Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry (Review)
I have mentioned before how rarely I read fiction. Despite it being my genre of choice when I was young, it now takes intentionality to rotate non-biographies into my reading list. Lonesome Dove has been on my list for years at the strong recommendation of my father-in-law. It’s his favorite book, so when author Larry McMurtry died earlier this year, the event bumped his most famous piece to the top of my list. I’m pleased I didn’t wait any longer because the book proved itself immensely worthy of the 1986 Pulitzer.
Part of the reason I deeply enjoy biographies is gaining insight into the ideas and philosophies that shape individuals. I enjoy learning what guides how they respond to meaningful moments—particularly their response to challenges. In McMurtry’s magnum opus, the detail and character development not only made me care about the Hat Creek Cattle Company, but McMurtry also weaved in some of the philosophies and world views I most enjoy contemplating. The end result is over 800 pages that still felt far too short. I couldn’t have enjoyed Lonesome Dove any more than I did, and the experience is likely to cause me to mix in a few more fictional books to my reading schedule.
For a quick summary, the book centers on Captain Augustus “Gus” McCrae and Captain Woodrow F. Call during the 1870s. Both men worked together as Texas Rangers, north of the Mexican border before retiring to run the Hat Creek Cattle Company. When former Ranger, Jake Spoon, returns after ten years away, he floats an idea: move the crew to Montana as the first cattlemen in the region. The idea takes hold with Captain Call, and soon the adventure begins. The story that unfolds is page-turning from start to finish with characters like Josh Deets, Pea Eye Parker, Newt Dobbs, Lorena Wood, and others.
A literature class could easily review this book for an extended time, and here are some of the observations I would welcome the chance to discuss:
When Call and Gus considered heading north to Montana, Gus comments that civilization will be right behind them if they help settle the land. Gus thought that Call was more like the Native Americans than he cared to admit, while Call thought Gus was more sympathetic to the tribes than he expected given their history of battles. Both men seemed stuck in the wrong era with time passing them by and civilization changing in ways that left them uncomfortable.
Gus transcribed a Latin motto at the bottom of the Hat Creek Cattle Company’s sign, which was amusing since he didn’t know the meaning. Despite Gus’s ignorance of the translation of “Uva uvam vivendo varia fit,” it loosely means “a grape changes color (ripens) when it sees another grape.” A quick search of the phrase yields plenty of results relating to Lonesome Dove. Whether McMurtry meant anything of depth by the phrase is uncertain, but I think it carries weight. We see throughout the book how Call affects Gus and Gus affects Call; the whole Hat Creek crew affected each other in who they became. Clara Allen, an important figure later in the book makes this declaration: “I’m sorry you [Captain Call] and Gus McCrae ever met. All you two done was ruin one another, not to mention those close to you. Another reason I didn’t marry him was because I didn’t want to fight you for him every day of my life.” Each grape in the bunch affected the others.
After Pedro Flores—a Mexican bandit—died, Call seemed lost. Gus observed, “you’ve run out of Indians and now you’ve run out of bandits. That’s the point. You need somebody to outwit.” I suspect this sensation is one that is typical for many at the end of one’s life: I did what I set out to do. Now what? The theme of death and responding to it flowed seamlessly throughout Lonesome Dove with this being an early example.
McMurtry’s description of the first storm on the ride north was almost tactile. It’s a great example of pulling the reader deeply into the story.
Newt was one of the youngest men on the cattle drive, and he was part of the crew that waited with Wilbarger as he died. Despite scarcely knowing Wilbarger, Newt was quite overcome by his death. I similarly found myself touched by Wilbarger’s death, despite his minor role in the story.
The fury with which Call destroyed Dixon, a frontier scout for the Army, had me physically clenching as McMurtry described the violence. The contrast of Call’s coolness for the entire book—even with Gus’s repeated warnings about Call’s capacity for rage—made the scene all the more powerful. That it came in defense of Newt, Call’s son, further enhanced the sequence. Call’s fighting brought a crowd of townspeople, and Call simply told them, “I hate a man that talks rude. I won’t tolerate it.” Call never could bring himself to acknowledge Newt as his son, but in everything outside of his words, Call’s care for the boy was clear. Unfortunately, Newt made it clear at the end that the words matter, too.
That scene captures another reoccurring theme in the book: regret. Regret and death weave into the entire book in ways that naturally fit into the story. In the preface of a later edition of Lonesome Dove, McMurtry labeled Call as a stoic and Gus as an epicurean. The labels fit and help explore the different ways that people respond to the inevitabilities of life.
As suggested above, Lonesome Dove was impressive from start to finish. McMurtry developed a remarkable number of characters, and the many perspectives on the same story gave the entire book a richness that is noteworthy. I’m not one to re-read books, but it is clear that Lonesome Dove would have plenty to offer with additional readings. It can easily be taken as a great story to simply be enjoyed or it can be analyzed and discussed with plenty of content to analyze. Either way, the stellar reputation of Lonesome Dove is well deserved.
