Ernest Haycox (1899–1950)

Well, I read this one in a single sitting. I enjoyed this one. It starts tense, erupts into a very long-pitched battle, and moves into the Western tropes I dig. Although, perhaps if the first few pages had been shortened by a few paragraphs the speed and intensity might have been pushed up a notch. I dunno. There is the cliché outsmarting the bad guys using the land part of the story, but no marks against it, I actually like this sort of thing, and the outcome was somewhat in question as I was going along (even though I know how most of these that are not grimdark end). There is an instance of chauvinism put into the mouth of the virtuous woman (trope) though, “a woman can’t help being weak. I don’t blame your men for not wanting me along.” Outside of this, there’s not anything else in this book that’s a collar tugger.
I would recommend this one if you’re looking for a fast-moving western story with minimum romance (the basic outline of one with that resolution left for after the ending), a tense opening, and plenty of gunfighting.… (més)

Good as far as it goes, this wild West short story from 1937 can be a fun read. Ernest Haycox, an Oregon native, wrote many Western stories and clearly loved the genre. The prose is a little purple. (I would guess the author was drunk when he wrote much of it.) The point of view shifts from character to character too much. The Western characters are a bit clichéd: A hooker with a heart of gold is matched by a gunslinger with a heart of gold, and a colorful coachman, a gambler, an army officer's fiancée and a "drummer"--which means a liquor salesman--round out the cast, most without being particularly memorable.

The point of the story is that this kind of travel was extremely uncomfortable and dangerous. The author makes that point vividly. One of the otherwise colorless characters is most vivid and human in the way he dies (though, from what, exactly, we don't know!).

The story is historically difficult to place in a particular year or even decade. The principal, long-distance stage lines pretty much went out of business by 1869, soon replaced by railroads, but I am not sure about local stagecoach lines. The stagecoach in this story goes from a village called Tonto, Arizona (maybe in central Arizona? Gila County?) to the town of Lordsburg, on the southwestern edge of New Mexico. (A possible reason for such a route might have been that New Mexico had railroads before Arizona, and Lordsburg, relatively speaking, had one of the earliest train stations.)

A reference to Geronimo being on the warpath probably places this story no earlier than the 1870s and definitely no later than 1886 when Geronimo was captured for about the fifth and last time. There is also a reference in this story to "Al Schrieber's ranch," and there was a historical person named Al Sieber (but notice the difference in the names) who, from about 1868 to 1871, managed (but did not own) a ranch near Prescott, Arizona (which is nowhere near Lordsburg, New Mexico, as is the ranch in this story); but the difference in the names suggests that Haycox is being evocative here rather than informative.

Still, the lack of very many identifying historical references in this short story makes historical placement less problematic than is the case with the 1939 movie, "Stagecoach," which is based on this story. While the short story is sparing in its use of specific historical details, the movie gives so many historical details that, eventually, they become contradictory.

A few examples of Haycox's hypervivid prose are evinced in my notes on the text. I don't say his style is without charm, as when the author describes the dust falling off the rolling wheels of the coach as being like water--exactly the opposite substances standing in for each other: dust and water. It works there.… (més)

I haven't read a lot of Westerns - I think Shane was the last, back in High School. So not a lot to compare this to.

I was surprised by several things about this novel, first published in 1939.

First was the prose style, deeply involved with characters' inner states and emotions, and oddly indirect. People seem to express many things with their eyes and the twitching of their lips. Paragraphs of internal monologue jump from image to image and, in some places, leave the reader to interpret exatly what is going on.

Second was the focus on character rather than action. A mosaic of intense and intriguing characters spend many pages observing each other, speculating on each other, and, in true Victorian fashion, struggling to express or suppress their powerful feelings about each other. I was involved and entertained by this drawing room drama, reminiscient of Thomas Hardy or Anthony Trollope.

In fact -- again strange for a Western -- the action scenes were the most uninvolving. Fist fights and gun fights seem poorly described and fail to thrill. Near the end is a long stretch of chase, hunt, flight and battle over intricately described terrain that left me mostly confused and bored.

Overall I enjoyed the novel very much, but almost felt that the writer, by style and temperament, would be more at home writing a romance than a western.



… (més)