A Beloved, Seemingly Unadaptable Book Has Been Transformed Into a Gorgeous Netflix Movie and Oscar Hopeful

"Grainier, an orphan sent to Idaho by train at the age of 6 or 7 with a destination pinned to his coat, is an ordinary person-a laborer who makes a living building railroads, joining seasonal logging crews, and, as an older man, hauling freight with a wagon. "He'd had one lover-his wife, Gladys-owned one acre of property, two horses, and a wagon," Johnson sums up Grainier's life, near the end of the novella, in a catalog of experience that neatly pins him as a creature of his time, class, and place:"

""He'd never been drunk. He'd never purchased a firearm or spoken into a telephone. He'd ridden on trains regularly, many times in automobiles, and once on an aircraft ... He had no idea who his parents might have been, and he left no heirs behind him.""

"No, Grainier is no boldface name, but the novella's magic is that it makes his life seem huge to the reader. Johnson's protagonist is a mild, hard-working man who's superstitious and trustworthy, a person who is barely formally educated, whose mind constantly searches for an understanding of the meaning of life. This man's perception of his small hometown, the lumber crews he works on, and his own place in history come to matter deeply to the reader. By the time the novella finishes in a burst of imagery, comparing the howl made by a "wolf-boy" Grainier sees in a circus freak show to the resonances of other sounds of the time-a train whistle, opera singing, foghorns, and bagpipes-you're fully on board with what Johnson is trying to do."

Robert Grainier is an orphan sent to Idaho as a child with a destination pinned to his coat. He works building railroads, joins seasonal logging crews, and later hauls freight by wagon. He marries Gladys, owns one acre, two horses, and a wagon, and lives a restrained, steady life marked by superstition and thrift. He rarely indulges in modern habits, travels by train often, and once flies; he never learns his parentage and leaves no heirs. Ordinary sights and sounds grow potent through intense sensory and auditory imagery, making a small life feel expansive.

Read at Slate Magazine