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A review by sjgrodsky
Horse Crazy: The Story of a Woman and a World in Love with an Animal by Sarah Maslin Nir
3.0
Sixteen days to read fewer than 300 pages. I did not exactly gallop through this book.
The author’s bio in the inside back cover says “She loves horses.” But I don’t agree. I think she loves to ride horses. She loves the thrill of galloping and jumping. She loves to compete and collect ribbons that attest to her skill as a rider. Most of all, she loves to feel that she, a nice Jewish girl, has cracked the WASP enclave of equitation.
She has spent a lot of time with horses. Yet she doesn’t seem to get this plain fact: horses don’t want to be ridden. They don’t want to have saddles strapped on their backs, cold (and often painful) bits thrust in their mouths, riders jabbing heels (if not spurs) into their sides.
They are animals. They want to be with their buddies — other horses — cropping grass in a pasture. They are creatures of habit and can be trained to do all of the silly things we demand of them. That doesn’t mean we should be stabling them in narrow stalls where they doze (but don’t really sleep) standing up. Or flying them around the world in capsules. Or giving them away to unknown persons because you want to frustrate your soon to be ex-husband.
That said, Sarah does tell some horse stories that were new to me. Though I often wished for more background and more of the basic facts that she must have learned to gather in J school.
1
—
The chapter on the Breyer model horse competitions was fascinating. I, like every horse-mad girl, had models of horses, standins for the live herd I couldn’t have in a suburban tract house. But it never occurred to me that they could be taken to a ... competition? And though Sarah does a good job describing the people she met, she doesn’t tell us how frequently these competitions occur, how many people compete, the amount of money involved, the Breyer company contribution. Insight from a psychologist would also have enriched the story.
2
—
I was astonished, if horrified, to learn that horses were stabled in an apartment building on west 89th Street. And that there was a small stable on Randall’s Island underneath the FDR expressway. And that the reprehensible “sport” of fox hunting is just drunken riders clinging to horses as they stampede over hill and dale.
But I am disappointed that Sarah does not see how we frustrate horses’ natural impulses, condemning them to misery so we can enjoy the thrill ride.
The author’s bio in the inside back cover says “She loves horses.” But I don’t agree. I think she loves to ride horses. She loves the thrill of galloping and jumping. She loves to compete and collect ribbons that attest to her skill as a rider. Most of all, she loves to feel that she, a nice Jewish girl, has cracked the WASP enclave of equitation.
She has spent a lot of time with horses. Yet she doesn’t seem to get this plain fact: horses don’t want to be ridden. They don’t want to have saddles strapped on their backs, cold (and often painful) bits thrust in their mouths, riders jabbing heels (if not spurs) into their sides.
They are animals. They want to be with their buddies — other horses — cropping grass in a pasture. They are creatures of habit and can be trained to do all of the silly things we demand of them. That doesn’t mean we should be stabling them in narrow stalls where they doze (but don’t really sleep) standing up. Or flying them around the world in capsules. Or giving them away to unknown persons because you want to frustrate your soon to be ex-husband.
That said, Sarah does tell some horse stories that were new to me. Though I often wished for more background and more of the basic facts that she must have learned to gather in J school.
1
—
The chapter on the Breyer model horse competitions was fascinating. I, like every horse-mad girl, had models of horses, standins for the live herd I couldn’t have in a suburban tract house. But it never occurred to me that they could be taken to a ... competition? And though Sarah does a good job describing the people she met, she doesn’t tell us how frequently these competitions occur, how many people compete, the amount of money involved, the Breyer company contribution. Insight from a psychologist would also have enriched the story.
2
—
I was astonished, if horrified, to learn that horses were stabled in an apartment building on west 89th Street. And that there was a small stable on Randall’s Island underneath the FDR expressway. And that the reprehensible “sport” of fox hunting is just drunken riders clinging to horses as they stampede over hill and dale.
But I am disappointed that Sarah does not see how we frustrate horses’ natural impulses, condemning them to misery so we can enjoy the thrill ride.