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JANE SMILEY: Horse Heaven is probably my favorite of the books. There's a character in here named Joy who, I guess we would say, is pretty depressed. But she works at a big training farm in California. And a horse has come to the training farm named Mr. T, who has been neglected. He's an old horse from the training farm and they've taken him in. And she's sort of taken him on, and she rides him. And one day she's out with him, and the trainer, the guy who runs the training program, says that she should gallop him on the training track just to see what it feels like-- it's bringing tears to my eyes, I don't know why. Anyway, she agrees to do that. She's a little afraid. She usually uses a bigger saddle. And so she goes out. He coaches her. He tells her how to stay on, because she feels a little insecure. Then this is a little passage about Mr. T. And then I'll skip forward and read another little passage about him. "Mr. T was clearly intrigued by this new development. He flicked his ears back and forth and took big, happy strides. She saw that several of the grooms and exercise boys were now drawn up along the rail. She hoped it was only to see the old horse perform, not see the old girl bite the dust. Of his own accord Mr. T. lifted himself into a big trot, launching her with every stride into high post. She fitted her hands around the wide rubber reins and took stronger hold. The horse ducked his chin, not objecting, but taking stronger hold of her. It made her feel like the back of her head was connected to his jaw by a wire that both held her in place and vibrated with information. She trotted once around the track and came up to Jack again. He said, 'Now this guy isn't much in condition, but you can't weigh more than 90 pounds. Pick up a little canter here. Canter slowly to halfway around, then chirp him into a gallop. When you come around to me again, bridge your reins, put your hands up on his neck, curl up, and let him do what he wants to do. He'll probably change leads and really take hold. Don't lose your reins when he does that, and don't fight him. He's going to use you a little bit to keep his balance. He has to do that to compensate for your weight on his back. When he starts to tire and seems to give you something, just bring him down.' Yeah, thought Joy. We'll see. She loosened her grip a bit and he moved up into a canter. Her plan, as opposed to Jack's, was just to canter pleasantly around the track and try this galloping thing another time. But the canter was sweet. She didn't rock with it. It seemed to rock beneath her, floating her along like a flea on the horse's back. Coming around the turn, she most assuredly did not chirp. But he moved smoothly into second gear, anyway. And after two or three strides, she thought she could feel the quick four beats of the gallop beneath her. She said, 'Hey!' The horse seemed to elongate and get lower, somehow. Her eyes were tearing, and her ears seemed filled with blank sound. She said, 'Whoa!' But he did not whoa. Old and ill-conditioned as he was, he moved forward smoothly, and there was no hold him. She got back to Jack significantly faster than she'd gotten away from him. As she passed him, noting his grin that looked like a smear, she bridged the reins. Immediately, Mr. T braced himself against her hands and arms and shoulders, so that she had to press her fists into his neck. If she hadn't been right with him, he would have bounded out from under her. But she was right with him. He seemed to fill her with power as he sped up, power that ran from her toes and her hands to the center of her body and gathered there, giving her the strength and balance to be still. He was running as fast as any runaway she'd ever ridden. But she got no sense that he didn't know what he was doing. Exactly the opposite, in fact. He knew where every foot was because he put it there. Her hearing and sight were useless. Her eyes were entirely blurred, and all she could hear was her own voice making a sound that wasn't speech and wasn't moaning. They went some distance. She could not have said how far. He seemed to surge with each stride, so that she gave up the idea of checking or holding him. And then the surging dropped off. And then her body knew that he had spent himself and was ready to come back to the trot. When they had done so, she realized that she was trembling all over, as if she had lifted a huge weight and exhausted herself. By the time they were walking, she was ready to fall off. 'How'd you like it?' called Jack. 'I don't know,' she called back. 'I need a nap.' Her laugh, his laugh, rang out. Mr. T did not need a nap. No one who fulfills a longstanding passion to be once again a long-legged colt flowing with movement--" I can't read this. "--to be, once again, a long-legged colt, flowing with movement and energy, need a nap. At least, not until the next day, when the aches and pains set in, and you can barely hobble around your own personal Arabian-fantasy domain. And even the precious as emeralds and rubies, irrigated grass doesn't look quite as good as a quiet doze in the shade." I didn't expect that to effect me.