McGuane is my favorite novelist, mining territory that hits uncomfortably close to my own ranching, adulterous bones. Setting aside Larry McMurtry's dissipated and puzzling "review" of this book in a recent NY Review of Books, this is one of McGuane's more problematic novels. It is also his most interesting work in 12 years. It does not rival his best (Nobody's Angel) in either grim power or wit. Nevertheless, all the familiar ingredients are there - New West profiteers, doomed marriages, snowstorms on the Absarokas, suicides, revenge, the dead father figure with the endless shadow, and the tiring intra-family struggle for power with a capital "P." Maybe because these ingredients are ever-present we are starting to take McGuane's bleak elegance for granted.
The novel sputters a bit in the thoroughly rendered but self-indulgent hardcore cowboy scenes where the dignified old hand culls sick cows and tends to the calfing and generally displays a wealth of ranching motherwit that the average reader will find indecipherable. Hell, I run cattle and I found it distracting! What more than makes up for it are the razor-sharp exchanges between the characters and the sharply drawn quiet moments that fill the book.
My Uncle Wade loved this book. Not that my Uncle Wade is particularly well-read - and when I was a kid he took me to the Wyoming - Colorado State game and made me wet myself at the Circle K as a distraction to the clerk while he shoplifted beef jerky and tobacco. But my Uncle Wade knows Western Gothic. For my own self, I will just say that if you've ever spent a few fevered hours with your brother's wife at a Super 8, inoculated livestock on a Friday night, or hit someone with a pool cue, you will like this book.