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Lonesome Dove

Lonesome Dove

Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

LONESOME DOVE

By Larry McMurtry

Introduction

Writers, singers, and prolific artists of many stamps have sometimes found, to their bafflement, that they have been more or less trapped by the unexpected and unrelenting popularity of a work to which they themselves had initially attached little importance.

Henry James was pestered all his life by fans of what was, to his mind, a slight story, Daisy Miller. Bing Crosby grew very, very tired of having to sing, over and over again, a little ditty called “White Christmas.” In my case the culprit is Lonesome Dove, a book which now seems as remote from me as the Arthuriad, or the Matter of Troy, but which blooms eternally--a living myth-flower-- to its readers (or watchers).

Like the corpus of stories about King Arthur and his knights, or those about the fall of Troy, Lonesome Dove long ago burst past single-authorship into a ubiquity of forms. A subdivision I pass on my way to Dallas is called Dove Estates. The dog that won the Westminster Dog Show a few years ago was named Lonesome Dove. A honky-tonk not thirty miles from where I write is now the

“Lonesum Dove.” A TV series featuring several characters I had myself killed off was filmed in Canada; it flourished for three seasons on the Fox Network. A few of the characters may have even been killed twice, having succumbed not only in my pages but also in a spurious (but legal) sequel called Return to Lonesome Dove.

In television, death just doesn't have much of a sting.

What I suspect this means is that it's hard to go wrong if one writes at length about the Old West, still the phantom leg of the American psyche. I thought I had written about a harsh time and some pretty harsh people, but, to the public at large, I had produced something nearer to an idealization; instead of a poor-man's Inferno, filled with violence, faithlessness, and betrayal, I had actually delivered a kind of Gone With the Wind of the West, a turnabout I'll be mulling over for a long, long time.

--Larry McMurtry

Part I

When Augustus came out on the porch the blue pigs were eating a rattlesnake--not a very big one. It had probably just been crawling around looking for shade when it ran into the pigs. They were having a fine tug-of-war with it, and its rattling days were over. The sow had it by the neck, and the shoat had the tail.

“You pigs git,” Augustus said, kicking the shoat. “Head on down to the creek if you want to eat that snake.” It was the porch he begrudged them, not the snake. Pigs on the porch just made things hotter, and things were already hot enough. He stepped down into the dusty yard and walked around t

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Comments

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Alice
Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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