I went through a period in my late-20s where I read a ridiculous amount of what I call “masculinist fiction”. I believe it started in college when I read a nonfiction book by poet Robert Bly called “Iron John”, which posited that men had become sensitive pussies and needed to get back their “warrior/protector” instincts that had become stifled by feminism. As ridiculous and horrific as this sounds now, this book actually meant a lot to me then. I began to read a slew of “masculinist” writers like Norman Mailer, Philip Roth, and John Updike.
I was also reading a lot of crime/noir and westerns at the time. Writers like Robert B. Parker, Donald Westlake, Lawrence Block, Louis L’Amour, Zane Grey, and Elmore Leonard. It’s not coincidental.
I was attracted to the hard-core badassery of the predominantly male protagonists, mainly as a way to boost my own self-esteem and self-confidence when it came to women. My militant masculinism, in retrospect, wasn’t healthy (I was spending an inordinate amount of time in strip clubs and bars, smoking like a fiend, and thinking that telling a woman that she had a “great ass” was a perfectly normal ice-breaker), but it helped me, in a way, to shape the man that I am today. If only by helping to realize the kind of man that I wasn’t nor that I wanted to be.
This is why I haven’t picked up books by many of these writers for almost 20 years. In some cases, they belong to a different me that existed in a different time, a period that I call my long, dark 20s.
Not that I’m opposed to re-reading these authors. Many of them still hold a special place in my heart, most notably Parker, L’Amour, and Leonard: three authors, especially, that I felt exhibited a unique brand of contemporary chivalry in their male protagonists, one that wasn’t antithetical to the feminism that I believed in. Their heroes were tough and, occasionally, violent, but they weren’t dicks. (“Dicks” in the sense of callous assholes toward women as well as literal walking phalluses who had to insert themselves into any given situation just to show off their awesomeness.)
I recently picked up a paperback copy of Leonard’s “Valdez is Coming”, one of his many westerns that he wrote early in his career.
The hero of the novel, a lawman named Roberto Valdez, is a vintage Leonard hero: soft-spoken, contemplative, compassionate, but possessing a violent edge that isn’t immediately noticeable. It only manifests itself when he or someone that he believes is an innocent has been wronged.
When Valdez is called in to take down a murder suspect, he kills the man, only to find out afterwards that the man was innocent. Guilt-ridden, Valdez attempts to take up a collection of money as compensation for the dead man’s pregnant wife.
The townspeople, including the cattle magnate, Frank Tanner, ridicule him for the preposterous idea. They aren’t going to help the woman, and they certainly aren’t going to take orders from a dumb Mexican.
As with nearly all Leonard antagonists, the villains seriously underestimate the hero.
After Tanner’s men beat Valdez and leave him for dead in the middle of the desert, Valdez starts to get pissed off. In an act of desperation, Valdez kidnaps Tanner’s fiancee, a beautiful young woman named Gay Erin, as leverage to get the money for the pregnant woman. In the process, Valdez and Gay fall in love (also a common element in Leonard’s fiction), as Gay realizes that Valdez is a man of honor, as opposed to her fiancee, who is just an asshole.
And, of course, there is plenty of guns a’blazin’ in this one. Shootouts galore, with a final showdown—-as is de rigueur for any decent western.
“Valdez is Coming” also exhibits another common element in Leonard’s fiction: not-so-subtle commentary on race and racism. It was quite common for Leonard’s heroes to be Hispanic, Latino, or a Person of Color. His villains were often blatantly racist and often committed racially-motivated crimes.