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New Mexico, Rio Grande and Other Essays
Renowned author Tony Hillerman's original essays written for ""New Mexico"" and ""Rio Grande, "" plus two new essays, are complemented by the extraordinary images of Muench and Reynolds.
- GenresNonfiction
112 pages, Hardcover
First published May 1, 1992
About the author
Tony Hillerman
235 books1,894 followersTony Hillerman, who was born in Sacred Heart, Oklahoma, was a decorated combat veteran from World War II, serving as a mortarman in the 103rd Infantry Division and earning the Silver Star, the Bronze Star, and a Purple Heart. Later, he worked as a journalist from 1948 to 1962. Then he earned a Masters degree and taught journalism from 1966 to 1987 at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque, where he resided with his wife until his death in 2008. Hillerman, a consistently bestselling author, was ranked as New Mexico's 25th wealthiest man in 1996. - Wikipedia
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March 28, 2013
There’s something strangely alluring about New Mexico. In fact there are a great many unusual things about this large, sparsely populated state sandwiched between Texas and Arizona, Colorado and Old Mexico. But it was difficult for me to pin down what it was that kept me here, shuttling back and forth to see my family in England. I may have found the answer after our neighbor Virginia Feather stopped by and dropped off a book for me to read. It was New Mexico, Rio Grande, and Other Essays, by the noted writer and novelist Tony Hillerman, richly illustrated with photographs by David Muench and Robert Reynolds.
The book that Virginia Feather brought to my door, a richly illustrated 1992 compilation from Hillerman’s earlier nonfiction, captivated me. I think I have read all his fictional books, back to Fly on the Wall, and I am looking forward to reading his daughter Anne’s Spider Woman's Daughter, due for publication on October 1.
Hillerman’s 1992 collection is a large-format book containing a scant 112 pages including photos, and once I sat down with it I soon read it cover to cover, though more slowly than usual because I wanted to savor the superb prose and loving word-pictures with which he described his favorite places. In four essays he takes us miles from the headwaters of the Rio Grande – an 1800-mile stretch – and from east of the river in Billy the Kid country to Zuni Pueblo, nestled on the Arizona border, then north and west to his magical Diné Bikéyah, Navajo country.
The book starts with a perfectly beautiful piece of science writing as Hillerman puts in plain words the unusual climatic, geological, and anthropological character of this “most peculiar of the fifty states.” From here he slips effortlessly into the history of New Mexico, or more accurately the history of the Rio Grande watershed, which feeds a river which bisects the drab-colored high desert within a narrow green ribbon (or gray, depending on the season) called the bosque, or woodlands. From here he sweeps us to the northwestern part of the state, most of which is sparsely populated by Navajo people and, particularly beside the Rio Grande and its tributaries, a number of mostly small Pueblo Indian tribes. Then we cross the state border into Arizona.
Navajo country covers 27,425 square miles, most of it in Arizona, and as such is just a little smaller than Portugal and a little larger than West Virginia. It surrounds Hopi, one of the oldest Pueblo reservations. I have known this great expanse to cause discomfort to visitors who are accustomed to urban life, it is so vast and so capable of making one feel so small. But to Hillerman it is God’s country, “America’s very own Holy Land,” where Franciscan priests and Native shamans came to recognize and accept (mostly) the parallels that exist in their respective beliefs. There is similarity in the humanism inherent in their teachings and aspirations; the benign spirits that watch over the tribes are a celestial hierarchy.
But Hillerman does not dwell too long on metaphysics or religion. He takes us fishing, hiking, rafting, kayaking, rock climbing. He tells us with fluent affection about the people, birds, reptiles and fish that populate his country, the trees, the shrubs, the grasses and the rocks. We learn that the Rio Grande sprouts from a source 7,440 feet above sea level before starting its tortuous journey, periodically shrinking, then rescued repeatedly by the influx of water from tributaries before it reaches the Gulf of Mexico. We see the color of the river – muddy-brown, orange, clear – and the shift of its mood as it races through canyons and meanders gently through more level lands, giving sustenance to the bosque and ancient irrigated fields, farmlands in Texas and the two Mexicos, and to the thirsty golfers and gardeners who have come from greener parts of the world. Meantime a rustic Spanish-settled “rosary of bosque villages” exists still near the northern reaches of the river, all with adobe mission churches built before the arrival of the Americans, all sharing a culture that is centuries old.
For me a special treat was the essay “A Canyon, an Egret, and a Book,” which gives a rare, personal account of how at least one great novelist collects background information for a novel. Within this short account, Hillerman notes, “lies a tale of how a book evolved and how a silent, empty place can stimulate the human imagination.” This essay not only reveals technique, mindset, and commitment: it demonstrates how deftly Hillerman had escaped from the generally cool, terse, matter-of-fact style of journalism – where he started his writing life – and entered a new world as a man who could enchant with that other, classical form of prose called literature.
In ten pages Hillerman explains in considerable detail how he gathered and created material for his book A Thief of Time, which like many of his most popular novels, features Navajo Tribal Policemen Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee. He decided he wanted to base a murder mystery on the activity of people who illegally remove marketable pots and other artifacts from prehistoric Indian settlements. He needed more information to flesh out his outline. So he joined a raft trip from Bluff, Utah, and floated down the San Juan River observing, experiencing the physical environment, learning from his guide – and taking notes. He examined ancient Indian pictographs and saw how they were incised in the rock. He found a ruin that could make a “location” for one of the scenes in the upcoming book and painted a detailed word-picture of its appearance and surroundings. He noted the pot-hunters’ abandoned excavations and signs of vandalism, and was given the description of the possible vandal. This wayward boy morphed into a witness in the story, and one of Hillerman’s university friends became the template for the murder victim. The solitary life of a snowy egret inspired an idea for the personality of another character.
And so it went on, with Hillerman meticulously observing, inspecting, listening, smelling his way to the completion of basic research for A Thief of Time. The novel earned international acclaim when it was published in 1988.
By the time I finished this essay I knew at least one of my impressions about Hillerman was true. Though he would have to work hard polishing his final manuscript for publication he thoroughly relished doing the research for it. He loved Navajo country and its people, the country satisfied something in his soul, and he wished to pay some kind of tribute to it in his books. He did just this.
Tony Hillerman died in 2008. I had known him but only slightly since the 1960s, through our activity in a writers’ club he organized and the gym we frequented in his last years. I would have delighted in more conversation with him, or being a “fly on the wall” during one of his visits to Navajo country -- perhaps to Mount Taylor, where the Navajos’ Blue Flint girl watches from her “house made of mist, house made of dawn.” In its way, New Mexico, Rio Grande, and Other Essays helps make up for this deficiency.
Earlier in this review I mentioned my continuing puzzlement about where I “belonged” – the persistent question of where I should commit myself to being a permanent, in-perpetuity resident. Would I stay in New Mexico or move close to my children and grandchildren in England? This book from Tony Hillerman reminded me of all the things, apart from my human friendships, that will very likely keep me in the "Land of Enchantment."
Just recently, at her 90th birthday party, I shared my quandary with another neighbor, Tooker Walton, and she smiled knowingly. A World War II aircraft engineer (for Curtiss Wright) and Army bride, she has travelled all over the world and is as sharp as a tack. “We’ve seen so many things,” she said, “and you know, we always came back to New Mexico.”
Funny, I thought, that’s just like me.
The book that Virginia Feather brought to my door, a richly illustrated 1992 compilation from Hillerman’s earlier nonfiction, captivated me. I think I have read all his fictional books, back to Fly on the Wall, and I am looking forward to reading his daughter Anne’s Spider Woman's Daughter, due for publication on October 1.
Hillerman’s 1992 collection is a large-format book containing a scant 112 pages including photos, and once I sat down with it I soon read it cover to cover, though more slowly than usual because I wanted to savor the superb prose and loving word-pictures with which he described his favorite places. In four essays he takes us miles from the headwaters of the Rio Grande – an 1800-mile stretch – and from east of the river in Billy the Kid country to Zuni Pueblo, nestled on the Arizona border, then north and west to his magical Diné Bikéyah, Navajo country.
The book starts with a perfectly beautiful piece of science writing as Hillerman puts in plain words the unusual climatic, geological, and anthropological character of this “most peculiar of the fifty states.” From here he slips effortlessly into the history of New Mexico, or more accurately the history of the Rio Grande watershed, which feeds a river which bisects the drab-colored high desert within a narrow green ribbon (or gray, depending on the season) called the bosque, or woodlands. From here he sweeps us to the northwestern part of the state, most of which is sparsely populated by Navajo people and, particularly beside the Rio Grande and its tributaries, a number of mostly small Pueblo Indian tribes. Then we cross the state border into Arizona.
Navajo country covers 27,425 square miles, most of it in Arizona, and as such is just a little smaller than Portugal and a little larger than West Virginia. It surrounds Hopi, one of the oldest Pueblo reservations. I have known this great expanse to cause discomfort to visitors who are accustomed to urban life, it is so vast and so capable of making one feel so small. But to Hillerman it is God’s country, “America’s very own Holy Land,” where Franciscan priests and Native shamans came to recognize and accept (mostly) the parallels that exist in their respective beliefs. There is similarity in the humanism inherent in their teachings and aspirations; the benign spirits that watch over the tribes are a celestial hierarchy.
But Hillerman does not dwell too long on metaphysics or religion. He takes us fishing, hiking, rafting, kayaking, rock climbing. He tells us with fluent affection about the people, birds, reptiles and fish that populate his country, the trees, the shrubs, the grasses and the rocks. We learn that the Rio Grande sprouts from a source 7,440 feet above sea level before starting its tortuous journey, periodically shrinking, then rescued repeatedly by the influx of water from tributaries before it reaches the Gulf of Mexico. We see the color of the river – muddy-brown, orange, clear – and the shift of its mood as it races through canyons and meanders gently through more level lands, giving sustenance to the bosque and ancient irrigated fields, farmlands in Texas and the two Mexicos, and to the thirsty golfers and gardeners who have come from greener parts of the world. Meantime a rustic Spanish-settled “rosary of bosque villages” exists still near the northern reaches of the river, all with adobe mission churches built before the arrival of the Americans, all sharing a culture that is centuries old.
For me a special treat was the essay “A Canyon, an Egret, and a Book,” which gives a rare, personal account of how at least one great novelist collects background information for a novel. Within this short account, Hillerman notes, “lies a tale of how a book evolved and how a silent, empty place can stimulate the human imagination.” This essay not only reveals technique, mindset, and commitment: it demonstrates how deftly Hillerman had escaped from the generally cool, terse, matter-of-fact style of journalism – where he started his writing life – and entered a new world as a man who could enchant with that other, classical form of prose called literature.
In ten pages Hillerman explains in considerable detail how he gathered and created material for his book A Thief of Time, which like many of his most popular novels, features Navajo Tribal Policemen Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee. He decided he wanted to base a murder mystery on the activity of people who illegally remove marketable pots and other artifacts from prehistoric Indian settlements. He needed more information to flesh out his outline. So he joined a raft trip from Bluff, Utah, and floated down the San Juan River observing, experiencing the physical environment, learning from his guide – and taking notes. He examined ancient Indian pictographs and saw how they were incised in the rock. He found a ruin that could make a “location” for one of the scenes in the upcoming book and painted a detailed word-picture of its appearance and surroundings. He noted the pot-hunters’ abandoned excavations and signs of vandalism, and was given the description of the possible vandal. This wayward boy morphed into a witness in the story, and one of Hillerman’s university friends became the template for the murder victim. The solitary life of a snowy egret inspired an idea for the personality of another character.
And so it went on, with Hillerman meticulously observing, inspecting, listening, smelling his way to the completion of basic research for A Thief of Time. The novel earned international acclaim when it was published in 1988.
By the time I finished this essay I knew at least one of my impressions about Hillerman was true. Though he would have to work hard polishing his final manuscript for publication he thoroughly relished doing the research for it. He loved Navajo country and its people, the country satisfied something in his soul, and he wished to pay some kind of tribute to it in his books. He did just this.
Tony Hillerman died in 2008. I had known him but only slightly since the 1960s, through our activity in a writers’ club he organized and the gym we frequented in his last years. I would have delighted in more conversation with him, or being a “fly on the wall” during one of his visits to Navajo country -- perhaps to Mount Taylor, where the Navajos’ Blue Flint girl watches from her “house made of mist, house made of dawn.” In its way, New Mexico, Rio Grande, and Other Essays helps make up for this deficiency.
Earlier in this review I mentioned my continuing puzzlement about where I “belonged” – the persistent question of where I should commit myself to being a permanent, in-perpetuity resident. Would I stay in New Mexico or move close to my children and grandchildren in England? This book from Tony Hillerman reminded me of all the things, apart from my human friendships, that will very likely keep me in the "Land of Enchantment."
Just recently, at her 90th birthday party, I shared my quandary with another neighbor, Tooker Walton, and she smiled knowingly. A World War II aircraft engineer (for Curtiss Wright) and Army bride, she has travelled all over the world and is as sharp as a tack. “We’ve seen so many things,” she said, “and you know, we always came back to New Mexico.”
Funny, I thought, that’s just like me.
Displaying 1 of 1 review