The Big Sky by A. B. Guthrie
I pride myself on being a diverse reader, not limited to any particular genre but reading the best of all of them. That said, I haven’t read a whole lot of westerns in my life and the ones I’ve read haven’t left me hankering for more. I’d never have picked up The Big Sky myself but my friend Sheila, who buys and sells books, is always looking out for me, and one of the things she looks out for is books from the same collection of “classics” my mother bequeathed to me. I’m not tied to a binding any more than I’m tied to a genre, but if you’ve got a copy of The Good Earth anyway, why not have it match?
But why does this collection of “classics” include a western at all? Well, I guess Guthrie won a Pulitzer (though not for this particular novel). It certainly has some grand themes and some of the most awe-inspring descriptions of natural beauty I’ve ever read. It’s also endlessly boring in some spots and hard to understand in others. The book teems with terms that aren’t part of your average modern vocabulary, and I never could stand reading patois. Worse, some of the patois is outright offensive by today’s standards. Add to that an unlikeable hero (Sure, he’s a “mountain man.” Guess I don’t like “mountain men.”) and it wasn’t really an enjoyable read.
So I’ve read Lonesome Dove, this thing, and stuff by Zane Grey and Jack London. Am I done now?