The Untold

by Courtney Collins Narrated by Courtney Collins

Overview

With shades of Water for Elephants and True Grit, a stunning debut novel set in the Australian outback about a female horse thief, her bid for freedom, and the two men trying to capture her.


It is 1921. In a mountain-locked valley, Jessie is on the run.
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Born wild and brave, by twenty-six she has already lived life as a circus rider, horse and cattle rustler, and convict. But on this fateful night she is just a woman wanting to survive though there is barely any life left in her.
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Two men crash through the bushland, desperate to claim the reward on her head: one her lover, the other the law.
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But as it has always been for Jessie, it is death, not a man, who is her closest pursuer and companion. And while all odds are stacked against her, there is one who will never give up on her-her own child, who awaits her.

Editorial Reviews

JULY 2014 - AudioFile

Courtney Collins scores a double win with her stellar narration of her outstanding debut novel—ideally suited for audio. The novel is a retelling of the Australian bush legend of Jessie Hickman, a woman notorious in the 1920s as a murderess and horse thief. Collins paints a much more nuanced and sympathetic portrait of Jessie as a resilient and sensitive survivor of abuse and oppression. The story is told from the point of view of Jessie’s buried infant, and Collins’s whispery, lightly accented voice lends it an intimate, haunting tone. The gripping narrative moves dreamily through time, smoothly weaving past and present, dreams with reality. This is a book that can't be set aside. Listeners are in for a truly exceptional audio experience. M.O.B. Winner of AudioFile Earphones Award © AudioFile 2014, Portland, Maine

Publishers Weekly

03/17/2014
Broadly based on the life of Australian “wild woman” Jessie Hickman, Collins’s debut novel ranges widely over the Australian frontier—and into one woman’s dark and damaged heart. It’s 1921, and Jessie’s past may finally be catching up with her: having just given birth to a premature baby and killed her abusive husband, the young horse rustler, former circus performer, and ex-convict is impelled toward distant mountains, where she hopes to find safety, and possibly her lover. That lover, a black man named Jack Brown, has, however, developed an uneasy partnership with a police sergeant who may have his own history with Jessie. The harshness of the human and natural environment, as well as the prevalence of death in the bleak outback setting, is underscored by the narrator; Jessie’s story is told by her dead child, speaking from her grave. “The earth buckles with the stories it holds of all those who have cried and all those who have croaked,” remarks the narrator, and, indeed, Collins’s poetic language and salty dialogue tell the story of a woman whose life is inextricable from the bleak landscape she not only traverses but also inhabits. (May)

From the Publisher

This extraordinary novel—propelled by the dark, rich talents of a truly brilliant writer—dazzles, staggers, and amazes.”—Elizabeth Gilbert, New York Times bestselling author of Eat, Pray, Love“A captivating, epic novel that never loses its heart to scope, The Untold is a surreal saga set in a rugged, unforgiving landscape. Courtney Collins paints a devastating portrait of long-shot love.”—Patrick deWitt, author of #1 international bestseller The Sisters Brothers (short-listed for The Man Booker Prize)"Collins’s gripping debut novel is based on a legendary wild woman…A fast-paced, heart-wrenching story that never loses speed, this extraordinary first novel is not to be missed.”—Library Journal (starred review)“The dead have tales to tell, if only we could hear them…Collins richly evokes a heartbreaking emotional terrain, setting it against the sparse, brutal landscape of the Australian Outback.”—Kirkus Reviews“Collins’s poetic language and salty dialogue tell the story of a woman whose life is inextricable from the bleak landscape she not only traverses but also inhabits.”—Publishers Weekly

Library Journal

★ 04/01/2014
Collins's gripping debut novel is based on a legendary wild woman who roamed a rugged valley in 1920s Australia. On the run after murdering her abusive husband, Fitz, 26-year-old Jessie delivers her baby in the woods and, without waiting for death to claim her frail infant, buries her and continues her flight. From the grave, the baby becomes the narrator of her mother's story. After serving two years for horse stealing, Jessie had gone to work as a horse wrangler for Fitzgerald Henry. He brutally mistreats her, so she defies him in the only way she can. Once Jessie is on the run, her ally and lover, Jack Brown, Fitz's aboriginal stockman, sees it as a sign that she is alive and well when a rancher reports 100 head of cattle missing. Jack seeks help from an unreliable local policeman, and together they set off to find Jessie before an outlaw band can get to her for the reward. VERDICT A fast-paced, heart-wrenching story that never loses speed, this extraordinary first novel is not to be missed. [See Prepub Alert, 11/22/13.]—Donna Bettencourt, Mesa Cty. P.L., Palisade, CO

JULY 2014 - AudioFile

Courtney Collins scores a double win with her stellar narration of her outstanding debut novel—ideally suited for audio. The novel is a retelling of the Australian bush legend of Jessie Hickman, a woman notorious in the 1920s as a murderess and horse thief. Collins paints a much more nuanced and sympathetic portrait of Jessie as a resilient and sensitive survivor of abuse and oppression. The story is told from the point of view of Jessie’s buried infant, and Collins’s whispery, lightly accented voice lends it an intimate, haunting tone. The gripping narrative moves dreamily through time, smoothly weaving past and present, dreams with reality. This is a book that can't be set aside. Listeners are in for a truly exceptional audio experience. M.O.B. Winner of AudioFile Earphones Award © AudioFile 2014, Portland, Maine

Kirkus Reviews

2014-04-17
The dead have tales to tell, if only we could hear them. Debut novelist Collins bases her story on the legendary Australian outlaw Jessie Hickman. Born to a coldhearted mother and a loving father who died too soon, Jessie finds herself sold to a traveling circus at age 12. After her closest friend and fellow tightrope walker takes a terrible fall, she leaves the circus for a career in horse rustling, which lands her in prison; eventually, she's given a choice between languishing in jail or breaking horses for Fitz Henry. Of course, in 1917, a female convict is at the mercy of her employer, who is also her legal guardian, and Fitz quickly blackmails her into a brutal marriage. Pregnancy gives Jessie the courage to violently defy her husband, but the battle costs her the baby, as well. On the lam, she's pursued by men seeking rewards and legal retribution. Two of her pursuers—Jack Brown, Fitz's former drover, and Barlow, the new police officer who's already fighting some demons of his own—appear like Furies, seeking vindication, vengeance and something more. Curiously, the novel is narrated by Jessie's dead child. This choice certainly emphasizes the land, which becomes a character in its own right, binding its inhabitants together in shared tribulations, challenging Jessie, Jack and Barlow at every turn. Too often, though, the narrative premise seems forced, unnecessarily drawing attention to the fantastic ability of the undead to know a past it never lived. Prefacing the tale with a brief account of one of Harry Houdini's escapes also seems strained; Jessie's horse may be named for the magician, but the allusion rather heavy-handedly foreshadows Jessie's fate.Collins richly evokes a heartbreaking emotional terrain, setting it against the sparse, brutal landscape of the Australian Outback.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169437973
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	05/29/2014
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

If the dirt could speak, whose story would it tell? Would it

favor the ones who have knelt upon it, whose fingers have

split turning it over with their hands? Those who, in the

evening, would collapse weeping and bleeding into it as if the dirt

were their mother? Or would it favor those who seek to be far, far

from it, like birds screeching tearless through the sky?

This must be the longing of the dirt, for the ones who are suspended

in flight.

Down here I have come to know two things: birds fall down

and dirt can wait. Eventually, teeth and skin and twists of bone will

all be given up to it. And one day those who seek to be high up and

far from it will find themselves planted like a gnarly root in its

dark, tight soil. Just as I have.

This must be the lesson of the dirt.

Morning of my birth. My mother was digging. Soot-covered 

and bloody. If you could not see her, you would have surely smelt

her in this dark. I was trussed to her in a torn-up sheet. Rain and

wind scoured us from both sides, but she went on digging. Her

heart was in my ear. I pushed my face into the fan of her ribs and

tasted her. She tasted of rust and death.

In the wind, in the squall, I became an encumbrance. She set

me on the ground beside her horse. Cold on my back and wet, I

could see my breath breathe out. Beside me, her horse was sinking

into the mud. I watched him with one eye as he tried to recover his

hooves. I knew if he trod on me he would surely flatten my head

like a plate.

Morning of my birth, there were no stars in the sky. My mother

went on digging. A pile of dirt rose around her until it was just her

arms, her shoulders, her hair, sweeping in and out of the dark while

her horse coughed and whined above me.

When she finally arched herself out of the hole in the ground

she looked like the wrecked figurehead on a ship’s bow. Hopeful as

I was, I thought we might take off again, although I knew there

was no boat or raft to carry us, only Houdini, her spooked horse.

And from where we had come, there was no returning.

She stood above me, her hair willowy strips, the rain as heavy

as stones. Finally, she stooped to pick me up and I felt her hand

beneath my back. She brought me to her chest, kissed my muddied

head. Again, I pushed my face into the bony hollow of her chest

and breathed my mother in.

Morning of my birth, my mother buried me in a hole that

was two feet deep. Strong though she was, she was weak from my

birth, and as she dug, the wind filled the hole with leaves and

the rain collapsed it with mud so all that was left was a wet and

spindly bed.

When the sun inched awkwardly up she lowered me into the

grave. Then, lying prone on the earth, she stroked my head and

sang to me. I had never, in my short life, heard her sing. She sang

to me until the song got caught in her throat. Even as she bawled

and spluttered, her open hand covered my body like the warmest

blanket.

I had an instinct then to take her song and sing it back to her,

and I opened my mouth wide to make a sound, but instead of air

there was only fluid and as I gasped I felt my lungs fold in. In that

first light of morning my body contorted and I saw my own fingers

reaching up to her, desperate things.

She held them and I felt them still and I felt them collapse. And

then she said, Sh, sh, my darling. And then she slit my throat.

I should not have seen the sky turn pink or the day seep in.

I should not have seen my mother’s pale arms sweep out and heap

wet earth upon me or the screeching white birds fan out over her

head.

But I did.

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