12-02-2025, 07:40 PM
I sat in the catering hall as my thirteen hour work day dragged on with inactivity. A co-worker from another department entered and I locked eyes with him in my peripheral vision as I buried my mind into the sophomore effort of author Scott Pearce. I was asked “How is it?”, to which I replied “enchanting”, finding no greater word to encapsulate the author’s writing. “What’s it about?” followed suit, and as I tried to summarise the novel in the way one would sell a high-concept film I. characterised it as “Midnight Cowboy meets The Virgin Suicides”.
Always a fan of the Western, Scott Pearce follows his debut postmodern western novel Faded Yellow by the Winter with another postmodern western, which is as unsurprising as it is fulfilling. Echoing the work of James Leo Herilhy’s Midnight Cowboy, Pearce’s novel follows a protagonist named Kitten, so named by a girl he met long ago, who flees a life beyond the end of a train line in pursuit of the Australian dream. Arriving in the inner city suburb of St Kilda, Kitten finds himself in a seemingly illustrious Manor which serves as the refuge for a group of larrikin misfits. Yet what begins as a coming-of-age story about summer nights spent at the pier sharing affordable fish and chips, smoking cannabis and bumping uglies turns jaded by the winter as the dilapidated manor turns reminiscent of the condemned apartment where Ratso Rizzo housed Joe Buck in Midnight Cowboy. Recreational drug use turns into a psychedelic journey through a house of horrors, and the freedom Kitten has found has come at the cost of what little stability he once endured in the unhappy life he has run from. The reader is given little knowledge about Kitten’s origin; like the protagonist of a spaghetti western, his identity is a mystery. And amidst what little we know of him, it is clear to the reader that he is alone in the world and trying to find a way not to be. Something we can all sympathise with. The less we know about him, the more we can identify with him, and Pearce articulately uses this to connect him to the reader on an emotional level. Suffice to say it definitely worked.
Deftly woven into the story is the work of Jeffrey Eugenides on The Virgin Suicides, a text I was privileged enough to study under Pearce in Year 11 literature class. Like the illustrious Lisbon sisters, our characters are never completely understood, enshrined in a mystery yet empowered by Pearce’s captivating ability to gently offer just enough characterisation to keep audiences pining for more. As our young characters enjoy the forages of youth, discovering sexuality and adventure, they steadily begin to learn the harsh realities of an unforgiving world where drug dealing and sex work serve as means for survival. Like Eugenides, Pearce entrances the reader in the mysteries of his characters and what they’ll do next without ever fully revealing it, respecting the reader enough to never give everything away. He keeps the tale unspecific, vague and mysterious. Though a reasonably short novel, Pearce keeps his audiences on a prolonged chase to see if his characters will ever reach the promised land of Byron Bay, and there are definitely times where the chase feels like it can be rather dragged out. But The Rider on the Bridge is not like Trip Fontaine’s pursuit of Lux Lisbon where the catch fails to live up to the chase. Pearce rewards his readers with an emotionally climactic conclusion to the journey which I couldn’t dare spoil for anyone. The chase is kept interesting by Pearce’s articulate skill for world building which makes it easy for even the mind of an ADHD-influenced reader such as myself to visualise everything in detailed form, and the catch is one which requites audiences for sticking around throughout it all. I put The Rider on the Bridge down after finishing it, stunned by the conclusion and shaken like the first time I had first finished reading The Virgin Suicides or when I had first viewed S. Craig Zahgler’s Brawl in Cell Block 99.
The Rider on the Bridge is a powerful journey. Whilst I enjoyed Faded Yellow by The Winter, there was always a feeling that I could tell what ending it was due to arrive at. Pearce went so far against this in his second novel that there was never a moment where I could tell what was going to happen next. His entrancing mystery and delicate world building ensured I remained interested the entire time. But what he didn’t go against was his inherent skill for transforming the Western genre into a relatable piece of contemporary Australian storytelling, one where he makes the familiar suburbs of Melbourne seemingly mythological in the manner of which they host both the wild summer nights and Requiem for a Dream-esq nightmares of the Manor family. His novel is an amalgamation of themes and genres which even finds ways to feel like a frightening drug trip at times.
Pearce previously displayed eloquence, intellect and maturity as a writer on his debut novel. His sophomore effort shows that he has done nothing but continue to grow and improve as a writer in the time between. And amongst the many questions I was left pondering when I put the novel down, the primary one on my mind was “What will his third novel be?” And as I wait to find out, I could say Pearce has left me on a chase of my own for the time being where the catch will inevitably be another great piece
.