Holy Smoke!
No, the title of this book is not merely an obscure reference to Greek mythology – the Minotaur really does take a cigarette break. He works as a chef in a roadside steak-house called ‘Grub’s Rib’ in North Carolina (oh, and he prefers to smoke menthols rather than tobacco.) The Minotaur, half-man, half-bull, whose more traditional residence was the Labyrinth of ancient Crete, now resides in a trailer park. To keep himself occupied when not frying shrimps or making coleslaw, he fixes up old cars for Sweeny, the entrepreneurial owner of Lucky-U Mobile Estates. ‘M’, as he is known, is immortal and consequently has seen everything there is to see. He also gets easily nervous and frequently embarrassed. To take his mind off things he enjoys patching up old clothes with his sewing kit, grooming his fur with a comb, and applying nail hardener to his horns.
The Minotaur stumbles on through life precariously. One incident after another threatens his job at Grub’s Rib, and a sense that change is inevitable pervades the novel. It is not long before the reader grows genuinely sympathetic to M’s clumsy behaviour; his horns partially obscure his field of vision, causing him to randomly puncture unexpecting people and articles of furniture. We become acutely tuned in to the embarrassment that his lack of articulate speech causes. Virtually his only sounds to the outside world, apart from the occasional but agonisingly forced ‘Thank you’, are a series of ‘Unnghs’, ‘Mmmhs’ and ‘Mmmns’ which are cleverly manipulated to serve every purpose. It is this awkwardness, and this impotence of the Minotaur to express himself in meaningful ways, which makes him most human and most identifiable with.
The Minotaur lives amongst people who seem like him to be social misfits; Steven Sherrill’s detailed characterisations of them are both humorous and gently critical. David, the maitre d’ of the steakhouse, collects American Civil War artefacts, and spends his weekends re-enacting battles. Hank and Josie, the Minotaur’s neighbours at the trailer park, spend their days weight-lifting and sunbathing, apathetic to the destructive behaviour of their bored sons. During the book the Minotaur develops an infatuation for Kelly, a waitress, who has severe epilepsy. By allowing the Minotaur to fall in love with her, and to eventually find a strange sort of companionship, Sherrill offers a sense of hope to those who feel as estranged from society as M. Ironically it seems that the Minotaur himself, the same beast who was fed seven youths and seven virgins every nine years, can understand humanity better than anyone else.
This is not your usual novel. It requires a large leap of the imagination to accept that the Minotaur, a man with the head of a bull, is living unchallenged in the Deep South of modern America. Steven Sherrill’s prose, in which every sound, every smell and every taste are recorded with heightened attention to the minutiae of every day life, creates an enchantingly laid-back realism. This book is a unique and refreshing first novel for Sherrill. Its absurdity is unabashed and it is a genuinely thought-provoking, funny and enjoyable read.
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