Richard S. Wheeler's Blog, page 22
October 3, 2012
Changing Times
I had a drink with a friend and neighbor who's at the top of his field, the best adventure writer there is, a frequent contributor to Outside Magazine, National Geographic, and many other publications. He's a few years younger, but mostly of my generation.
We were talking about the change that has swept publishing. In his magazine world he no longer gets the sort of top dollar he once received; magazines can't afford it. And that cuts into his ability to go to exotic places and do memorable things. I was telling him about all the solid and respected authors I know who can't find contracts, and how ebook publishing has radically altered our traditional publishing world.
We talked of the hundreds of thousands of self-published books, and all the self-published articles. Most of them are competent, but few shine, and scarcely any are outstanding. He sees all this as a generational change. Young people understand the world of social networking and electronic publication and publicity and promotion, and some of them succeed handsomely in a new world that is hard for people of my generation to master.
We worked differently; promotion and sales were up to our publishers. Our task was to write the best material we knew how to write, and then polish it to make it better, and then find ways to freshen it and add depth to it, until it glowed. And that, my friend said, is the generational difference. As we age, we can continue to do what our generation did; work toward excellence in every respect, and leave the younger generations to their social networking and promotional efforts, where we have fewer skills.
We smiled at each other, each of us glad we lived out most of our publishing lives in the traditional world of magazine and book publishing. Our writings will last.
We were talking about the change that has swept publishing. In his magazine world he no longer gets the sort of top dollar he once received; magazines can't afford it. And that cuts into his ability to go to exotic places and do memorable things. I was telling him about all the solid and respected authors I know who can't find contracts, and how ebook publishing has radically altered our traditional publishing world.
We talked of the hundreds of thousands of self-published books, and all the self-published articles. Most of them are competent, but few shine, and scarcely any are outstanding. He sees all this as a generational change. Young people understand the world of social networking and electronic publication and publicity and promotion, and some of them succeed handsomely in a new world that is hard for people of my generation to master.
We worked differently; promotion and sales were up to our publishers. Our task was to write the best material we knew how to write, and then polish it to make it better, and then find ways to freshen it and add depth to it, until it glowed. And that, my friend said, is the generational difference. As we age, we can continue to do what our generation did; work toward excellence in every respect, and leave the younger generations to their social networking and promotional efforts, where we have fewer skills.
We smiled at each other, each of us glad we lived out most of our publishing lives in the traditional world of magazine and book publishing. Our writings will last.
September 30, 2012
Terry Johnston
When Terry Johnston died in Billings in 2001 his wife Vanette was holding one hand and my wife the other. People from all over the world flocked to his funeral. He had foretold his death, telling Vanette that when he killed off his hero, Titus Bass, he would soon follow. In his final book, Wind Walker, Bass dies, and Terry swiftly followed, dead of cancer in his 50s. There was a memorial service at the hospital, attended by the doctors and nurses who had cared for him, and at it, the death scene in Wind Walker was read to the staff by Vanette.
He was an acknowledged expert on the Indian wars, and a superb researcher. Critics dismissed his work as prolix and overwrought, but he sold many millions of books to avid readers who believed he was the finest western writer of them all. To this day, the critics carefully ignore Terry and his work. I've never been able to explain his literary gifts, but I regard him now as something of a genius. His novels weren't for everyone, but he did evoke something very deep in millions of readers, and even now, long after his death, his stories continue to sell well.
The reading public, regular Joes and Janes, saw something in him the critics have yet to recognize. He infused his stories with meaning. Whether it was death or rivalry or friendship, he depicted it in ways that struck chords in most readers, and they bought book after book.
He was kinder to me than I to him; I confess to having reservations about his writing, while he enthusiastically endorsed mine, with generous blurbs. I think the critics will continue to ignore him, or peer down their long noses at him, but they ought not to do that. Terry Johnston's books will keep on selling and winning readers and devoted fans for generations to come.
He was an acknowledged expert on the Indian wars, and a superb researcher. Critics dismissed his work as prolix and overwrought, but he sold many millions of books to avid readers who believed he was the finest western writer of them all. To this day, the critics carefully ignore Terry and his work. I've never been able to explain his literary gifts, but I regard him now as something of a genius. His novels weren't for everyone, but he did evoke something very deep in millions of readers, and even now, long after his death, his stories continue to sell well.
The reading public, regular Joes and Janes, saw something in him the critics have yet to recognize. He infused his stories with meaning. Whether it was death or rivalry or friendship, he depicted it in ways that struck chords in most readers, and they bought book after book.
He was kinder to me than I to him; I confess to having reservations about his writing, while he enthusiastically endorsed mine, with generous blurbs. I think the critics will continue to ignore him, or peer down their long noses at him, but they ought not to do that. Terry Johnston's books will keep on selling and winning readers and devoted fans for generations to come.
September 29, 2012
Treasuries
In Helena last week my wife took me to a used-book store operated by a friend of hers. It was a wondrous place, piled floor to ceiling with splendid books. The proprietor, a disabled vet, loves books of all sorts, but especially ones with reputation and known merit, so it was a treat just to plow through the stacks of titles and find a few.
I ended up buying four: Red Harvest, by Dashiell Hammett, Stay Away, Joe, by Dan Cushman, Jaguars Ripped My Flesh, by Tim Cahill, and Heart Mountain, by Gretel Ehrlich. These are all titles with some history and acclaim behind them. Red Harvest is based on Hammett's time in Butte, Montana, during the labor unrest there. Cushman's tragicomic story about contemporary Native life is widely celebrated. My neighbor Tim Cahill, the country's finest and foremost adventure writer, has produced several collections such as this one, and I'll have him autograph it. And of course Gretel Ehrlich's novel is about the heartrending internment of Japanese near Cody, Wyoming, during the Second World War. My wife and I have visited that site--the dreadful site of an American concentration camp-- and were much moved by it.
All of these things came out of a great used-book emporium. Someday, if print publishers fade, these stores that collect high quality printed books and resell them will be treasure houses, the source of our heritage and cultural life. May such stores live on and on.
I ended up buying four: Red Harvest, by Dashiell Hammett, Stay Away, Joe, by Dan Cushman, Jaguars Ripped My Flesh, by Tim Cahill, and Heart Mountain, by Gretel Ehrlich. These are all titles with some history and acclaim behind them. Red Harvest is based on Hammett's time in Butte, Montana, during the labor unrest there. Cushman's tragicomic story about contemporary Native life is widely celebrated. My neighbor Tim Cahill, the country's finest and foremost adventure writer, has produced several collections such as this one, and I'll have him autograph it. And of course Gretel Ehrlich's novel is about the heartrending internment of Japanese near Cody, Wyoming, during the Second World War. My wife and I have visited that site--the dreadful site of an American concentration camp-- and were much moved by it.
All of these things came out of a great used-book emporium. Someday, if print publishers fade, these stores that collect high quality printed books and resell them will be treasure houses, the source of our heritage and cultural life. May such stores live on and on.
September 28, 2012
The Next Recipient
I am pleased with the news that my old friend Jory Sherman will receive the Owen Wister award, given for lifetime contributions to the literature of the West. He has written countless novels and short stories, as well as several books of poetry and numerous articles. His novel Medicine Horn won a Spur Award from Western Writers of America.
He began his literary career long ago, in the 50s, when he was among the writers in San Francisco generating a new literature. That was the Beat generation. He was a friend of Richard Brautigan and many other poets and writers of that period. His early stories ranged across many fields.
He turned to western fiction and that has been his mainstay ever since. He has written numerous traditional westerns, edited and written some western series, and also some major historical novels of the West, with great success. He is one of those rare people who have made an entire living from fiction through a lifetime.
He is a genius with language, choosing words and creating nuanced prose in surpassing ways. All his stories are infused with a certain poetry that adds to their grace and power.
Jory is nearly blind now, but he continues to write, using devices that enable him to continue onward, one letter, or one word at a time. He is a writer's writer, generating the sort of prose we all study to learn the art--and I emphasize the word art-- of creating a story. His new honor is good news.
He began his literary career long ago, in the 50s, when he was among the writers in San Francisco generating a new literature. That was the Beat generation. He was a friend of Richard Brautigan and many other poets and writers of that period. His early stories ranged across many fields.
He turned to western fiction and that has been his mainstay ever since. He has written numerous traditional westerns, edited and written some western series, and also some major historical novels of the West, with great success. He is one of those rare people who have made an entire living from fiction through a lifetime.
He is a genius with language, choosing words and creating nuanced prose in surpassing ways. All his stories are infused with a certain poetry that adds to their grace and power.
Jory is nearly blind now, but he continues to write, using devices that enable him to continue onward, one letter, or one word at a time. He is a writer's writer, generating the sort of prose we all study to learn the art--and I emphasize the word art-- of creating a story. His new honor is good news.
September 26, 2012
The Bartender's Tale
I've read Ivan Doig's new novel, The Bartender's Tale, and count it the finest work of fiction I've read. The narrator is a 12-year-old boy being raised by his father, who owns a bar in a northern Montana small town called Gros Ventre, which is probably a fictional version of Valier, where Doig went to high school.
The boy, Rusty, acquires an unusual understanding of life, courtesy of his tough and worldly father, Tom Harry, who operates the best watering hole in the whole area. But the boy is also insecure, half-orphaned and wondering what his fate might be if he loses his father in some way, or his father abandons him.
The story unfolds in a powerful and tender way, as the boy acquires a friend, and the father makes mysterious trips to Canada, and relatives begin to elbow their way into the lives of the father and son. Through it all, Doig paints a true and vivid picture of small-town Montana as it was in 1960.
A leitmotif running through the story is a bit of Montana wisdom that goes like this: "You gotta play the hand you've been dealt." You do the best you can with what you've got, because that is what life gave you. It's actually the best approach to living I have ever come across, and has been my own lodestar for many years.
This is the finest, most powerful, most poignant, most richly wrought novel I've had the pleasure to read. If it wins a Pulitzer or National Book Award, I'd not be surprised.
The boy, Rusty, acquires an unusual understanding of life, courtesy of his tough and worldly father, Tom Harry, who operates the best watering hole in the whole area. But the boy is also insecure, half-orphaned and wondering what his fate might be if he loses his father in some way, or his father abandons him.
The story unfolds in a powerful and tender way, as the boy acquires a friend, and the father makes mysterious trips to Canada, and relatives begin to elbow their way into the lives of the father and son. Through it all, Doig paints a true and vivid picture of small-town Montana as it was in 1960.
A leitmotif running through the story is a bit of Montana wisdom that goes like this: "You gotta play the hand you've been dealt." You do the best you can with what you've got, because that is what life gave you. It's actually the best approach to living I have ever come across, and has been my own lodestar for many years.
This is the finest, most powerful, most poignant, most richly wrought novel I've had the pleasure to read. If it wins a Pulitzer or National Book Award, I'd not be surprised.
September 20, 2012
Blessings on the Highway
Early in my writing life I turned to historical novels set in the West. They were more challenging and satisfying than genre western fiction. One could write about real characters and events, and interpret them. Historical fiction gave me the opportunity not only to depict episodes and people, but to draw conclusions, portray people in all their complexity, depending on where my research led me.
Through much of my writing life, my editor at Forge, Dale L. Walker, contributed remarkably to my historical fiction. He was not only an editor for a New York publisher, but also the director of Texas Western Press--and more. He was and is a first rate historian specializing in the history of the West, and has published numerous important and valuable works of western history He is also the country's foremost Jack London scholar, and has written extensively about London.
Much of my writing life occurred before the ubiquitous internet made research easy. When I tackled subjects such as the settlement of Oregon, or the character of John Charles Fremont, or that of Buffalo Bill Cody, or the Battle of the Little Bighorn, there was my editor and cherished friend, not only supplying me with long lists of reference books, but also evaluating them. Such and such had dubious value, but such and such was solid. The result of all this was that I plowed into my research with more assets at hand than most novelists enjoy.
Most traditional research involved checking scholarly references and bibliographies found in historical works, and then getting a hold of the books or papers that seemed promising. In many ways, Dale's suggestions greatly shortened the process. It was an amazing gift. Not only was he an unmatched resource, but he was a shrewd and gifted editor, making sure I was on solid ground, trimming fat from my writing, and adding elegance of phrase, often with a simple alteration of a sentence.
If you want to see a masterful historian at work, read his titles, which are still mostly in print and very well reviewed. You might try The Boys of '98, about the Rough Riders. Or Legends and Lies, about mysteries of the West, or Bear Flag Rising, about the conquest of California, or Pacific Destiny about early Oregon. Or try Death Was a Black Horse, or his great biography of an early newsman, Januarius McGahan. Or The Calamity Papers, Western Myths and Cold Cases. There are many more, all of them great history.
I've been one lucky guy to count him as a friend and editor.
Through much of my writing life, my editor at Forge, Dale L. Walker, contributed remarkably to my historical fiction. He was not only an editor for a New York publisher, but also the director of Texas Western Press--and more. He was and is a first rate historian specializing in the history of the West, and has published numerous important and valuable works of western history He is also the country's foremost Jack London scholar, and has written extensively about London.
Much of my writing life occurred before the ubiquitous internet made research easy. When I tackled subjects such as the settlement of Oregon, or the character of John Charles Fremont, or that of Buffalo Bill Cody, or the Battle of the Little Bighorn, there was my editor and cherished friend, not only supplying me with long lists of reference books, but also evaluating them. Such and such had dubious value, but such and such was solid. The result of all this was that I plowed into my research with more assets at hand than most novelists enjoy.
Most traditional research involved checking scholarly references and bibliographies found in historical works, and then getting a hold of the books or papers that seemed promising. In many ways, Dale's suggestions greatly shortened the process. It was an amazing gift. Not only was he an unmatched resource, but he was a shrewd and gifted editor, making sure I was on solid ground, trimming fat from my writing, and adding elegance of phrase, often with a simple alteration of a sentence.
If you want to see a masterful historian at work, read his titles, which are still mostly in print and very well reviewed. You might try The Boys of '98, about the Rough Riders. Or Legends and Lies, about mysteries of the West, or Bear Flag Rising, about the conquest of California, or Pacific Destiny about early Oregon. Or try Death Was a Black Horse, or his great biography of an early newsman, Januarius McGahan. Or The Calamity Papers, Western Myths and Cold Cases. There are many more, all of them great history.
I've been one lucky guy to count him as a friend and editor.
September 17, 2012
The Finest Western Writer
Loren D. Estleman is the finest western novelist of our times. No one else even comes close. I've known Loren since 1982 when we met at a western writers convention, and have followed his work ever since. We both started at about the same time, but our careers have diverged. He is eminent not only in the western field, but in mystery and crime fiction, while I largely abandoned western fiction and wrote historical novels.
Loren's western stories, mostly published hardcover by Forge, are original, penetrating, inventive, knowledgeable, and delightful. He does not write formulaic westerns. One of his recent novels is a love story, Roy and Lillie, about the real correspondence between Judge Roy Bean, who administered the law west of the Pecos, and celebrated actress Lillie Langtry. Estleman took this thread of western history and turned it into a richly wrought novel that won fine reviews.
He has won, all in all, seventeen national writing awards, and most recently the Owen Wister Award for lifetime achievement in the field of western literature. He has five Spur Awards and a raft of awards given him for his outstanding crime and mystery novels. He has also received an honorary doctorate from his alma mater, Eastern Michigan University.
Several things separate Loren from the rest of the field. First and foremost is his originality. He does not write within the usual fences and boundaries of original mass-market western fiction. He fastens on a telling aspect of western life or history and runs with it, plowing new ground in most every novel. He is a master of the language, making words dance, employing metaphor delightfully. He is a genius of dialogue, making exchanges between characters leap to life in ways that reveal far more than the spoken words. He is a master of character, and also depicting character. He doesn't need expository prose to do it; his characters somehow bloom full-blown very swiftly in any of his novels.
He is productive, having written nearly seventy novels, all of them of rare quality. I think every one of his colleagues in the western field would gladly agree that he is the dean of western fiction in contemporary literature.
Loren's western stories, mostly published hardcover by Forge, are original, penetrating, inventive, knowledgeable, and delightful. He does not write formulaic westerns. One of his recent novels is a love story, Roy and Lillie, about the real correspondence between Judge Roy Bean, who administered the law west of the Pecos, and celebrated actress Lillie Langtry. Estleman took this thread of western history and turned it into a richly wrought novel that won fine reviews.
He has won, all in all, seventeen national writing awards, and most recently the Owen Wister Award for lifetime achievement in the field of western literature. He has five Spur Awards and a raft of awards given him for his outstanding crime and mystery novels. He has also received an honorary doctorate from his alma mater, Eastern Michigan University.
Several things separate Loren from the rest of the field. First and foremost is his originality. He does not write within the usual fences and boundaries of original mass-market western fiction. He fastens on a telling aspect of western life or history and runs with it, plowing new ground in most every novel. He is a master of the language, making words dance, employing metaphor delightfully. He is a genius of dialogue, making exchanges between characters leap to life in ways that reveal far more than the spoken words. He is a master of character, and also depicting character. He doesn't need expository prose to do it; his characters somehow bloom full-blown very swiftly in any of his novels.
He is productive, having written nearly seventy novels, all of them of rare quality. I think every one of his colleagues in the western field would gladly agree that he is the dean of western fiction in contemporary literature.
September 15, 2012
Freshness as a Liability
I cannot speak authoritatively about other genres, but in western fiction, freshness is a serious liability. If a novel is not derivative of hundreds that came earlier, it is not welcome. It will be automatically rejected by mass-market editors and avoided or assailed by western readers alike. In fact, some western publishers go to great lengths to package their stories in ways that evoke the past, sometimes even employing 1950s titles to authenticate the true-blue nature of the new story.
Originality is the enemy. I often want to ask a publisher, or blurber, or endorser, what's new or unique about the story; what separates it from the thousands of other western titles. The proper answer, which they avoid, is nothing at all. Their marketing depends on presenting each story as being in the same groove as the previous ones; on stories that reiterate the ritual mythology of the western genre. The hero is going to shoot his way to success, and the characters will be barely sketched.
I keep hunting for freshness in the genre, because I love stories of the West, but it is a futile cause now. The genre is a brittle as anything I've ever seen. I remember writing a good noir western called Cutthroat Gulch. It was about an old, wise sheriff, Blue Smith, who faces the task of bringing to justice a young killer he knows well, who is deliberately tormenting him. In a trial of arms, Blue Smith is no match for the young killer, but in the end, he employs his wisdom garnered over a long life and understanding of human nature to bring the story to a valid conclusion. The story is a fishing metaphor. Blue Smith fishes for the killer and catches him. But that upset some readers, who said the ending was disappointing. They had expected old Blue to blow away the young killer in a hail of bullets, but Blue didn't do that. In short, the readers wanted the traditional story, and I disappointed them.
That is a good example of the ossified nature of the genre. Freshness, originality, uniqueness, these are enemies of the traditional western. Editors know it, know that readers want the same old stuff, and avoid change at all cost. But old stories are, for me, dead stories. I want to be treated to something that awakens new interests in me. I sometimes wonder if I'm the only reader of western fiction who feels that way.
Originality is the enemy. I often want to ask a publisher, or blurber, or endorser, what's new or unique about the story; what separates it from the thousands of other western titles. The proper answer, which they avoid, is nothing at all. Their marketing depends on presenting each story as being in the same groove as the previous ones; on stories that reiterate the ritual mythology of the western genre. The hero is going to shoot his way to success, and the characters will be barely sketched.
I keep hunting for freshness in the genre, because I love stories of the West, but it is a futile cause now. The genre is a brittle as anything I've ever seen. I remember writing a good noir western called Cutthroat Gulch. It was about an old, wise sheriff, Blue Smith, who faces the task of bringing to justice a young killer he knows well, who is deliberately tormenting him. In a trial of arms, Blue Smith is no match for the young killer, but in the end, he employs his wisdom garnered over a long life and understanding of human nature to bring the story to a valid conclusion. The story is a fishing metaphor. Blue Smith fishes for the killer and catches him. But that upset some readers, who said the ending was disappointing. They had expected old Blue to blow away the young killer in a hail of bullets, but Blue didn't do that. In short, the readers wanted the traditional story, and I disappointed them.
That is a good example of the ossified nature of the genre. Freshness, originality, uniqueness, these are enemies of the traditional western. Editors know it, know that readers want the same old stuff, and avoid change at all cost. But old stories are, for me, dead stories. I want to be treated to something that awakens new interests in me. I sometimes wonder if I'm the only reader of western fiction who feels that way.
September 14, 2012
Consequence as a Reader's Guide
A well-written story brims with consequence. Events have meaning, and that meaning touches us and compels us to read on, absorbed in the story. We give up on stories in which everything is reduced to triviality or unimportance.
In contemporary westerns, for example, there are a lot of violent deaths, but they lack consequence, and all that killing is less affecting to a reader. He scarcely cares. But if that character is a fully depicted person, with his own nature, with kinfolk such widows and orphans, siblings and parents, who would grieve him, with a history that explains his conduct, with ideals and dreams and hopes, then his death has great consequence.
A lot of violent killing of inconsequential people doesn't substitute for a drama that builds steadily as someone who is fully-fleshed faces death. In Shane scarcely anyone dies, and yet it is a thousandfold more dramatic than today's high-body-count western stories because it is entirely consequential.
Erotic westerns such as the Longarm or Jake Logan series fall into the same trap. There is a lot of sex but it is without consequence, trivial and boring. Here are some the consequences you don't find in these stories: no one gets pregnant or wonders whether she wants the child, or whether she should ask the father to marry her. No one gets diseased. No one gets envious or possessive. No one falls in love. No one becomes bitter or angry. No one has regrets. No one feels disappointed; the encounter didn't go well. Because the eroticism has no consequence, it is trivialized, and has little impact. It is throwaway literature intended for curious teen boys.
Powerful, compelling fiction is always consequential. Look for the authors who infuse their stories with meaning and consequence, and you will greatly increase your pleasure and satisfaction.
In contemporary westerns, for example, there are a lot of violent deaths, but they lack consequence, and all that killing is less affecting to a reader. He scarcely cares. But if that character is a fully depicted person, with his own nature, with kinfolk such widows and orphans, siblings and parents, who would grieve him, with a history that explains his conduct, with ideals and dreams and hopes, then his death has great consequence.
A lot of violent killing of inconsequential people doesn't substitute for a drama that builds steadily as someone who is fully-fleshed faces death. In Shane scarcely anyone dies, and yet it is a thousandfold more dramatic than today's high-body-count western stories because it is entirely consequential.
Erotic westerns such as the Longarm or Jake Logan series fall into the same trap. There is a lot of sex but it is without consequence, trivial and boring. Here are some the consequences you don't find in these stories: no one gets pregnant or wonders whether she wants the child, or whether she should ask the father to marry her. No one gets diseased. No one gets envious or possessive. No one falls in love. No one becomes bitter or angry. No one has regrets. No one feels disappointed; the encounter didn't go well. Because the eroticism has no consequence, it is trivialized, and has little impact. It is throwaway literature intended for curious teen boys.
Powerful, compelling fiction is always consequential. Look for the authors who infuse their stories with meaning and consequence, and you will greatly increase your pleasure and satisfaction.
September 13, 2012
The National Myth
In the past, Westerns were so important that they were considered our national myth. Our western films and books explained our nature to the world. If you wanted to understand America, you studied our westerns.
Times have changed, and there aren't enough western books and films being generated to support any concept of a national myth. But today's western stories are also radically different from the earlier ones, for the most part. In earlier times, the western depicted qualities that have largely vanished from our affluent, comfortable life.
In particular, earlier Westerns celebrated the character and courage of those on the frontier, and even now we tend to think of those hardy, brave people as somehow models for the rest of us. But the contemporary western story no longer celebrates those qualities, and some even feature anti-heroes who are anything but courageous.
The earlier western stories might feature a lone man who takes on an army; a determined man who resists the social pressures of a town to do what he deeply believes is right. These stories depicted people with raw courage, who faced terrible odds and yet did not cave in, and somehow carried the day by the final chapter or the last reel.
That is all washed away. Generally, character no longer matters in a contemporary western hero: what matters is being first to shoot, and possessing the skill to make his shots count. There may be some sort of residual bravery or courage in a gunfighter, but the emphasis now is on his skills with weapons, not his great heart.
I think it could be said that the long reign is over. Westerns are no longer even remotely our national myth, and no longer explain our nature to the world. If they explain anything, it is our vices and follies that are on display.
Times have changed, and there aren't enough western books and films being generated to support any concept of a national myth. But today's western stories are also radically different from the earlier ones, for the most part. In earlier times, the western depicted qualities that have largely vanished from our affluent, comfortable life.
In particular, earlier Westerns celebrated the character and courage of those on the frontier, and even now we tend to think of those hardy, brave people as somehow models for the rest of us. But the contemporary western story no longer celebrates those qualities, and some even feature anti-heroes who are anything but courageous.
The earlier western stories might feature a lone man who takes on an army; a determined man who resists the social pressures of a town to do what he deeply believes is right. These stories depicted people with raw courage, who faced terrible odds and yet did not cave in, and somehow carried the day by the final chapter or the last reel.
That is all washed away. Generally, character no longer matters in a contemporary western hero: what matters is being first to shoot, and possessing the skill to make his shots count. There may be some sort of residual bravery or courage in a gunfighter, but the emphasis now is on his skills with weapons, not his great heart.
I think it could be said that the long reign is over. Westerns are no longer even remotely our national myth, and no longer explain our nature to the world. If they explain anything, it is our vices and follies that are on display.
