­ese orchardist (still inBo­livia) who let us stay the night and eat as much fruit as we can. I also worked in an orchard for a few years, back in Israel- a dif­fi­cult yet reward­ing job which I often view with rose col­ored glasses. So you see, my fas­ci­na­tion with orchards has been life­long, the smell of an orange orchard brings a back many sweet mem­o­ries, I sim­ply could not pass up this book. The depic­tion of the land and the fron­tier land­scape are writ­ten with clar­ity and sen­si­bil­ity as well as incor­po­rat­ing the char­ac­ters within it. The style worked very well for this novel because the peo­ple were part of the land, cul­ti­vated by it and not the other way around. "But the next day he stood in the mid­sec­tion of an apple tree and saw them come mean­der­ing down the orchard rows. He con­tin­ued with the shears in the high branches and watched them indi­rectly. They stopped down the row from him and sat in the grass." The theme of the book, peo­ple don't get over their losses, is estab­lished early on, about a quar­ter through the book. How­ever the Amer­i­can sense of opti­mism which every­thing will work out and good things will hap­pen is always present regard­less of the chal­lenges Chopin throws at her characters. The prose is beau­ti­fully writ­ten, but at time overly stretched. That being said, the author's tal­ent shines through­out the book, I cer­tainly hopes she keeps on writ­ing and am look­ing for­ward to read many more books of qual­ity from her pen.
mtnmansv More than 1 year ago
I chose this book as a change of pace from historical fiction and found it to be a relaxing read for me of a man who loved his fruit trees and the way of life alone working in his orchard. The two young girls that came to him from a life made to serve men sexually changed it all for him. He was gentle and kind to the girls and treated them as family trying to protect them although he was not totally successful in the end. I would recommend this book if you have any interest in the human condition and a simple way of life.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The highlight of this book is the literary style. the language and lavish description is amazing. the magic is in the actual words. The down side of this book is that as far as the plot goes, it drags a bit. Characters are good and well developed. But the language!!! Wow!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Beautifully written. A sad tale with a thread of unconditional love woven through it. The story of a good man , who lived his life unobtrusively, but who left a legacy of love.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A must read! The absolute poetry and musical quality of the prose is second only to the wonderful way the author explores the ways in which we love, share, hang on and let go. This is one of the best works I've read in quite sometime.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Could 't put it down and didn't want it to end. Hope the author writes more vooks
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Could not put this down.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I just finished this book and found it to be a wonderful read. I felt connected to the characters even if I didn't always understand their motivation. The plot is well thought out and the characters are completely drawn and totally believeable. My favorite book so far this year and I read a lot!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I listened to this during my commutes back and forth to work. Found myself sitting in my car just listening because i was enjoying it so much.
nfmgirl More than 1 year ago
Let me begin by saying that I have wanted to read this book since before it was released. I felt drawn to it the moment that I read the synopsis, and the fact that I lived for a time in Washington State and loved the area only compounded my desire. So you can imagine how excited I was to get the opportunity to join this book tour! Talmadge has been alone much of his life. A lone orchard farmer, he has been on his own since his mother died when he was but a teenager, and his sister mysteriously disappeared soon after. Then one day decades later enter two young pregnant girls, and Talmadge has something in his life outside of the orchard to focus on. This story was beautifully quiet and reflective, and it most definitely is character-driven. The story could be very still and quiet at times, and it was only the characters propelling it forward. Talmadge is a very stable, dedicated and committed man. Hardworking, ethical, sober and earthy, he keeps himself apart from the world, both logistically (in his orchard isolated from civilization), and emotionally and psychologically. He is the orchard manifested in human form. Caroline Middey is a "medicine woman" who was called out to the farm when Talmadge was young. After his mother died, Caroline watched over him and his sister. After Talmadges's sister disappears and Talmadge ages, Caroline becomes a good friend and confidant, and later a surrogate mother to Angeline. Clee is one of the Nez Perce that stopover in the orchard a couple of times a year on their way to auction with the wild horses they capture. He and Talmadge become friends as boys, even though Clee is mute and never speaks a word. Della and Jane enter Talmadge's life as two pregnant children, running in fear from a demon. Della becomes a surrogate wild child to Talmadge, and grows to be a half-feral androgynous woman who never stops running from her demons, and who haunts Talmadge to his death. Angeline is born on the orchard to one of the girls, and she grows up in the orchard. Talmadge is the only father she's ever known. She is the female version of Talmadge, and the opposite of Della. Quiet and contemplative, uncomplaining and enduring and resigned, she is a gentle soul, yet tough and determined. This story can be heart-breaking at times, and can grab you by the gut and pull you along. It was as if Della became the main plot of the story, with Angeline the sub-plot, and Talmadge was the catalyst through which to present these two plots. The setting to this story is everything. Without the orchards, this story couldn't exist. It plays such a central part in the lives of the characters. Talmadge loves the orchards, and Angeline loves the orchards, because she loves Talmadge. Like Talmadge, the orchard is "no part of this world", and holds itself apart from everything else, rarely invaded by the outside. My final word: Lovely and lyrical. Descriptive without being overly done. Restrained. Carefully drawn characters deep with emotion. This story is a beautiful example of what makes a family: love, commitment, dedication, forgiveness. Family goes beyond blood. I would absolutely recommend this to anyone who enjoys a slow, quiet read.
LaPapster More than 1 year ago
Poignant, nuanced, richly detailed, with remarkably descriptive passages. The sense of time and sense of place are exquisitely drawn. Coplin does not let me turn away from these people, developed more by what they see and feel and sense than by what they say. I want to see their land. I will remember this book for a long time and recommend it to many but not to all, for this is not a book for everyone. For me, it was that type of book that leaves me just a beat slower to pick up what I read next.... I leave it thinking about how we see wisdom, true contentment, and peace as opposed to mere happiness, facile satisfaction, and what we accept as knowledge.
AgingFast More than 1 year ago
It's an Opus. This is no ordinary writing, it's a fine piece of music that affects your emotions. The topic of abuse is hard, but the story is exquisitely told.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I couldn't finish this book. It started out okay but it was so slow and depressing I quit reading it. I do like the lyrical writing style of the writer but that's really the only good thing I can say about this book. Save your money.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
If i could write a worthy review of this book I would have written this book myself.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
One of the best books I've read in a very long time.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Left alone after the death of his parents and when his sister mysteriously disappears the man in the orchard leads a solitary life full of grief. Until two girls pass his way in a desperate attempt at escape from a horrible past his life remains the same each day. Their encounter leaves all changed and a moving story ensues of compassion and love and growing up through the natural rhythms and life in the orchard.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I keep looking for another book by Amanda Coplin. I want to go back to that place she took me to. As I recall, I don't know that I adored the characters, but I deeply cared about them. I can't figure out why I was so mesmerized by the story.
Naomi3 More than 1 year ago
This is my all time favorite book; I highly recommend it. Hoping the author will gift us with more to come!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This was a "hard to put down" book. I would read it again.
WriteReason More than 1 year ago
A fine piece of writing.  Descriptive in every detail--you feel, witness, and experience this story.  Full of life--joy, sadness, love, hate--emotion!  A story of life, love, compassion, and humility that envelopes the full circle of living experience.  It leaves you with feeling!  
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great book! couldn't put it down
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I really loved this book!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book is wonderful.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago