“Beautifully observed. . . This jewel of a book belongs on the shelf with our best Western writers—Norman MacLean, Pam Houston, and Annie Proulx.”—John Vaillant, bestselling author of The Tiger and The Golden Spruce From the award-winning author of Down from the Mountain , a memoir of inheritance, history, and one gun’s role in the violence that shaped the American West—and an impassioned call to forge a new way forward Bryce Andrews was raised to do no harm. The son of a pacifist and conscientious objector, he moved from Seattle to Montana to tend livestock and the land as a cowboy. For a decade, he was happy. Yet, when Andrews inherited his grandfather’s Smith & Wesson revolver, he felt the weight of the violence braided into his chosen life. Other white men who’d come before him had turned firearms like this one against wildlife, wilderness, and the Indigenous peoples who had lived in these landscapes for millennia. This was how the West was “won.” Now, the losses were all around him and a weapon was in his hand. In precise, elegiac prose, Andrews chronicles his journey to forge a new path for himself, and to reshape one handgun into a tool for good work. As waves of gun violence swept the country and wildfires burned across his beloved valley, he began asking questions—of ranchers, his Native neighbors, his family, and a blacksmith who taught him to shape steel—in search of a new way to live with the land and with one another. In laying down his arms, he transformed an inherited weapon, his ranch, and the arc of his life. Holding Fire is a deeply felt memoir of one Western heart’s wild growth, and a personal testament to how things that seem permanent—inheritance, legacies of violence, forged steel—can change.
As I read the first few chapters of this book a thought bounced around in my head, how was I going to tell my mother, the person who recommended it and loves it, I didn't like the book? How was I going to explain that I loved the idea of the book but it just didn't work for me. That I really wanted to like it but the way Andrews writes just doesn't work for me. But I kept reading and delaying what I thought was the inevitable awkward conversation. The more I read, the more I realized the preconceived notion I had of the book was wrong. I thought the arc of the Seattle kid turned Montana rancher would continue and Andrews would write about coming to terms with who he is. While there was some of that, it didnt seem that important to Andrews or really anyone else in the book. What mattered to him and the people he encountered in his journey was the effort he put in to doing what he felt was important. Taking risks and working through discomfort make whatever is achieved all the more worthwhile. Of the many topics he discusses in the book, there is acknowledgement that to make true progress takes work, hard work.
One of the threads of the book that I enjoyed the most was his growing to be comfortable in being different. By the end of the book you can tell that he takes pride in the fact that he doesn't fit into the mold of the typical Montana rancher, environmental conservationist, or pacifist. You can feel his admiration for people like Jeffrey Funk. A man who sounds like he is the type of person that venerates hard work, is not afraid to yell, or unafraid to tell someone where they went wrong. But is also to unafraid to seem different by gleefully swinging his legs while sitting on an anvil. That is the kind of person Andrews admires and strives to be.
This book is many things, a sort of mid-life memoir, a coming to terms with his past, lessons in life, and the authors thoughts on topics like gun control, climate change, hunting and farming. What I connected with the most, though, was the idea that its ok to not fit the mold. Try something different, think of a new way, and accept that you can't change what has happened but you can do something different going forward. I expected none of those things in what I thought was a book about ranching, guns and the rugged west.
I’d read the author’s two previous books. I thought the title was about wildfires in the West. It’s not. It’s about the culture of guns and violence, although the wildfires make an appearance at the end of the book.
Bryce recounts his exposure to guns as a city boy visiting Montana during the summer and transitions to hunting for the first time and concerns or fears for his safety as he’s working unarmed in remote valleys inhabited by lions, wolves, and bears. Soon though his father, who was a conscientious objector during the Vietnam War, gives him his grandfather’s .357 Smith&Wesson Magnum pistol. He feels safe now but he’s also plagued by thoughts of self destruction. He decides to turn the weapon into something else but is torn as it’s a connection to his grandfather. He’s plagued by guilt over what his ancestors have done to the world. Guilt over destroying a legacy of his grandfather, a WWII veteran. Then we are into the weeds of blacksmithing as he consults with the sage and guru of artisanal blacksmithing on how to turn his gun into a farm implement- a combination hoe and pick.
I grew up without guns and don’t own any despite having served thirty years in the Marines. I’d have a hard time doing what he did to basically a “relic” of his grandfather.
As always another introspective glimpse into man and nature.
I really enjoyed Bryce’s first two books, but this one was a miss for me. It felt like a collection of ideas that could’ve been separate essays instead of a memoir. I also couldn’t get passed that he speaks in detail about climate change, but then in one part of the book he burns actual coal to fire his forge. A bit hypocritical. Was this book written to fulfill a contractual obligation? Kinda feels like it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
I love Andrew’s as a writer and a thinker. His meditations on the conflict between mankind and nature are thoughtful and heartfelt. This particular stab at meaningful reflection didn’t capture me as his others have.
From the award-winning author of Down from the Mountain , a memoir of inheritance, history, and one gun’s role in the violence that shaped the American West—and an impassioned call to forge a new way forward Bryce Andrews was raised to do no harm. The son of a pacifist and conscientious objector, he moved from Seattle to Montana to tend livestock and the land as a cowboy. For a decade, he was happy. Yet, when Andrews inherited his grandfather’s Smith & Wesson revolver, he felt the weight of the violence braided into his chosen life. Other white men who’d come before him had turned firearms like this one against wildlife, wilderness, and the Indigenous peoples who had lived in these landscapes for millennia. This was how the West was “won.” Now, the losses were all around him and a weapon was in his hand. In precise, elegiac prose, Andrews chronicles his journey to forge a new path for himself, and to reshape one handgun into a tool for good work. As waves of gun violence swept the country and wildfires burned across his beloved valley, he began asking questions—of ranchers, his Native neighbors, his family, and a blacksmith who taught him to shape steel—in search of a new way to live with the land and with one another. In laying down his arms, he transformed an inherited weapon, his ranch, and the arc of his life. Holding Fire is a deeply felt memoir of one Western heart’s wild growth, and a personal testament to how things that seem permanent—inheritance, legacies of violence, forged steel—can change.
Can't remember how I came across this book, but I think it was drawn to it because of the discussions of guns in the American West--there's a certain romanticism to it but the violence, loss, etc. is not discussed as much. And while I have never lived in Montana, I have visited and have done some work on it for professional reasons. Plus his story of moving from Seattle to Montana was intriguing: I know people who have done similar moves (although not across states).
In the first part of the book, Andrews talks about his experiences and eventually as the experiences of inheriting his grandfather's gun as to what it means, its history, etc. Eventually he melts down the gun to become something different. Interesting idea, but also odd, to be honest.
Which, overall, is how I would describe the book. Like others, I also thought that wildfires would play a larger role in the book with the discussion re: climate change and the title, etc. It seemed like it was a bunch of things at once: a memoir, a discussion of gun violence, climate change and wildfires, life in Montana, etc.
This book certainly has some interest for some people, but in the end, it also felt very specific. It read a bit like a journal and/or a book where the author was trying to get his issues out--maybe this was one of those things that would have been better sorted out in therapy.
I bought this as a bargain book and that was best for me. I'd consider this skippable, though.
This memoir, written in spare and exquisite prose, is a jewel in the library of literature on America's West. It is the author's journey to square with his chosen place in the Montana landscape, with its history of violence against the environment and its original Indigenous inhabitants, and its present struggles with a warming, forest-burning climate. Andrews struggle manifests through his choice to reforge a valuable Smith & Wesson revolver, an inherited gift from his grandfather, into a different tool--a spade designed for tree planting which he uses to restore a small glade of forest where wildlife thrive and his baby daughter will find shade on our warming planet. While the gun represents an inheritance Andrews never sought, and ties to ancestors who were part of America's cruel and destructive history in the West, he finds himself haunted by a certain responsibility to the object. Andrews' decision to reshape the revolver is a striking symbol for his courage to take responsibility to break from a history of violence and exist in a more enduring way in the world.
I received this book as a Goodreads giveaway. In his memoir “Holding Fire,” Bryce Andrews confronts the violence and guilt of past generations personified on on a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum revolver that he inherits from his grandfather.But the more Andrews lived with the gun, the more it led him to realize the destruction caused by violence. Ultimately, in a grand and philosophically charged adventure, Andrews decided to make it into something nonlethal, which required him to learn the skills of a blacksmith. He did so under the tutelage of a merry nonconformist whose every movement and word “told me something about how a person ought to live.”
Bryce Andrews' intention is for readers to take a hard look at their personal myths and how those stories relate to violence. to accomplsih that his book is both a sensible contribution to the literature of the American West—and responsible gun ownership.
Not because of anything about guns. There is one at the center of this memoir, creatively. And some facts about guns in this country, but really just one man's feelings about firearms and the pistol inherited from his grandfather.
Read it about hunting. Some wonderful and honest passages here.
Read it to understand ranching and the way of life for ranchers in Montana. The good, the bad and more and back to this memoir's author and what it means to him.
Read about the wildlife of Montana and the American West.
Read about how the white settlers conquered the West and then what?, and where things have gone from there.
Read how one fine writer and person is processing all of this in the context of what to do with that gun, his land and more.
All in under 250 magical wonderfully written pages.
Bryce Andrew’s memoir is about ranching, small scale farming, and blacksmithing in Montana. It’s also a criticism of the careless way the American west was won and developed, and how this continues today. He fully embraced ranching for awhile, enjoying the harsh challenges. Later it seemed the influence of his parents, a pacifist and an artist broke into his thinking. A lot of the book deals with his feelings about a revolver his grandfather gave him. At times, if threatened somehow, he’s happy to have it. At other times he seems to believe the gun itself is a threat. Eventually he learns blacksmithing from a very cool teacher, and fashions the gun into a spade/hoe tool to plant seedlings at the small farm he now owns and works. The author is painfully idealistic, but probably more of us should join him. Also his writing is pretty elegant for a farmer/amatur blacksmith. Worth reading.
I loved the first half and last chapter of this book. Andrew's ability to exist as an interloper who throws his entire self into the idea of what we see as the American West is fascinating. He wrestles with the how and why the land was changed. How the western hunter has impacted the fauna. Why we choose to live where we do (if we are lucky enough to do so). Through his grappling with his own identity in the sweeping western expanse, the reader is forced to examine their own relationships with their surroundings - western or not. Truly some beautiful stuff. You can miss me with the blacksmithing and handwringing about an heirloom though. I understand and appreciate how it fits with the overall theme Andrew is going for - just wasn't nearly as engaging. Interested to read his grizzly bear book though.
This was a very well written exploration of our relationship with the history and future of the American West.
Here is a quote that resonated with me.
"My friend Germaine talked once about the importance of noticing and cultivating the reciprocal relationship between humans and the rest of the world. She said: "Reciprocity is not the same as sustainability, which has to do with how much you can take from nature, or a place, without it falling completely apart. There are good things about that attitude--or, at least, it's an improvement over taking everything without thinking of the consequences, but there are ways it misses the point... The question then becomes: What can I give back? What can I do to take care of the place that feeds and shelters me? That's a very different approach than asking: How much can I sustainably take?""
Maybe I wasn't as engaged with the audiobook as I could have been with a hard copy reading, but this felt quite meandering overall. I also mistakenly thought it was about wildfires when I first started it. Maybe I would have felt more connected to the author's story if I had read his other books first. His reflections on guns were quite unsettling, as were his descriptions of creatures killed with guns. The pictures add to the effect of the reforging story, and I did like how he tied the appreciation and care for the land into the legacy with his baby. Overall, it was an interesting read and makes me want to visit that part of the West even more.
I enjoyed the sense of space and aspects of western vastness some of the writing conveyed. The feeling that the natural world is cherishable and in need of a particular kind of care and spirit felt authentic. What felt forced and performative was sowing too much significance and far too much page space to the gun. The notion of transformation of people/place/values through that one object was too long and too borderline pretentious. One short piece in a magazine would have been ample for the story of the gun, and a second essay on the author’s evolving person and place in world amid the expansive, beautiful and burdensome west would have been a better fit tact.
The second name of the book carries the core of what we would read: A Reckoning with the American West.
The first half of the short book of the has many good pieces about the life in the West of our country. But the end of the book aligns with those who want to keep the way we deal with books.
In the early chapters, we get some themes that show that our country can keep guns out of people’s homes, cars, and hands.
This is a beautifully written memoir of one man's journey from loving the myth of the American West, to working in the west, through becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the contradictions between what the American West is (including how it became what it is and the consequences for the future) and his own values. By the end of the book, though obviously not Andrews' story, he has worked out a way to live his values, doing what he can to make a difference in his corner of the world.
Holding Fire is a well-told memoir in which Bryce Andrews examines his (and by extension our) relationships with land, animals, Indigenous people and guns. A substantial portion of the book deals with his dilemma over what to do with a Smith & Wesson revolver he inherited from his grandfather. I can't say that his solution will inspire any imitators but I found the process and his mother's photographs of it to be interesting.
I won a copy of this one in a Goodreads Giveaway. I have to say that it really wasn't my cup of tea. This was a different approach to writing a memoir, and the information that the author chose to share felt weirdly specific to them, like they were telling this to a grandkid or something, as opposed to the integration of a larger experience that could convey information to many.
I enjoyed this book. It chronicles one man's growth and evolution while living in Western Montana. If more people felt like him, the challenge of climate change would be easier to meet. This man has a good heart and grows into acting in harmony with it.
I'm not a picky reader, but this book definitely wasn't for me. I don't believe that people are responsible for the sins of their ancestors, which is a big part of this book. I understand wanting to make the world better, but this seemed like a very dramatic take on that.
Very appealing... Andrews can write beautifully. Very interesting reflections on the past and how to dealwith it. I received this book from goodreads and am leaving a review as to what I thought of it. Not the kind of book I normally read but I enjoy it and will read more by this author.
I think we'd all be better off with more mountain-top ceremonies in the middle of a cold night. And with more of this sort of nuanced reckoning with the legacies we've inherited and are in the process of creating. Really beautiful written, personally touching and broadly inspiring.
Probably could have just been a long essay, but I'm glad I read it! In the category of "white people trying to do better." Some nice passages about ecological restoration which I appreciated
The author tells a little about our country's history with the Native Americans and the west as he sees it from his experiences in Montana. He seems to feel a deep responsibility for the past and how the settlers treated the people and the land. He is trying in his own way to make some amends for that which is admirable. He has a good writing style. Thanks for the free book.