It takes a very good writer to produce prose that provokes an emotional response in a reader, even when it deals with events long past with which he or she has no connection. It also takes a good writer to subtly tip off the reader about a change in the character of the American people, one that has seen toughness replaced by weakness. Talleyrand once remarked that no one who had been born after the French Revolution could know how sweet life could be.
Larry McMurtry wrote about life in small American towns in the 1950s and the great American West in the late 19th century, and his writing evokes feelings that those born after those dates can relate to. Most of his heroes, like those of Hemingway, were ultimately defeated. But theirs were moral victories, just like those of Papa’s characters.
Larry was two months older than me and passed away a couple of weeks ago. He once told me that he had two subscriptions to The Spectator because he travelled a lot and never wanted to miss my column. Larry wrote some very nice things about me in one of his three memoirs, and the friendship began at Norman Mailer’s house in Brooklyn some 30 years ago. But first a few titbits about his work and habits. He wrote more than 30 novels, essays galore, memoirs and history. He churned out several dozen screenplays, among them Lonesome Dove, based on his 850-page saga about Texas Rangers who drive a herd of cattle from the Rio Grande to Montana.
His first novel was Horseman, Pass By, on which the wonderful film Hud was based. He also wrote Terms of Endearment, which became an Oscar-winning film. McMurtry senior was a rancher, and Larry spent his life undoing the myth of the shootin’-tootin’ cowboy as invented by Hollywood and authors such as Zane Gray and Louis L’Amour.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in