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This week, I wanted to pay respect to Larry McMurtry, the author of many books and screenplays, including the Pulitizer Prize winner, Lonesome Dove. He passed last week and the New York Times obituary reads as if the writers could have kept on writing. Lonesome Dove was the first “big book” I read as a child at the age of nine. The accomplishment of reading an 843-page novel at the time was cool enough. But during the pandemic, I re-read it, and I am a better human for it. At the time in the mid-80s when Lonesome Dove was published, McMurtry was taking on what is perhaps one of the first literary stands against romanticizing colonization—though I think even he would agree that it didn’t go far enough. A fictional drama set in the 1870s, the book tells the story of two has-been Texas Rangers on a cattle drive to unsettled Montana. Along the way, they’re forced to question their colonial intentions while knowingly acknowledge that the land they’re chasing is actually Indigenous land. It’s a rare process of discovery and one that holds great value for anyone looking to explore the bones of this country. I get asked A LOT about what books I might recommend in terms of educating others about Indigenous affairs. But I’m certain I stand alone in placing Lonesome Dove on a must-read list. It’s just not considered “canon literature'“ regarding the Indigenous experience. But it certainly has its place in my stack. To this day, I have no idea what compelled my school librarian to recommend that book to me. I was on summer break, on the Laguna Pueblo, suffering from chronic nosebleeds from spending too much time in the desert sun. Forced indoors, at the school library, it ended up being one of the most influential summers of my writing life. In tribute to McMurtry, I’ve been tuning in to the four-part CBS miniseries adapted from Lonesome Dove. It’s pretty good, but as they say — the book is better. As we turn seasons and head into what looks like a more vaccinated life, one thing I hope is not lost anyone is the time many took to read more than ever during the pandemic. For me, that’s been returning to fine texts of the past; ones that always breathe fresh life over the decades. I’m traveling this weekend and so I apologize for being so short-winded here. It’s a holy weekend for many and always reminds me of my great grandma Helen. She’d make Easter Pudding in her old mudoven, then curl up to read her large print Bible. Often times, I was by her side reading another author of my youth who also died last week: Beverly Cleary. Grateful for all the wordsmiths and elders in my life. And you. 📘📕📗 Jenni
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