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4.0 AVERAGE
4.0 AVERAGE
The final chapter, about Johnny McMurtry's last reunion at Clarendon, broke my heart.
"The family stood awkwardly around the car, looking now at Uncle Johnny, now at the shadow-flecked plains, and they were as close to a tragic recognition as they would ever be: for to them he had always been the darling, young Adonis, and most of them would never see him alive again. There were no words--they were not a wordy people. Aunt Ida returned with her purse and Uncle Johnny's last young grin blended with his grimace as he began the painful task of fitting himself into the car. In a few minutes, the Cadillac had disappeared behind the first brown ridge, and the family was left with its silence and the fading day."
"The family stood awkwardly around the car, looking now at Uncle Johnny, now at the shadow-flecked plains, and they were as close to a tragic recognition as they would ever be: for to them he had always been the darling, young Adonis, and most of them would never see him alive again. There were no words--they were not a wordy people. Aunt Ida returned with her purse and Uncle Johnny's last young grin blended with his grimace as he began the painful task of fitting himself into the car. In a few minutes, the Cadillac had disappeared behind the first brown ridge, and the family was left with its silence and the fading day."
As McMurtry hints at throughout most of these essays, there are clear lines drawn throughout Texas. Geographic and visible as well as social and hidden. Part of the state is the West, other parts the South, other parts completely foreign to the Union, and even still other parts belonging to a not so forgotten history of independence no other state can claim.
If you have family in or from Texas, you understand the puzzle. It’s pride encrusted with time. Lives measured out in sunrise gazes and porch side conversations. Each state has its history. Wide and personal. But few states have stories that rely less on words than images. So much of Texas is independent of nature’s architecture. Everything is open. With this much land and such a wide view of it all, attention must go somewhere else.
Stunning as it is, it isn’t the landscape that continues to magnetize so many Texans. It’s what McMurtry commits so few direct words to throughout the essays. The knowing wink between cousins, grandparents, and grandchildren that doesn’t rely on words for expression. His personal history of McMurtrys scattered across the small Texas towns is a microcosm of most Texan families. Generations of life laying underneath the stones of time. Most will never be uncovered and it’s not a mystery that most would prefer it this way.
If you have family in or from Texas, you understand the puzzle. It’s pride encrusted with time. Lives measured out in sunrise gazes and porch side conversations. Each state has its history. Wide and personal. But few states have stories that rely less on words than images. So much of Texas is independent of nature’s architecture. Everything is open. With this much land and such a wide view of it all, attention must go somewhere else.
Stunning as it is, it isn’t the landscape that continues to magnetize so many Texans. It’s what McMurtry commits so few direct words to throughout the essays. The knowing wink between cousins, grandparents, and grandchildren that doesn’t rely on words for expression. His personal history of McMurtrys scattered across the small Texas towns is a microcosm of most Texan families. Generations of life laying underneath the stones of time. Most will never be uncovered and it’s not a mystery that most would prefer it this way.
McMurtry is somewhat of a paradox. He is perhaps more critical of Texas than any other writer, but he also confesses to his love for the state. He recognizes this irony, and has come to terms with it. Written in 1968 before he became a nationally recognized success, McMurtry takes his home state to task in this collection. He shares his thoughts and experiences on his first three novels and, in my favorite piece, shares the history of the McMurtry clan over the last three generations. That piece is often hilarious, occasionally sad, and as is typical in a McMurtry story, filled to the brim with poetic writing and rich imagery. Even his nonfiction can be called spellbinding.
There’s something comforting about sitting down with a McMurtry book. “In a Narrow Grave” caught my eye as I walked through my library, and I decided it has been too long since I read McMurtry. A nice reminder for me of how much I treasure his writing.
There’s something comforting about sitting down with a McMurtry book. “In a Narrow Grave” caught my eye as I walked through my library, and I decided it has been too long since I read McMurtry. A nice reminder for me of how much I treasure his writing.
An uneven and somewhat inessential, collection of essays, In a Narrow Grave is interesting as a period piece and as an introduction to McMurtry’s self admitted middling non-fiction writing.
This is bookended by the best essays, with one or two other enjoyable ones betwixt. The descriptions of natural Texas are the strong suit here, but The author begins to flail when he tries to insert himself in the pantheon of Texas literature. McMurtry is certainly well read, and his fiction will do just that on it’s own, but his intellectualism here comes across as pomposity at times. There’s an unfortunate “of the time” whiff of misogyny and racism at times too. While I don’t think Larry was a full blown racist/sexist, I think the Larry in these essays is a product of his environment.
Otherwise, In a Narrow Grave has held up for the most part, despite the aforementioned flaws, but this one is probably not for everyone. This is a book more for fans of Larry McMurtry, or someone deeply interested in Texas culture warts and all.
This is bookended by the best essays, with one or two other enjoyable ones betwixt. The descriptions of natural Texas are the strong suit here, but The author begins to flail when he tries to insert himself in the pantheon of Texas literature. McMurtry is certainly well read, and his fiction will do just that on it’s own, but his intellectualism here comes across as pomposity at times. There’s an unfortunate “of the time” whiff of misogyny and racism at times too. While I don’t think Larry was a full blown racist/sexist, I think the Larry in these essays is a product of his environment.
Otherwise, In a Narrow Grave has held up for the most part, despite the aforementioned flaws, but this one is probably not for everyone. This is a book more for fans of Larry McMurtry, or someone deeply interested in Texas culture warts and all.
dark
emotional
funny
reflective
medium-paced
I needed to read this. Overall, McMurtry captures the Lone Star State's breathing mysterious cultural contradictions that touch upon class, gender, and race (the treatment of which align with essays published in the 1960s). But, only having grown up in Texas in the 1980s and a bit of the 90s, I can testify that these essays resonate and are soberingly prescient.
challenging
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
emotional
funny
informative
reflective
medium-paced
More than fifty years after its first publication, McMurtry's book of essays on Texas and the death of cowboy culture still has a lot to offer. Not least of its virtues is McMurtry's sharp humor and ability to craft a phrase that both makes the reader chuckle and skewers the target of his observation. Although he occasionally lets his humor turn mean, as in his observations of a town in East Texas (a region more aligned with the South than with the Western ethos of McMurtry's part of the state), he usually deploys his wit judiciously and to good effect.
The essays here are uneven, as the author himself acknowledges. But there's something for everyone, too: sociological observations, literary critique, history, a view of Hollywood in the 60s (or as much of it as came to Texas to film Hud), an unblushing and riotously funny examination of the sexual mores of mid-century rural Texas, and a self-aware nostalgia for the passing of an age, for the seemingly bad deal of trading the cowboy mythos, as problematic as it may be, for the banality of suburban homogeneity.
I, for one, really enjoy McMurtry's voice and perspective in this collection. I like that he gives a feeling of what life was like in Texas before I was born and that I find myself looking up people and places as I read, trying to assimilate as much as I can of what he offers. As someone from a state often maligned in ways similar to Texas, I appreciate McMurtry's ability to evoke the distinctions between parts of his state that might look very much alike to an outsider and his willingness to address the bad as well as the good.
Even in his early years as a writer (he'd written three novels before this first foray into nonfiction), McMurtry had a way of putting the reader just where he wants them, so he can show them a scene from a new angle. He manages to combine the bluntness of someone raised on the plains with the poetic language of someone who loves words and works hard to get them just right.
The essays here are uneven, as the author himself acknowledges. But there's something for everyone, too: sociological observations, literary critique, history, a view of Hollywood in the 60s (or as much of it as came to Texas to film Hud), an unblushing and riotously funny examination of the sexual mores of mid-century rural Texas, and a self-aware nostalgia for the passing of an age, for the seemingly bad deal of trading the cowboy mythos, as problematic as it may be, for the banality of suburban homogeneity.
I, for one, really enjoy McMurtry's voice and perspective in this collection. I like that he gives a feeling of what life was like in Texas before I was born and that I find myself looking up people and places as I read, trying to assimilate as much as I can of what he offers. As someone from a state often maligned in ways similar to Texas, I appreciate McMurtry's ability to evoke the distinctions between parts of his state that might look very much alike to an outsider and his willingness to address the bad as well as the good.
Even in his early years as a writer (he'd written three novels before this first foray into nonfiction), McMurtry had a way of putting the reader just where he wants them, so he can show them a scene from a new angle. He manages to combine the bluntness of someone raised on the plains with the poetic language of someone who loves words and works hard to get them just right.