Just finished With These Hands, a collection of stories also by L’Amour. The book opens with a rough-and-tumble boxing story. (I’ll make a confession right now: what little I know of boxing and street fighting, I learned as a very young girl from L’Amour. “Haymaker” and “Liverpool kiss”are probably not in the vocabulary of most eight-year-olds.) I like L’Amours books because in spite of themselves they feel plausible, probably because L’Amour drew from personal experience and his biography reads like one of his own novels. To summarize: He grew up in North Dakota and left home at 15, getting jobs as a seaman, lumberjack, elephant handler, and miner, among other things. He served in WWII, circled the world on a freighter, sailed a dhow on the Red Sea, was shipwrecked in the West Indies, and was stranded in the Mojave Desert. He won 51 out of 59 professional boxing matches, and he was a journalist and lecturer. Somewhere in there he found the time to amass a 10,000-book library, do extensive historical research, and write more than 100 books. He was every bit as colorful as one of his characters, and I can’t offhand think of anyone who lived a fuller life. In some ways I envy the people who lived just as history was turning the corner into modernity. They grew up with horses and buggies and died with space rockets; what must that have been like? But I think it must also have been sad, to see things that you loved changing and going away forever. Life was altering so quickly during that time, sometimes it must have felt as if there was nothing recognizable from your childhood at all. Adventure seemed so much easier to find back then; but perhaps I just haven’t been looking hard enough. : )