Displays Perry’s charming penchant for nurturing things to life—be it a truck or a garden, a community or a baby—while, at the same time, nodding to the past. . . . Perry can take comfort in the power of his writing, his ability to pull readers from all corners onto his Wisconsin spread, and make them feel right at home among the chickens.” — Seattle Times
“You can read Michael Perry’s COOP as an outrageously funny comedy about a semi-hapless neophyte navigating the pitfalls (and pratfalls) of the farming life. Please do, in fact. But scratch a little deeper, past Perry’s lusciously entertaining and epigrammatic prose, his ultra-charming combo of Midwestern earnestness and serrated wit, and you’ll find a reflective, sincere, and surprisingly touching-at times, even heart-cracking-story about a man struggling to put down roots.” — Jonathan Miles, author of Want Not
“Because Perry is an adept storyteller, he balances the sweeter sections with passages evoking the sting of loss and grief-not unduly, but enough to recall the impermanence of life and the swiftness of its transformations. Dryly humorous, mildly neurotic and just plain soulful—a book that might even make you want to buy a few chickens.” — Kirkus Reviews (Starred Review)
“Michael Perry delivers when it comes to small town Americana. . . . A perfect Father’s Day gift for anyone who’s ever tilled the earth; Perry shines as he reminisces. . . . Perry seems like the kind of guy who’d be more than happy to pull up a chair and discuss the price of eggs over a cup of coffee. His voice makes Coop a heartwarming read chock full of family values.” — Missourian
“Written in engaging prose . . . The author’s keen and often amusing observations about farm chores and the creatures under his care will seem pleasingly familiar to anyone who has spent time on a farm. I often found myself smiling or chuckling. . . . An enjoyable visit to a rural homestead alongside an amiable and benignly quirky companion. . . . Pleasurable.” — San Francisco Chronicle
“Beneath the flannel surface of this deer-hunting, truck-loving Badger is the soul of a poet.” — Chicago Tribune
“Perry probably didn’t set out to write anything more than a time capsule when he wrote Coop. . . . Both literate and earthy, he’s not here to convert, proud though he is of his little section of the world. The timing of Coop, does strike, however unintentionally, at the humbled state of our society. Eggs from backyard chickens are the new pesto. And Perry is an organic granola bar dipped in mud. Wrapped in locally produced bacon.” — Cleveland Plain-Dealer
“The charm of this writer grows with each book. Perry blossoms with Coop. . . . [His] gift is applying the small events of his being (and some not so small) to the larger truths of humanity.” — The Oklahoman
“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a book about country living as much as Mike Perry’s COOP. As an adventure narrative, Perry’s details of rural life are much more telling and authentic than any how-to book. But COOP will also appeal to anyone who enjoys good writing. There is a literary gem on nearly every page.” — Gene Logsdon, author of The Contrary Farmer
Beneath the flannel surface of this deer-hunting, truck-loving Badger is the soul of a poet.
You can read Michael Perry’s COOP as an outrageously funny comedy about a semi-hapless neophyte navigating the pitfalls (and pratfalls) of the farming life. Please do, in fact. But scratch a little deeper, past Perry’s lusciously entertaining and epigrammatic prose, his ultra-charming combo of Midwestern earnestness and serrated wit, and you’ll find a reflective, sincere, and surprisingly touching-at times, even heart-cracking-story about a man struggling to put down roots.
I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a book about country living as much as Mike Perry’s COOP. As an adventure narrative, Perry’s details of rural life are much more telling and authentic than any how-to book. But COOP will also appeal to anyone who enjoys good writing. There is a literary gem on nearly every page.
Written in engaging prose . . . The author’s keen and often amusing observations about farm chores and the creatures under his care will seem pleasingly familiar to anyone who has spent time on a farm. I often found myself smiling or chuckling. . . . An enjoyable visit to a rural homestead alongside an amiable and benignly quirky companion. . . . Pleasurable.
The charm of this writer grows with each book. Perry blossoms with Coop. . . . [His] gift is applying the small events of his being (and some not so small) to the larger truths of humanity.
Perry probably didn’t set out to write anything more than a time capsule when he wrote Coop. . . . Both literate and earthy, he’s not here to convert, proud though he is of his little section of the world. The timing of Coop, does strike, however unintentionally, at the humbled state of our society. Eggs from backyard chickens are the new pesto. And Perry is an organic granola bar dipped in mud. Wrapped in locally produced bacon.
Michael Perry delivers when it comes to small town Americana. . . . A perfect Father’s Day gift for anyone who’s ever tilled the earth; Perry shines as he reminisces. . . . Perry seems like the kind of guy who’d be more than happy to pull up a chair and discuss the price of eggs over a cup of coffee. His voice makes Coop a heartwarming read chock full of family values.
Displays Perry’s charming penchant for nurturing things to life—be it a truck or a garden, a community or a baby—while, at the same time, nodding to the past. . . . Perry can take comfort in the power of his writing, his ability to pull readers from all corners onto his Wisconsin spread, and make them feel right at home among the chickens.
Beneath the flannel surface of this deer-hunting, truck-loving Badger is the soul of a poet.
Written in engaging prose . . . The author’s keen and often amusing observations about farm chores and the creatures under his care will seem pleasingly familiar to anyone who has spent time on a farm. I often found myself smiling or chuckling. . . . An enjoyable visit to a rural homestead alongside an amiable and benignly quirky companion. . . . Pleasurable.
Michael Perry's website features a portrait of "the artist as a young man." The photograph pictures a small boy picking his nose. That sense of unpretentious realism is one of the reasons that readers find his lighthearted prose so appealing. Certainly, you couldn't find a more modest man; the author of Population 485 claims that he bases his writing career on the principle he learned cleaning pens: "Just keep shoveling, and eventually you've got a pile so big, someone will notice." However, Coop, his collection of rural Wisconsin reflections, possesses an aroma all its own. Perry's acute observations and writing skills give us access to a farmyard world that now seems remote to most of us, which only makes it more fascinating.
Perry (Population: 485) is that nowadays rare memoirist whose eccentric upbringing inspires him to humor and sympathetic insight instead of trauma mongering and self-pity. His latest essays chronicle a year on 37 acres of land with his wife, daughters and titular menagerie of livestock (who are fascinating, exasperating personalities in their own right). But these luminous pieces meander back to his childhood on the hardscrabble Wisconsin dairy farm where his parents, members of a tiny fundamentalist Christian sect, raised him and dozens of siblings and foster-siblings, many of them disabled. Perry's latter-day story is a lifestyle-farming comedy, as he juggles freelance writing assignments with the feedings, chores and construction projects that he hopes will lend him some mud-spattered authenticity. Woven through are tender, uncloying recollections of the homespun virtues of his family and community, from which sprout lessons on the labors and rewards of nurturance (and the occasional need to slaughter what you've nurtured). Perry writes vividly about rural life; peck at any sentence-"One of the [chickens] stretches, one leg and one wing back in the manner of a ballet dancer warming up before the barre"-and you'll find a poetic evocation of barnyard grace. Photos. (May)
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The author takes up farming and gathers memories after moving to a Wisconsin homestead with his wife and daughter. Though he grew up on a farm, Men's Health contributing editor Perry (Truck, 2006, etc.) doesn't pretend to be a son of the soil. He lives mostly in his head and through his eyes. His tasks around the farm are discreet enthusiasms and bemusements rather than vexing chores. He also has a complete set of anxieties, from his wife wanting a home birth for their impending child to making sure he doesn't deglove his hand-that is, remove all the tissue so that only the bones remain-in a whirling piece of machinery. At the beginning of this memoir, after gently reflecting on a slice of his past, Perry writes, "It would be sweet to noodle along in this minor key, but I'm stopping now"-then he noodles right on. He notes with affection that his wife can blow her nose without the aid of a hanky ("now there is a woman who can endure"), grimly ponders the axe-blow-to-BTU ratio of his woodcutting, experiences the winter night's air as "tin-pail cold against my nose" and stands rapt with his six-year-old daughter as their dog eats a dead rabbit. (He later has the bright idea of feeding some dead rabbits to his pigs.) He frequently thinks back on his farm childhood, marveling at how his devoutly religious parents made ends meet as they welcomed dozens of abandoned, mistreated or otherwise lost children into their home. Because Perry is an adept storyteller, he balances the sweeter sections with passages evoking the sting of loss and grief-not unduly, but enough to recall the impermanence of life and the swiftness of its transformations. Dryly humorous, mildly neurotic and just plain soulful-abook that might even make you want to buy a few chickens.
