Lonesome Dove

Lonesome Dove. This was the first “real” Western that I have ever felt a desire to read. When Miles and I were at The King’s English Bookshop a few weeks ago I pulled it off the shelf mainly, I’ll admit, because the cover was pretty (the shame). After reading the first three pages the cover was quickly forgotten and I felt a bit "visionary," already convinced that this book would be amazing. 

At the heart of this story is Augustus McCrae and Woodrow Call, revered Texas Rangers who are biding their time in a drought laden dust hole filled with centipedes and rattlesnakes in a South Texas town known as Lonesome Dove. Longing for purpose and adventure, Call takes it into his head that the Hat Creek outfit should drive a herd of cattle to Montana. What follows is an epic adventure with dozens of memorable characters. 

Nicholas Lemann, from The New York Times Book Review wrote that “Everything about Lonesome Dove feels true . . . These are real people, and they are still larger than life.” 

Nobody in this novel gets what they want or what they think they want. People die when they shouldn’t; yet, despite the sadness and disappointment, you're glad they tried. I guess that is like real life. 

Lonesome Dove captures the excitement of an untamed frontier and the desire to see new places that are unsettled and uncivilized. The magic of this book is that despite dust storms, sand storms, and wind storms; a mangy despotic indian whose cruelty and gruesome deeds turn your stomach; clouds of locusts and nests of water moccasins; beady eyed bandits and bad men who murder simply for the sake of murdering - it still made me believe that if I could only ride out alone some night onto the open plains and gaze up at a star studded sky that it would all be worth it. 

Ethan Frome and The American

For the past month I have faithfully gone to the gym every morning as penance for, what I shall term, "The 2011 Chocolate Scandal." Not surprisingly, this past week I became a bit bored with watching the news (can Newt Gingrich just go away?) and reruns of “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.” Seeking a way to keep myself motivated, I decided to start bringing my Kindle with me. I was afraid I wouldn’t work out as hard if I did (I was right), but at-least it kept me going to the gym. I’m not sure why I chose Edith Wharton and Henry James as my gym companions - they're really not the type to go to the gym - but I was amply rewarded and punished in my choosing. 

Ethan Frome (1911) is a short novel by Edith Wharton. The story is set in Starkfield, Massachusetts and narrates the tale of Ethan Frome, the unfortunate inheritor of a rather decrepit farm, who once dreamed of becoming an engineer and a man of learning. I would like to indulge in some of the details of this tale, but that would ruin it. Let’s just say that Frome is married to a hypochondriac with false teeth and shrunken cheeks who is seven years his senior and about as conniving and manipulative as Mrs. Bates of Downton Abbey. Mattie, Mrs. Frome’s rather more attractive and more enchanting cousin (who is still in possession of a good set of teeth) comes to housekeep for them on their lonely farm. I’ll leave it to your imagination what happens next. Suffice to say, Wharton seems to enjoy cranking the wheels of fate and crushing her characters under their own desires and ambitions. It seems rather heartless, but it’s all so gloriously and magnificently done that I would actually categorize this under an “enjoyable” read. If I ever read a Wharton story that has a happy ending I think I will be extremely disappointed. 

After flying through Ethan Frome, I had that New England bug and ambitiously moved on to Henry James’ The American (1877). I loved Portrait of a Lady and The Turn of the Screw and I think Henry James is a genius, but ugh.

The novel centers on the plight of Christopher Newman, an American businessman who has made his fortune, has tired of the trappings of the business world, and gone to Europe to improve himself. He sounds like he would be an interesting character, but he is about as exciting as cardboard left out in the rain. He is amiable, unsuspicious, phlegmatic, and because he has money he thinks he is the equal of anyone, even the Parisian aristocracy. The main conflict centers upon his courtship with Claire de Cintre, a woman from a very, very old Parisian family. 

James and Wharton wrote in a similar vein, but while I cared for the sufferings of Wharton’s characters, I was actually relieved when James’ characters rushed to their demise. Actually, the problem was that they did not rush to their demise, they lazed about waiting for demise. The themes were interesting (Old World vs. New World; Americans vs. Europeans; new money vs. old money, etc) and I didn’t hate it, but this story unfortunately falls under the category of: “I have forced myself to read something dreadfully boring because I know it is good for me and I have just barely survived the ordeal.”