Every two or three years, if I'm lucky, I get my hands on a novel that I simply can't shut up about, a novel I shout from my humble mountaintop to anyone who will listen, a novel that I hand-sell any time I have a literate audience of one or more. In many cases, I'll purchase this novel, over and over and over, and put it in the hands of readers. The last novel that knocked me for this kind of a whammy was Hesh Kestin's criminally underappreciated The Iron Will of Shoeshine Cats, which left me breathless with its mastery of character and suspense.
2012 has been a banner year for literary fiction. I've been crowing about a number of novels this year, from Jess Walter's Beautiful Ruins, to Maria Semple's Where'd You Go, Bernadette, both brilliant and inventive. But one novel this year blew the top of my head off like no other, and that was Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk by Ben Fountain.
When 19-year-old Spc. Billy Lynn, one of eight surviving members of the celebrated Bravo Squad, returns stateside from Iraq for an eight-day victory tour, he finds himself a national hero. Bravo's dog-and-pony show and its attendant media blitz culminates on Thanksgiving Day, during the halftime celebration of a Dallas Cowboys football game in Billy's native Texas. As Thanksgiving unfolds, amid an almost overwhelming flurry of activity, Billy confronts a barrage of questions about family, nation, patriotism, celebrity and love.
Like many of my favorite novels, the synopsis sounds rather uneventful — it's not. Though its scope may not be epic — a single afternoon — the novel has a profound thematic reach. Without ever hitting a false note, Fountain tackles the unwieldy subjects of Iraq, the war on terrorism, class, consumerism and politics. What's even more impressive is that he accomplishes all of this employing a tiny aperture, a lone point of view, a single location and does it in real time: No brow-beating, no navel gazing and no ranting. Just great storytelling, fully realized characters and sentences that crackle. In short, Fountain makes it look easy.
To read Billy Lynn is to engage in a pure, tactile state of sensory overload. You feel this story with your whole body — all the adrenaline, tension and nausea. The novel is a veritable decoupage of physical sensation — from the sodium glare of stadium lights, to the acid sting of bitterness in the throat; from the woozy disequilibrium of a Jack Daniels hangover, to the galloping heartbeat of unfettered carnality. Fountain achieves that rare level of evocation that makes readers feel as though they lived it.
Name another casino in America where a total stranger can walk up to the boss, pull on his mustache and ask, "Is that real?"
This is Rich Hoffman's world. The portly chief executive of Jackson Rancheria Casino Resort, instantly recognizable from the casino's comical TV ads, is routinely swamped with handshakes, hugs and autograph requests whenever he strolls through the venue.
"We're the kingdom for the common guy," said Hoffman, wearing a fedora and faded jeans during a walkaround last week. "People feel comfortable here."
Hoffman personifies the un-Vegas, down-home strategy of Jackson Rancheria, the smallest and least glitzy of the four Indian casinos in greater Sacramento. Its business is dwarfed by big competitors such as Thunder Valley, but after a couple of rough years, Jackson weathered the recession comparatively well. It just unveiled an $80 million remodel of its hotel, casino and restaurants, with a new VIP room for high rollers.
Industry consultants say Jackson Rancheria has built up a strong and steadfast following. Customer loyalty helped the casino withstand a series of infrastructure problems. It could also serve as a firewall if, as expected, more Indian casinos come to Amador County.
"It's just like kind of a family affair," said customer Dar Drittenbas, a retiree from Pioneer who gave Hoffman a hug.
The casino's owners, the Jackson Rancheria Band of Miwuk Indians, paid for the remodel with cash on hand, according to Hoffman. Not one cent was borrowed.
"The tribe has always been very conservative," Hoffman said.
Jackson's situation contrasts sharply with that of the struggling Red Hawk Casino in Shingle Springs, a relative newcomer to the market, which a year ago deferred principal payments on a $66 million startup loan and is now trying to restructure its finances.
That doesn't mean Jackson Rancheria has been immune to problems. The remodel, which took five years, was launched in part to remedy a series of major construction defects in the old facility.
Half the casino was shut down in 2008 after the discovery of water and mold problems that forced the temporary relocation of hundreds of slot machines to another building.
A year later, inspectors uncovered potential fire hazards that temporarily closed most of the resort's hotel.
Hoffman said Jackson Rancheria collected $50 million by suing its contractors, but the damage done to the facility was considerable. Just moving slot machines around was disruptive to customers, many of whom are loyal to a particular machine, he said.
"You couple that with the economic downturn – it was a rough couple of years," Hoffman said.
The soft economy prompted Jackson to lay off 265 workers and eliminate another 100 jobs through attrition. The remodel created 150 new jobs, and Jackson now employs 1,200 full- and part-time workers.
Other potential challenges lie ahead, in the form of new competition.
Two tribes are proposing to build major casinos within 15 miles of Jackson: the Buena Vista Rancheria of Me-Wuk Indians and the Ione Band of Miwok Indians.
While Amador County is fighting both proposals in court, Hoffman acknowledged the possibility that his corner of the casino universe could get more crowded.
"Any time you split the pie into more pieces, it's a challenge," he said.
Still, Hoffman said his casino could handle the newcomers but questions if their plans will be fully realized.
"With our position in the marketplace, and the good will we've created, it would be tough for them competitively to do a very large project," he said.
The rancheria casino's financials are a closely guarded secret. But Hoffman said its 1,600 slot machines take in an average of more than $200 a day. That translates into at least $116 million in annual revenue from slots alone.
Hoffman said he expects business to grow 8 percent next year, due to the improving economy and the effect of the remodel.
Jackson Rancheria was one of the first tribes in California to explore gambling. Under the leadership of the late Margaret Dalton, the tribe opened a bingo hall in 1984.
The remote location – several miles off Highway 49 – was and still is something of a handicap, and the bingo hall closed several times. A full-fledged casino didn't emerge until California voters approved Vegas-style gambling in 2000.
Getting into the business early paid off for the tribe, which has 20 members. Its gambling compact with the state, signed by Gov. Gray Davis in 1999, lets Jackson Rancheria keep more of its profits than many other casino tribes – especially those like Red Hawk that signed compacts with Davis' successor, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Members of the tribe get profit dividends from the casino, but Hoffman wouldn't say how much.
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