Today, there is no perfect western.
That’s a shame, because that is what
this blog is for. Any media, cross
genre, out seeking the perfect western.
Lately I am having trouble finding anything that engages me.
I blame the mountains. Two weeks of hiking in Utah has ruined me for
the virtual experience rather than the visceral one. I don’t want to watch, I want to do. I don’t want to be served, I want to
create. I don’t want to let the news
tell me what’s happening, I want to go to Wall Street and see for myself. I don’t want to read Batman comics, I want to
be wrapped up in a Poison Ivy plot.
There just doesn’t seem to be magic
today in the words on the page or the motions on the screen. I keep ranging about looking for something
that can take me back to a high, dry place in the hours between work and sleep
and am coming up short. My own novel
lies untouched for weeks, yet my masterful article on financing safety
technology for concrete pumpers (from my day job) is the talk of the
office. Truth be told, I have no idea
what a concrete pumper is.
A.B. Guthrie’s The Way West has
been sitting nearly finished on my book shelf for several years. Many years ago I gave a copy of The Big
Sky to my father, an avid reader of Bernard DeVoto’s histories, and
suggested that we read The Big Sky together. I had no idea what an emotional trainwreck
reading that novel would be. The story
of Boone, a not too intelligent, overly violent man and his quest to find peace
in the mountains ends in a series of tragedies and disasters. My father read The Big Sky, then its
next five sequels (including the Way West) within a month. He sent me his copies and told me to keep up.
When I finally slogged my way through the
beautiful but tragic language of The Big Sky I set out to read The
Way West. While The Big Sky’s
narrator was little more than rage barely restrained, Dick Summers of The
Way West swims in a constant tide of melancholy and introspection. As he travels by wagon train over lands he
rode as a mountain man he laments the passing of his old world, where adventure
and danger lay in every pass, where the attentions of young native women were
easily had, where every daybreak was golden and every breath magnificent.
Of course Guthrie won a Pulitzer for The
Way West. Who doesn’t feel that
way? In the history Greek Adventure:
Lord Byron and Other Eccentrics in the War of Independence, there is a line
that says men are often drawn to lands where they were young and
successful. Thus for me England, Scotland,
the Rockies, are part of the sad dream of the past that Dick Summers sees riding
through the plains. Knowing that The Big Sky ends in a series of
tragedies I have never had the guts to see what happens to Dick Summers in the
last pages of The Way West.
Where westerns are failing me lately,
my mind returns again and again to a single line from a comic book with the
unlikely title of G.I. Joe: Cobra Special #1- “I’m a veteran businessman, but
my heart rebels and longs for vast, open fields.” Nothing else in this world sums it up better.