#god said it’s my duty to think hard and long about cowboys from a single film

[orangesnail]

You ever think about how Vasquez probably fell asleep so easily in that canyon was because he’s been used to lightly sleeping and watching out for himself, on edge always, but with others around, he can finally relax and rest properly?

#explodes violently #god said it’s my duty to think hard and long about cowboys from a single film #she speaks #Vasquez #mag7 #the magnificent seven 2016 #tm7

[docholligay]

The End of the Chuck-Line Rider

Hello! I wrote this for @rhiorhino, a McCree fic, as she is the only one who has ever commissioned me for McCree. I hope you like it, it gave me some trouble, but I think it turned out with some merit. It takes place after McCree rejoins my Overwatch, and you can find where it is in the fics here. About 2400 words. 

Jesse McCree had spent the whole of his life bouncing from job to job, group to group, and it was the same in the city. He rode the line out to Brixton and Whitechapel and Poplar, sure as he’d bounced from Deadlock to Blackwatch to Talon. 

But sometimes he got tired of the bouncing, and he went to Winston’s house. 

Winston’s house was more than just a house, was why. A large, expansive place that had once been a warehouse, it should be grey and gloomy still surrounded by other warehouses, but Tracer, long before she had any capacity as commander, before there even was a second Overwatch, had painted it in lovely cheerful colors, and planted a few rows of flowers around the front stairs. It was a strange sight in the middle of the industrial park, lacking a quality of covertness one might have expected from the place.

For you see, it housed more than just Winston’s couch. It housed his lab, Mercy’s exam rooms and medical center, it housed arms lockers and a garage for D.va to tinker with her mech. Pharah had made herself busy digging out the bottom of the place to make a training room.

And it was for this reason that McCree felt he could be there. It was a sort of satellite headquarters for Overwatch, even if the official office was above some sort of fry shop off Well Street. He was a member of Overwatch, and the dog tags that clinked at his chest were proof of that. So he was allowed to be here, and when he tired of his tiny room, and of wandering around the city, he came here.

Winston had not yet discovered a way to keep him out of the kitchen, as it happened to be the only kitchen in the place, wide and generously spaced as the rest of the house, built for Winston and tolerated for McCree.

He was rubbing his gun idly as he sat there, drinking the coffee that bubbled out of Mercy’s housewarming gift to Winston that had probably been more than a little self serving. Pharah couldn’t hardly get mad at him for firearm safety, he thought as he pushed the brush through the bore.

How many times had he cleaned his gun in the past few months? He’d barely had the opportunity to shoot it, on Overwatch’s side, but still he cleaned it, a good habit. A good habit that got him out of the house.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for his small place across the river and down the way. He’d had a hard enough time finding anything he could afford, not to mention a place that would let him have his cats. And he wasn’t giving up his boys, just so he could have a little bit more comfort, no sir. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t quite that kind of man, to give them up after all they’d taken him through.

Mercy had suggested that Tracer had an extra bed in her home, and McCree hadn’t been dumb enough to ask her if he could stay, not when he was shooting daggers at him with her eyes, on account of she wasn’t allowed to shoot actual bullets at him with her gun.

So he was grateful, after all, for the tiny place he’d found, but it was still a single room with a microwave and a tiny cube of a fridge, with a tile floor and barely enough space for the cat tree.

And so sometimes he cleaned his gun at Winston’s.

The thing about Winston’s is that people came in and out of it, looking at him with various levels of suspicion and regret. He tried not to notice. He noticed anyway. Ashe had often said he had too much of a conscience to be in the Deadlock Gang. Yael had retorted that Ashe was the only one without one, before adding the venomous “rich kid” to the end of the sentence.

McCree had always chuckled when she said that. Until he heard his name said with that same venom, flecked off everyone’s teeth, everywhere.

A high ding rang out over the kitchen.

Tracer walked into the room, bouncing as she walked and humming happily to herself, till she caught sight of McCree, slowing and focusing her as if she’d hit a brick wall. She did not take her eyes off of him as she removed a mug from the cabinet, her canister of tea from next to the kettle, and then, just as quickly, snapped her head back to the task at hand, pouring the boiling water into the bright cup.

“We’re together on the next go round, you know.” McCree looked down the barrel of his gun, the oil from cleaning it filling Winston’s kitchen with its perfume.

She continued making her tea, with no response, pouring a bit of cream as her sloth tea infuser smiled out at McCree, the only one happy to see him.

“Tracer.”

She did not look up. “‘Eard you.”

It had been months since he’d been captured, since he’d decided to defect, since Mercy had passionately argued, using a religion none of them believed in but all felt strangely compelled by on the back of Mercy’s belief, that he should be allowed, that he should have a change to be something different and new.

We wiped down the edge of the barrel. “Think we should, you know, run a drill, maybe? Might be a solid idea to get some sense of the other.”

Tracer reached for the sugar bowl. “Know ‘ow you fight.”

Mercy was the only one who thought of him as a member of the team, if he was being honest. Pharah regarded him with suspicion. Winston hated him passionately, and wasn’t afraid to say so. Dva didn’t seem to care either way, and would tell you that if you asked her, but she somehow forgot to invite him to her apartment for dinners and games with the others.  

Even Jack and Ana got invited to those.

He gave a weak grin and inclined his chin to her. “I mean, you’re the boss.”

She spun around quickly, somehow not spilling a drop of her tea, moving her hand with the motion of her body, practiced in all the ways she moved, and gave a smirk and a nod. “S’right, McCree, I am. See that you don’t forget it.”

But somehow it was Tracer who surprised him the most, a woman he would have said previously didn’t know how to hold grudge, who often joked she didn’t have the attention span for it but who had managed to gather it up to hate McCree. Tracer, who had mostly ignored the divide between Overwatch and Blackwatch, whatever Ana told her to do, who’d taken McCree out to his first gay club and laughed all the while. Tracer who now spoke to him only in snaps, for months.

There was a small part of him that was done with it, and it aimed forward.

“S’true, but,” He set down his gun and crossed his arms “Now Lena, we gotta--”

Tracer slammed her mug onto the countertop, tea spilling out the top of it, sloth tea infuser thrown off the edge of the mug and onto the stone, even his back to McCree, now.

“You SHOT me, Jesse!” Her eyes glowed with hot fire, willing and ready to answer the volley. “And you shot me to kill me! Near succeeded, too, you did, and wouldn’t that ‘ave been a lovely day for you, right? I don’t ‘gotta’ do nothing!”

McCree looked down into his coffee, watching the thin ribbon of cream he occasionally allowed himself circle around aimlessly in the dark.

He knew the feeling.

It would be impossible to explain to Tracer that it wouldn’t have been a lovely day for him, that he felt the full weight of regret like a fifty pound sack of flour the second he’d heard her cry out, the moment he saw the glitter off her blood in the moonlight. He’d thought it was the right thing, but it had been the wrong thing, and his gut had known that, same as Yael said it would. That he’d felt a wave of relief when Reaper had growled that she was still alive, that he had fucked it up, in the way this time at least.

But everything else she said was true, and Tracer had only spoken the truth into the light. That he’d shot her. That he’d shot to kill. And he would have to live with her hatred for the rest of his life, with Winston’s hatred, with everyone’s hatred. He’d made his bed, and now he had to sleep in it, and that was the god’s honest truth.

Tracer stared at him cold, daring him to defend himself, daring him to say anything at all, and he found himself unable to meet her gaze directly. She’d become a commander, in these ensuing years, and not just by title. Her back was straighter, her voice was clearer, and she did not look away.

“I--” He scrambled for a thing to say, trying to quiet the small voice inside of him that said he deserved another chance, that punishment enough had been meted out, that it was a commander’s duty to correct but either correct him and let it be done or send him on his way. The larger part of him, that part that knew what he’d done, fell upon that voice like a wave. “I’m, you know, I apologize.”

“Jesse.” She said very softly, wiping down the counter with a napkin.

“Yah?”

“I’m going to ‘it you in about, oh, one second, most like.”

“What the--”

He did not have time to finish the sentence before a mug came sailing at his face. He raised his arm, and barely blocked it, but the surprise of it caught him, and he stood up, tumbling backward into the wall. His gun was ripped from his hand and scattered across the kitchen floor, and McCree barely had time to worry that Tracer had knocked his gun out of timing before he felt the volley of her fists into his body.

He grabbed out for her, but there was only a small blue light where she had been and a fierce whack across the back of his head. Less than a second. The accelerator she wore every day gave her less than a second of movement.

It was enough, he reflected, as his nose cracked against a tiny fist, and she knew how to use it. The blood spewed out of his nose, and he reflexively grabbed for it, his other arm throwing out a wild punch in the hopes of finding her, but the most he felt was the graze of cotton that was the edge of her shirt. God, but she was fast. He wasn’t used to fighting someone like her, he was a barroom brawler and a one gun cowboy, and her heard her spring off the table ust in enough time to barely shield himself from the full force of her body on top of him, bring them both to the floor.

It seemed to last forever, but it could not have been half a minute before he heard Pharah’s voice, shouting above the sound of McCree’s head slamming to the floor, and the force of a knee falling into his chest.

“Ya rab! Hey!” He felt the knee lift from his chest, “Tracer!” and as he rolled over onto his belly and blinked around, he saw Tracer, her arms firmly held by Pharah, “You cannot do this! Not like this!”

“No, Fareeha!” She pulled away from her, “Tired of being bloody FUCKING told I’m not permitted to get the slightest bit angry over ‘im coming back into the fold, on account of your wife decided it was okay to the ‘ole lot of us!”

“Lena!”

“Let me ‘andle it!” She stomped her foot, as if she were an enraged toddler. “‘E TRIED TO KILL ME!”

“I know!” Pharah sighed, and took a breath. “I was there. It was horrible. I do not blame--”

“Makes no never mind to me.” McCree grumbled. “I had it coming, think we all know that.” He looked up at her through an already-swelling eye. ‘We square, or you not have your pound a flesh?”

It felt good, he would have said, if he had allowed himself to say such things. He wanted to handle it this way , too. That as different as he and Tracer could be, they both had a clear understanding of the fact that sometimes diplomacy didn’t work, and sometimes the only way to let bygones be was to pay it out in blood. That this was the most hopeful he’d felt since joining.

Pharah nodded. “I will get Angela. You will need care.”

She hurried away, Tracer still leaning against the edge of the countertop, arms crossed, the blue of her shirt peppered with blood that McCree was pretty sure was all his. He didn’t remember landing a hit.

He grinned up at her, still tasting the iron of it. “Good training, Commander.”

She gave a weak chuckle. “Fuck, Jesse.” She walked toward him, and extended a hand. “Come on then.”

He looked up. “You gonna hit me again?”

She smiled, and he felt his shoulders relax. “Not today. Most like.”

He took her hand, and as she pulled him up, she paused for a second by his hear. “Promise you this, you ever walk toward Talon again, it’s the last thing you ever do.”

He appreciated knowing what a man can do, and what a man can’t do, and Tracer was good at making that plain. She’d make good on the promise. She kept promises.

McCree straightened up. “Understood.” he went to tip his hat only to realize it wasn’t there, and awkwardly saluted, “Commander Oxton.”

Tracer looked around the kitchen, and put her hands on her hips. “All right then, clean this up,” She shrugged, “guess that’s the lot of it. Hm,” she looked at the floor, “broke me mug.”

McCree grabbed the broom and mop, and when he turned around, Tracer was offering him a handkerchief.

#HON HON HON #Thank you for reading #!!

[kasiopeiae]

Make Tea, Not War.

to save you the trouble of asking, no i am NOT writing a part 2

#harry styles writing #harry styles request #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry writing #harry request #harry one shot #harry oneshot #requests filled

[lanadelreyfiles-blog]

Lana Del Rey: Wild At Heart ‘Is this the mysterious Lana Del Rey?’ — set to release her era-defining fifth LP, pop's dream-queen shoots the LA breeze with grunge hellraiser Courtney Love. Editor's Note: This interview has been condensed from the print edition. Courtney Love’s gravelly voice is unmistakable on the line next to Lana Del Rey’s syrupy sing-song: “Is this the one and only Courtney Love?” It’s been a while since any of us has heard from Del Rey. She’s calling Love from her home in California a few weeks after releasing “Love”, the booming, lounge-y first single off her upcoming fifth studio album, Lust for Life. Although Del Rey’s last record, Honeymoon, was released only a year and a half ago, that particular span has felt like forever. An anti-anthem of sorts, “Love” takes into account turbulent times, offering commiseration as opposed to call-to-action. Lines like “the world is yours and you can’t refuse it” slip under a ringing chorus that proclaims, “You get ready, you get all dressed up to go nowhere in particular.” The video rockets a group of teenagers, current-day devices in hand, to a vintage-rendered outer space. It’s a message that could easily be mistaken for nihilism. A month earlier, though, Del Rey pre-empted criticism by Instagramming the Nina Simone quote, “An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned, is to reflect the times.” Which is perhaps what Del Rey does best. Lust for Life could be called the next chapter in a long-running investigation into era-non-specific youth qualifiers that started with the self-directed video for her breakout single, “Video Games”. That song perfectly crystallised a mood and a moment, splicing an at-home aesthetic heretofore only found in webcam vlogs with imagery of a 1950s red carpet, an iPod billboard, and Paz de la Huerta falling in front of paparazzi. While Del Rey often insists that she’s lost in reverie, obsessed by the past, her music is a poignant reflection of a generation that continues to resist expectations. It’s a study, too, of femininity in general. For isn’t womanhood itself, she appears to ask, steeped in anachronism? Both Lana Del Rey and Courtney Love write about irresistible institutions – Hollywood, mainstream acceptance and powerful men. The heartbreaking twist of each narrative is that the singers will always be outside the circles they describe desiring. While Love deftly played the unfiltered outsider as frontwoman with Hole through the 90s, in the age of infinite footnotes, Del Rey has taken up the role of oblivious misfit, more prone to a pout than a scream. Two decades apart in age, similarities between the two women (who played eight shows together in 2015 for Del Rey’s Endless Summer tour) are irrefutable. What if Love had come of age when Del Rey did, when every professional move she made was documented on Wikipedia within moments? Or if Del Rey grew up in a time when she would have to petition for music reviews, even as the wife of a huge rock star? Would one more closely resemble the other? Either way, each has become a Cassavetes-esque tragic figure in her performed world, toeing the line between outlying cult hero and revered pop star. “People ask me about musical similarities between our stuff,” Del Rey says to Love, who is calling from a movie set in Vancouver. “I just know it’s the kind of music I listen to all the time: when I’m driving, or when I’m alone, or when I’m with friends.” You can buy a copy of Dazed’s latest issue here. Taken from the spring/summer issue.

Lana Del Rey: So, we could just talk about whatever... Like those burning palm trees that you had in the ‘Malibu’ video. I didn’t think they were real! Courtney Love: Back when rock’n’roll had budget, you mean? Oh my God, Lana, setting palm trees on fire was so fun. You thought they were CGI? LDR: Yeah. CL: God, you’re so young. I burned down palm trees. In my day, darling, you used to have to walk to school in the snow. So, since I toured with you, I got kind of obsessed and went down this Lana rabbit hole and became – not like I’m wearing a flower crown, Lana, don’t get ideas – but I absolutely love it. I love it as much as I love PJ Harvey. LDR: That’s amazing because, maybe it’s slightly well documented, but I love everything you do, everything you have done – I couldn’t believe that you came on the tour with me. CL: I read that you spend a lot of time mastering and mixing. Is that true on this new record? LDR: Oh my God, yeah, it’s killing me. It’s because I spend so much time with the engineers working on the reverb. Because I actually don’t love a glossy production. If I want a bit of that retro feel, like that spring reverb or that Elvis slap, sometimes if you send it to an outside mixer they might try and dry things up a bit and push them really hard on top of the mix so it sounds really pop. And Born to Die did have a slickness to it, but, in general, I have an aversion to things that sound glossy all over – you have to pick and choose. And some people say, ‘It’s not radio-ready if it isn’t super-shiny from top to bottom.’ But you know this. Whoever mixed your stuff is a genius. Who did it? CL: Chris Lord-Alge and Tom Lord-Alge. Kurt was really big on mastering. He sat in every mastering session like a fiend. I never was big on mastering because it’s such a pain in the butt. LDR: It is a pain in the ass. CL: I think my very, very favourite song of yours – you’re not gonna like this because it’s early – is ‘Blue Jeans’. I mean, ‘You’re so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer’? Who does that? LDR: I have to say, that track has this guy (Del Rey collaborator) Emile Haynie all over it. I remember ‘Blue Jeans’ was more of a Chris Isaak ballad and then I went in with him and it came out sounding the way it does now. I was like, ‘That’s the power of additional production.’ The song was on the radio in the UK, on Radio 1, and I remember thinking, ‘Fuck, that started off as a classical composition riff that I got from my composer friend, Dan Heath.’ It was, like, six chords that I started singing on. CL: You have that lyric (on the song), ‘You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop.’ Did you really grow up on hip hop? LDR: I didn’t find any good music until I was right out of high school, and I think that was just because, coming from the north country, we got country, we got NPR, and we got MTV. So Eminem was my version of hip-hop until I was 18. Then mayb I found A Tribe Called Quest. CL: Have you met Marshall Mathers? LDR: No. Sometimes he namechecks me in his songs. I called the head of my label (Interscope CEO) John Janick and I was like 'OK in this last song (Big Sean's "No Favors") when Eminem says 'I'm about to run over a chick, Del Rey CD in’. Did he mean he wanted to run me over or was he listening to me while he ran someone over?'. And John was like, 'No, no he was listening to you while he ran someone over' and I was 'Ok, cool.' CL: You got namechecked by Eminem? oh my god that is a jewel in the crown. LDR: Just a little ruby. CL: Yeah, it's not really a diamond, but it's a ruby. LDR: Not like touring with Courtney Love. That's like an Elizabeth Taylor diamond. CL: You know, I met Elizabeth Taylor. I was with Carrie Fisher at (Taylor’s) Easter party and she was taking six hours to come downstairs. LDR: I love it. CL: I looked at Carrie and I said, ‘This is not worth it,’ and Carrie said, ‘Oh, yes it is.’ So we snuck upstairs and, Lana, when you go past the Warhol of Elizabeth Taylor as you’re sneaking up the stairs and it says ‘001’, you start getting goosebumps. And then you see her room and it’s all lavender, like her eyes. And she’s in the bathroom getting her hair done by this guy named José Eber who wears a cowboy hat and has long hair, and I’m like, ‘What am I doing here? I’m not Hollywood royalty.’ And the first words out of her mouth are, like, ‘Fuck you, Carrie, how ya doin’?’ She was so salty but such a goddess at the same time. LDR: She was so salty. The fact that she married Richard Burton twice – and all the stories you hear about those famous, crazy, public brawls – she was just up for it. Up for the trouble. CL: So back to you. What I hear in your music is that you’ve created a world, you’ve created a persona, and you’ve created this kind of enigma that I never created but if I could go back I would create. LDR: Are you even being serious right now? I don’t even know if your legacy could get any bigger. You’re one of the only people I know whose legacy precedes them. Just the name ‘Courtney Love’ is… You’re big, honey. You’re Hollywood. (laughs). CL: You know what, darling? I started real early. I started stalking Andy Warhol before I could even think about it. And you kind of did the same, from my understanding. That ‘I want to make it’ thing. And there’s nothing wrong with that. LDR: No, there’s not. There’s nothing wrong with it when you do the rest of it for the right reasons. If music is really in your blood and you don’t want to do anything else and you don’t really care about the money until later. It’s also about the vibe, not to be cliched. And the people. I think we had that in common. It was about wanting to go to shows, wanting to have your own show – living, breathing, eating, all of it. CL: Can I ask you about your time in New Jersey? Was that a soul-searching time? LDR: Oh, I don’t even know if I should have said to anyone that I was living in that trailer in New Jersey but, stupidly, I did this interview from the trailer, in 2008. CL: I saw it! LDR: It’s cringey, it’s cringey. (laughs) CL: You look so cute, though. LDR: I thought I was rockabilly. I was platinum. I thought I had made it in my own way. CL: I understand completely. LDR: The one thing I wish I’d done was go to LA instead of New York. I had been playing around for maybe four years, just open mics, and I got a contract with this indie label called 5 Points Records in 2007. They gave me $10,000 and I found this trailer in New Jersey, across the Hudson - Bergen Light Rail. So, I moved there, I finished school and I made that record (Lana Del Ray a.k.a. Lizzy Grant), which was shelved for two and a half years, and then came out for, like, three months. But I was proud of myself. I felt like I had arrived, in my own way. I had my own thought and it was kind of kitschy and I knew it was going to sort of influence what I was doing next. It was definitely a phase. (laughs) CL: But you have records about being a ‘Brooklyn Baby’. You can write about New York adeptly and I cannot. I tried to write a song about a tragic girl in New York, going down Bleecker Street – this girl couldn’t afford Bleecker Street, so the song made no sense, right? (laughs) I did my time there, but it chased me away. I couldn’t do it because I wouldn’t go solo. I had to have a band. LDR: I wanted a band so badly. I feel like I wouldn’t have had some of the stage fright I had when I started playing bigger shows if (I had) a real group and we were in it together. I really wanted that camaraderie. I actually didn’t even find that until a couple of years ago, I would say. I’ve been with my band for six years and they’re great, but I wished I had people – I fantasised about Laurel Canyon. CL: I wanted the camaraderie. The alternative bands in my neighbourhood were the (Red Hot Chili) Peppers and Jane’s (Addiction). I knew Perry (Farrell, Jane’s Addiction frontman) and I went to high school for, like, ten seconds with two Peppers and a guy named Romeo Blue who became Lenny Kravitz. I remember being an extra in a Ramones video and he stopped by, when he was dating Lisa Bonet from The Cosby Show and it was a big deal. LDR: See? You didn’t really see that in New York. When I got there, The Strokes had had a moment, but that was kind of it. LA has always been the epicentre of music, I feel. CL: LA is easier. People have garages. And then as you go up the coast, in Washington and Oregon people have bigger houses and bigger garages, and people have parents. I didn’t have parents, and you – well, you had parents, but you were on your own. LDR: Yeah. You know that song of yours (‘Awful’) that says, ‘(Just shut up,) you’re only 16’? I think there are different types of people. There are people who heard, ‘What do you know? You’re just a kid,’ and then there are people who got a lot of support (from the line), like, ‘Go for it, go for your dreams.’ (laughs) And I think when you don’t have that, you get kind of stuck at a certain age. Randomly, in the last few years, I feel like I’ve grown up. Maybe I’ve just had time to think about everything, process everything. I’ve gotten to move on and think about how it feels now, singing songs I wrote ten years ago. It does feel different. I was almost reliving those feelings on stage until recently. It’s weird listening back to my stuff. Today, I was watching some of your old videos and this footage of you playing a big festival. The crowd was just girls – just young girls for rows and rows. I was reminded of how vast that influence was on teenagers. And – going back to enigma and fame and legacy – you know, those girls who have grown up and girls who are 16 now, they relate to you in the exact same way as they did right when you started. And that’s the power of your craft. You’re one of my favourite writers. CL: You’re one of mine, so, checkmate. (laughs) LDR: What you did was the epitome of cool. And there’s a lot of different music going on, but adolescents still know when something comes authentically from somebody’s heart. It might not be the song that sells the most, but when people hear it, they know it. Are you a John Lennon fan? CL: When I hear ‘Working Class Hero’, it’s a song I wish to God I could write. I wouldn’t ever cover it. I mean, Marianne Faithfull covered it beautifully, but I would never cover it because I think Marianne did a great job and that’s all that needs to be said. LDR: I felt that way when I covered ‘Chelsea Hotel (#2)’, the Leonard Cohen song, but when I was doing more acoustic shows, I couldn’t not do it. CL: I don’t have your range. I’ve tried to sing along to ‘Brooklyn Baby’ and ‘Dark Paradise’ and this new one, ‘Love’. You go high, baby. LDR: I’ve got some good low ones for you. You know what would be good, is that song, ‘Ride’. I don’t sing it in its right octave during the shows because it’s too low for me. But I’ve been thinking about doing something with you for a little while now. Then after we did the Endless Summer tour, we were thinking we should at least write, or we should just do whatever and maybe you could come down to the studio and just see what came out. CL: When we were on tour, our pre-show chats were very productive for me. LDR: Me too. That was a real moment of me counting my blessings. I just wanted to stay in every single moment and remember all of it, because it was so amazing. CL: Likewise. It was really fun coming into your room. My favourite part of the tour was in Portland, getting you vinyl that I felt you needed. (laughs) LDR: When you left the room, I was just running my hand over all the vinyl like little gems, like, ‘I can’t believe I have these (records) that Courtney gave to me, it’s so fucking amazing.’ And we were in Portland, too. It felt surreal. CL: Yeah, I don’t like going there much but I went there with you. We have this in common, too: we both ran away to Britain. If I could live anywhere in the world, I’d live in London. LDR: If I could live anywhere in the world other than LA, I’d live in London. In the back of my mind, I always feel like I could maybe end up there. CL: I know I’m going to end up there. I know what neighbourhood I’m going to end up in, and I know that I want to be on the Thames. I subscribe to this magazine called Country Life which is just real-estate porn and fox hunting. It’s amazing. OK, so, if you weren’t doing you, what would you do? LDR: Do you have a really clear answer for this, for yourself? CL: Yeah, I would work with teenage girls. Girls that are in halfway houses. LDR: That’s got you all over it. I’m selfish. I would do something that would put me by the beach. I would be, like, a bad lifeguard. (laughs) I’d come help you on the weekends, though. CL: Do you like being in Malibu better than being in town? LDR: I like the idea of it. People don’t always go out to visit you in Malibu. So there’s a lot of alone-time, which is kind of like, hmm. I’m not in (indie-rock enclave) Silver Lake but I love all the stuff that’s going on around there. I guess I’d have to say (I prefer) town, but I’ve got my half-time Malibu fantasy. CL: The only bad thing that can happen in Malibu really is getting on Etsy and overspending. LDR: Oh my God, woman... (laughs) Tell me about it. Late-night sleepless Etsy binges. CL: Regretsy binges. OK, so, lyrically, you have some tropes and one of them is the colour red. Red dresses, scarlet, red nail polish... I kind of want to steal that. LDR: You need to take over that, because I think I’ve got to relinquish the red. CL: Well, I overuse the word ‘whore’. LDR: You take ‘red’. I’ll trade for ‘whore’. I’m so lucky. CL: I love this new song (‘Love’). LDR: Thank you. I love the new song, too. I’m glad it’s the first thing out. It doesn’t sound that retro, but I was listening to a lot of Shangri-Las and wanted to go back to a bigger, more mid-tempo, single-y sound. The last 16 months, things were kind of crazy in the US, and in London when I was there. I was just feeling like I wanted a song that made me feel a little more positive when I sang it. And there’s an album that’s gonna come out in the spring called Lust for Life. I did something I haven’t ever done, which is not that big of a deal, but I have a couple of collabs on this record. Speaking of John Lennon, I have a song with Sean Lennon. Do you know him? CL: I do, I like him. LDR: It’s called ‘Tomorrow Never Came’. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt this way, but when I wrote it I felt like it wasn’t really for me. I kept on thinking about who this song was for or who could do it with me, and then I realised that he would be a good person. I didn’t know if I should ask him because I actually have a line in it where I say, ‘I wish we could go back to your country house and put on the radio and listen to our favourite song by Lennon and Yoko.’ I didn’t want him to think I was asking him because I was namechecking them. Actually, I had listened to his records over the years and I did think it was his vibe, so I played it for him and he liked it. He rewrote his verse and had extensive notes, down to the mix. And that was the last thing I did, decision-wise. I haven’t mixed the record, but the fact that ‘Love’ just came out and Sean kind of finished up the record, it felt very meant-to-be. Because that whole concept of peace and love really is in his veins and in his family. Then, I also have Abel (Tesfaye), The Weeknd. He is actually on the title track of the record, ‘Lust for Life’. Maybe that’s kind of weird to have a feature on the title track, but I really love that song and we had said for a while that we were gonna do something; I did stuff on his last two records. CL: Do you have a singular producer or several producers? LDR: Rick Nowels. He actually did stuff with Stevie Nicks a while ago. He works really well with women. I did the last few records with him. Even with Ultraviolence which I did with Dan (Auerbach), I did the record first with Rick, and then I went to Nashville and reworked the sound with Dan. So, yeah, Rick Nowels is amazing, and these two engineers – with all the records that I’ve worked on with Rick, they did a lot of the production as well. You would love these two guys. They’re just super-innovative. I wanted a bit of a sci-fi f lair for some of the stuff and they had some really cool production ideas. But yeah, that’s pretty much it. I mean, Max Martin – CL: Wait, you wrote with Max Martin? You went to the compound? LDR: Have you been there? CL: No. I’ve always wanted to work with Max Martin. LDR: So basically, ‘Lust for Life’ was the first song I wrote for the record, but it was kind of a Rubik’s Cube. I felt like it was a big song but... it wasn’t right. I don’t usually go back and re-edit things that much, because the songs end up sort of being what they are, but this one song I kept going back to. I really liked the title. I liked the verse. John Janick was like, ‘Why don’t we just go over and see what Max Martin thinks?’ So, I flew to Sweden and showed him the song. He said that he felt really strongly that the best part was the verse and that he wanted to hear it more than once, so I should think about making it the chorus. So I went back to Rick Nowels’ place the next day and I was like, ‘Let’s try and make the verse the chorus,’ and we did, and it sounded perfect. That’s when I felt like I really wanted to hear Abel sing the chorus, so he came down and rewrote a little bit of it. But then I was feeling like it was missing a little bit of the Shangri-Las element, so I went back for a fourth time and layered it up with harmonies. Now I’m finally happy with it. (laughs) But we should do something. Like, soon. CL: I would like that. That would be awesome. Lust for Life is out this spring.

#Lana Del Rey #Courtney Love #Dazed #Magazine #Interview #Editorial #2017 #Lust For Life

[thesassybooskter]

COWBOY SEAL CHRISTMAS by Nicole Helm: Excerpt & Giveaway

NOW AVAILABLE / SOURCEBOOKS CASABLANCA

Three former Navy SEALs

Injured in the line of duty

Desperate for a new beginning…

Searching for a place to call their own.

 Single mom and Revival Ranch’s on-site therapist Monica Finley has dedicated her life to helping brave servicemen and women, but former Navy SEAL Gabe Cortez is the one man whose shell she just can’t crack. Yet with the holidays fast approaching, she may finally have a plan. In a bid to get Gabe to open up, she’ll ask for as much help as possible—cutting down the Christmas tree, stringing lights, the whole nine yards.

Who could possibly be a Grinch with so much holiday cheer in the air?

Gabe has always hated Christmas—the holiday never fails to remind him just how alone he truly is. But the more time he spends with Monica and her young son, the more he finds himself drawn to their cozy little family…and the more he begins to realize his long-suppressed Christmas dreams may finally be coming true.

Buy Online: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

Add to Goodreads

  Excerpt

When a thump sounded loud somewhere out by the porch, Monica frowned. Her first thought was Colin had woken up, but it wasn’t right above them, like it should have been for that.

“Oh no,” Becca said, looking at where the thumping had come from.

“What? What is it?” Rose asked, wide eyed.

“Ron Swanson’s on the roof.”

Monica groaned. “Not the goat. Please, not the goat.”

“That’s what that sound is. He’s up there.” Becca looked imploringly at Monica. “You have to get Rasputin.” Becca’s rooster was the only thing that could ever get Ron off the roof. “I mean, I could get him, but I’d need someone to hold me upright, as the world’s kind of spinning.”

Monica wasn’t exactly steady on her feet, but she wasn’t going to send a pregnant woman or a completely loaded woman to do the job. Which meant it fell to her. She pushed to her feet. “Rose, I hope your retroactive bachelorette party doesn’t involve goats or roosters.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Rose returned as Monica pulled on her winter gear. She lost her balance a bit but caught herself by leaning against the wall as she pulled on her second boot.

“You okay there, champ?” Rose asked with some concern.

“I think a little drunk is necessary for me to even attempt to touch that rooster.” Monica pulled on her hat. “If I’m not back in twenty, send a search party after me. I imagine the rooster has pecked my eyes out.”

“Rasputin wouldn’t do that. Not both eyes anyway.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll be back.” Monica stepped out into the icy night. As she stepped off the porch, she looked up at the dazzling sky above. Stars twinkled everywhere, and the moon’s light bathed the snowy ranch in silver. Becca had strung Christmas lights all over the house and barn, so red and green cut through all that white.

Monica took a deep breath. Oh, it was beautiful. How lucky she was to have come here, to get to experience this.

Then she remembered herself and turned to look up at the roof. And there was a goat, munching on a wreath, while red and green lights sparkled around him. She doubted very much that many people got to experience this.

She pulled her phone out and took a picture of Ron Swanson on the roof, chuckling to herself. Before she could head for the barn to get Rasputin, she heard a truck rumble in the distance, then saw headlights cutting through the dark.

When the truck came to a stop, Jack slid out of the driver’s seat and glared up at the roof. “Damn goat.”

“I’m on my way to get Rasputin. Unless, as the only sober one, you want to handle that for me.” Monica smiled winsomely.

Jack grimaced. “Oh, fine, but keep an eye on those two. They’re going to need help getting to the bunkhouse. Just keep them inside the truck till I’m back.”

“Sure.”

Jack strode to the barn and Monica peered into the truck. She thought both Gabe and Alex were passed out, until the back door swung open.

Monica jumped, taken aback as Gabe stumbled down from the truck. Monica waved a hand in front of her face as the smell of alcohol and bar hit her like a punch. “Dear Lord, how much did you have to drink?”

“S-still conscious s’apparently not ’nough,” he said, falling to a knee, then getting back to his feet and brushing the snow off his pants.

“Jack said you’re supposed to stay in the truck.”

“Jack ain’t never been my commanding officer, and he’s not starting now.” Gabe took a step toward her, stumbled again, and she reached forward to try and help keep him upright. Except then they were both somehow in the snow, Gabe something like half on top of her.

He didn’t get up, and she was shocked enough to just lie there in the cold, icy snow with his dark eyes assessing her.

“You smell pretty.”

Monica laughed in spite of herself. “You need to work on your drunk compliments.” She pushed at his chest. “Get off me.” Good Lord, it was a hard chest. Even under his coat and heavy shirt, she could feel the strength of him.

But Gabe rolled off her and got to his feet. He held out a gloved hand, and she let him pull her to her feet. But then he pulled her closer, not letting go of her hand. His head tilted down to her ear, much like it had in the bunkhouse the other day.

“I doubt you want to hear my other compliments, s-sweetheart.”

It was a slur more than a stutter, and he was falling-down drunk and foolish, so she did not shudder at that. Not at all. “Don’t let alcohol put words in your mouth, Gabe.”

He kept his grip on her hand, pulling her so close their bodies touched. It shouldn’t have mattered. They were both wearing enough layers to ward off the cold of a Montana winter night. She didn’t feel cold. Shivery maybe, but not cold.

“Oh, I have those words when I’m sober too. I’ve just got enough sense to keep them to myself.” His lips barely touched her ear as she spoke. “Sparks, remember?”

She could only stare at him, and she didn’t feel all the icy wetness on her back or the frigid chill of the air around them. She only felt his big hand holding on to hers and, somehow, all that heat emanating off him. “I remember.”

He leaned closer, so close his cheek actually pressed to hers. Everything inside of her rioted to some sparkling life. A feeling so long forgotten it was almost foreign, centering itself low in her belly.

“Drunk enough to make a bad decision?” he asked in a low, rough voice.

She paused. Even knowing it should be an automatic no, there was that foreign part of her tempted. A bad decision with him sounded enticing instead of wrong. Something she deserved instead of something she should avoid.

But he was drunk. She was a little too. That was all that foreign part was. The loss of sense and control, and she’d never let herself give in to that. “N-no.”

He grinned, pulling back, all wolfish in the silvery light of the moon. “Too bad.” Then he was striding…well, stumbling, toward the bunkhouse.

  a Rafflecopter giveaway  

About Nicole Helm

Nicole Helm writes down-to-earth contemporary romance specializing in people who don’t live close enough to neighbors for them to be a problem. When she’s not writing, she spends her time dreaming about someday owning a barn. She lives with her husband and two young sons in O’Fallon, Missouri.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

COWBOY SEAL CHRISTMAS by Nicole Helm: Excerpt & Giveaway was originally published on The Sassy Bookster

[healthnotion]

21 Western Novels Every Man Should Read

“The western story, in its most usual forms, represents the American version of the ever appealing oldest of man’s legends about himself, that of the sun-god hero, the all-conquering valiant who strides through dangers undaunted, righting wrongs, defeating villains, rescuing the fair and the weak and the helpless — and the western story does this in terms of the common man, in simple symbols close to natural experience . . . depicting ordinary everyday men, not armored knights or plumed fancy-sword gentlemen, the products of aristocratic systems, but ordinary men who might be you and me or our next-door neighbors gone a-pioneering, doing with shovel or axe or gun in hand their feats of courage and hardihood.” —Jack Schaefer

The West has always held a strong place in the American psyche. From the earliest days, west represented the frontier of this nation. Whether it was Kentucky and Ohio or Colorado and Montana or Oregon and Alaska, as a people we’ve always moved westward. And once we crossed the Mississippi, we found a harsh environment unlike any other. Deserts and oases, flatlands and mountains; it was a land of environmental and climatic extremes.

It was in this land that the legend of the cowboy was born, particularly in the mid-to-late 1800s. As Western writer Jack Schaefer notes above, the cowboy embodied strains of the ancient chivalric code, but he wasn’t the aristocratic knight-in-shining-armor of England or even the pious, settled farmer of early America; rather, he was a kind of everyman hero: a regular man who yet was more autonomous, independent, and free than an ordinary fellow. Riding atop his trusty steed, he knew both how to protect others and how to survive himself, and evinced a taciturn, brass tacks, self-made nobility.

Odes to the American cowboy, in the form of the Western novel, started taking shape in the early 1900s, a decade after the U.S. Census Bureau declared that the frontier was closed; the books captured a nostalgia and romantic yearning for an era and way of life that was on its way out (and in some ways, never really was). Western novels mixed real-life detail with larger-than-life drama, as all great mythologies do.

The genre was easy to mass produce, and until the 1940s or so, the Western dime novel led the way. Quality writing and quality stories were hard to come by (though as you’ll find below, a few gems did make their way out into the public sphere). It was in the late ‘40s, and on into about the mid-’70s, where Western literature really came into its own. Louis L’Amour, Jack Schaefer, Edward Abbey — this was the era in which legends were born.

In the ‘80s and ‘90s, there was a bit of a downturn in the genre, though a couple lone outstanding works were produced. The ‘90s especially were a black hole, but then the 2000s and even through today have seen a bit of a resurgence in the genre. The old tropes of cattle drives and small town shootouts were played out, so writers started taking some more risks with storylines that have really paid off. I would say that we’ve actually entered another golden era of the Western in the last 20 years or so. Even though the sheer volume of works put out isn’t as great, the quality has tended to be superb. Mainstream publishers are leery of Westerns, so what ends up getting printed is rather good.

Over the last year or so, I’ve read through the canon of what’s considered to be the cream of the crop for Western literature. I consumed dozens of books, and have here narrowed them down to the best 21 that every man should read. I gave each author just a single book on the list (though I do mention other titles I enjoyed for certain authors) because I’m of the opinion that it’s better to read broadly in the genre than to dive whole hog into the works of just one fella. If you’ve read a couple L’Amour titles, you’ve read them all, and the same can be said for a number of other authors.

The list below encompasses all manner of styles, book lengths, storylines, etc. Before getting into it, though, we need to define the genre.

Defining the Western Genre

Simply being set in the West does not a Western make; if so, novels like East of Eden or Angle of Repose would be found here. While not every novel will satisfy every marker, each book listed here includes most of the following elements:

Geographically set west of the Mississippi River. While some very early Westerns are set in the likes of Kentucky and Ohio, the geography that really captured readers’ attention and defined the legend of the cowboy lies west of the Mississippi: Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Montana, etc. Also, Westerns don’t generally reach the West Coast.

Schaefer said this about the geographic setting of his genre:

“The bigness beyond the Mississippi was primarily open bigness, beckoning bigness — and also a violent, raw, capricious bigness: extremes of topography and climate beyond those of the east, the highest and lowest areas of the entire nation, the hottest and the coldest, the flattest and the ruggedest, the driest and the wettest.”

Takes place during the 19th century. The 1800s, and particularly the mid-to-late 1800s, was really the period of the Western frontiersman and cowboy. While the Machine Age was coming in the East, the West remained wild and untamed. Plenty of Westerns are set in the 20th century, but most on this list take place during the 1800s.

Characters are cowboys, ranchers, homesteaders, gunfighters/sheriffs/rangers, and/or frontiersmen. The career of a Western character is pretty limited, and centers on the aforementioned roles. To come West in the mid-to-late 1800s was generally to be one of those things. Horses also tend to play a large role and often, although not always, faithfully accompany a Western novel’s human characters.

Focus is often given to the harsh, but beautiful landscape. The land itself often plays a role as a main character in Westerns. Long descriptions of the environment are common, and nature’s obstacles — drought, storms, mountains, wild animals — frequently play a role in the main conflict or storyline. Main characters also tend to deeply care for and respect the wilderness and what it represents; even when hunting or ranching on the land, the men fight to preserve what’s natural and spurn the advances of modernity.

Contains characters who show skillfulness, toughness, resilience, and vitality. Whether cowboys or ranchers, the characters who populate Western novels typically share a common constellation of traits and qualities.

One is the possession of a broad, hard-nosed skillfulness. Cowboys and other Western types are adept at everything from roping and riding to hunting and cooking. They’re at home in a wild environment, and what they don’t have at hand, they can improvise.

Western characters also possess a notably flinty character. Schaefer again:

“If there is any one distinctive quality of the western story in its many variations, that quality is a pervasive vitality — a vitality not of action alone but of spirit behind the action . . . a healthy, forward facing attitude towards life.”

Westerns that contain the elements listed above invariably tend to have this less definable element present as well. It’s almost a byproduct of writing strong characters in a harsh landscape. Great Western novels are permeated with a sheer masculinity and spiritedness that’s hard to find in other genres.

21 Western Novels Every Man Should Read

Given the above set of criteria for inclusion, and selected for overall excellence in plot, characterization, readability, and so on, here are my picks for the best Western novels ever written, arranged chronologically by their date of publication:

The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams (1903)

Among the short list of very early Westerns (pre-1910 or so), you’ll often see Owen Wister’s The Virginian (1902) at the top. I didn’t find that title very readable though, and in fact gave up about halfway through. The Log of a Cowboy, on the other hand, was remarkably readable and easily held my attention the whole way.

Pulling together various real-life stories and anecdotes (including from his own experience of being a cowboy for over a decade), Adams chronicles a fictional Texas-to-Montana cattle drive through the eyes of young Tom Quirk. There isn’t much in the way of overarching plot or a central conflict, but it’s enjoyable nonetheless. From cattle runs, to brutal dry spells, to dangerous river crossings, to hostile Indians and outlaws, the reader really experiences all that an Old West cattle trail had to offer. And that includes the minutiae of paperwork, hours of boredom, how guard duties were divvied up, etc. Adams’ narrative is often considered the most realistic depiction of a cattle drive there ever was, and he in fact wrote the novel out of disgust for the unrealistic cowboy fiction being written at the time.

A hair dry, but recommended reading for any fan of Western novels. If you have any doubt about its place in the canon, you’ll quickly see how much Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove was inspired by Adams’ early novel; the outline of the plot is basically the same.  

Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Grey (1912)

Grey was the early king of the Western dime novel. His output was prolific, but the more he wrote, the more negative reviews he received from critics. (Critics are always skeptical of folks who seemingly write too much!) I don’t think those criticisms have merit, as I find much of Grey’s work to be eminently readable and entertaining today, especially given that most of his work was published over 100 years ago.

Riders of the Purple Sage, published in 1912, is definitely the best of the bunch, and is universally found on “Best Western Novels” lists for a reason.

A more complex plot than is often found in Westerns, the story follows Jane Withersteen, and her harassment at the hands of a group of Mormon fundamentalists. Elder Tull wants to marry Jane, but she refuses. As you can imagine, that’s when the trouble starts up, and she needs help from friends Bern Venters and a mysterious gunman named Lassiter who’s searching for a long-lost sister. There are a number of threads here, and some excellent plot twists. Again, it’s more complex — in a good way — than what you’d normally see in the genre.

Required reading for the fan of Western novels. Grey’s short stories/novellas are also very good (“Avalanche” being my favorite — though it’s a little hard to find).

The Ox-Bow Incident by Walter Van Tilburg Clark (1940)

Cowboys Art Croft and Gil Carter have ridden into Bridger’s Wells, Nevada to find a charged atmosphere. Cattle have been disappearing (likely stolen) and a man named Kinkaid has just been murdered. The townsfolk are mad as heck and looking for justice. Factions form almost immediately; one group wants to capture the suspected culprits on the up and up — to get the judge and sheriff involved and make sure no untoward behavior happens. Another group wants to form a posse to go after the rustlers — vigilante-style — and take care of business with Wild West justice: a hanging at sunrise. They argue that using the legal system takes too darn long and that too often men get off scot-free.

A posse indeed forms and eventually catches up to the alleged rustlers. Are the men lynched? Are they given a chance at a fair trial back in the town of Bridger’s Wells? Are they set free?

While not as fast-paced as many Westerns on this list, the morality tale encased within its 80-year-old pages remains remarkably relevant. It’s an ethics discussion about mob mentality clothed in cowboy flannel and leather holsters. While other Western writers of the era — like L’Amour and Grey — could be said to romanticize the West and its heroes, Clark is more comparable to Dashiell Hammett. All the characters, protagonists and antagonists alike, have deep flaws, and the reader can’t quite decide who he’s siding with, if it’s anyone at all.

Shane by Jack Schaefer (1949)

Shane is considered by many the best Western novel of all-time. It’s compact, but that just means every page is stocked with virile energy — much like Shane himself, the book’s main character.

Narrated by young Bob Starrett, the story follows his version of events in a small outpost in the Wyoming Territory. Seemingly out of nowhere, the mysterious Shane (Is it his first name? Last name? Made-up name?) rides into town on the back of a horse and takes up temporary residence at the Starrett home. Shane becomes close to the family, and Bob especially comes to see the rider as a mythical, godlike figure. Meanwhile, cattle driver and all-around bad dude Luke Fletcher is trying to take land from a group of homesteaders (the Starretts included). I won’t give away anything else other than to say that Shane is involved in the bad guys’ dispersal.

The pure masculinity of the novel, and of Shane himself, is unrivaled in Western literature. If you aren’t stirred by this novel, you don’t have blood running through your veins. Shane is absolutely a top 3 Western novel. Schaefer’s Monte Walsh is also superb. 

Hondo by Louis L’Amour (1953)

No mention of Western novels is complete without a nod to L’Amour. His books alone could keep you reading for about a decade at a pace of one a month. I read a handful, and have to agree with most others that Hondo is his best. Interestingly, the John Wayne film came first, and L’Amour then novelized that (although the movie was inspired by a L’Amour short story — it’s a bit circular).

Hondo Lane is a quintessential man of the Southwest, shaped as much by the desert landscape as anything else. A former cavalry officer, Lane has had to learn the Apache ways in order to survive in the harsh environment. After escaping an ambush, he comes upon the homestead of Angie Lowe and her young son, with the husband and father nowhere to be found. Throw the warrior Vittoro into the mix, and you get a dramatic story of love, war, and honor that is as representative of the Western genre as a story can be.    

Now, with the sheer number of titles he produced, L’Amour’s stories admittedly tend to run together a bit. They’re also slightly formulaic, and you wouldn’t really classify his writing as lyrical or Pulitzer-worthy. But, his books are just really entertaining. It’s like how the Fast and Furious movies aren’t going to win any awards, but I’ll be damned if I’m not watching every one of ‘em for their sheer entertainment value.

Kilkenny and The Tall Stranger were a couple other L’Amour favorites for me.

The Searchers by Alan Le May (1954)

If there’s a Moby Dick story to be had in this list, it’s Le May’s The Searchers. While the movie is often seen as one of the greatest Western films of all-time, the book deserves its place of recognition as well. 

With one of the most devastating openings on this list, a Comanche raid destroys the entire Edwards family, killing the men folk and kidnapping the women. What follows is a years-long quest by Marty (a virtually-adopted young man who’s part of the Edwards family) and Amos (the Edwards’ patriarch’s brother) to find the missing women. If you’ve seen the movie, you know roughly how the rest of the tale goes, and if you haven’t, I won’t give away anything else. 

The book deserves a place on this list because of its sprightly and realistic writing, but also because it portrays the difficulties early homesteaders had in trying to make a life on the oft-dangerous frontier. While indeed some Native Americans were harshly portrayed as violent savages, the reality is that many were indeed incredibly violent and didn’t take kindly to new people settling in their territories. 

The Brave Cowboy by Edward Abbey (1956)

Edward Abbey is a legend of environmental, anarchist, and Western writing. He penned essays, novels, and non-fiction works, including Desert Solitaire, which makes an appearance on a number of Best Non-Fic Books of All-Time lists.

The Brave Cowboy indeed falls into the Western novel category, but it’s also more than that. Particularly, it’s a lament of how the modern world — which was the 1950s at the time of the book’s writing — is taking something away from our lives and perhaps more importantly, from our lands. The era of jet planes and city streets was taking over.

Cowboy Jack Burns is a roaming ranch hand in 1950s New Mexico who refuses to join modern society. (The scenes of his horse — named Whisky — crossing highways and tentatively walking on pavement are rather memorable.) This alone makes it stand out from other cowboy stories, which are almost always set in the 1800s. Burns tries to break his pal Paul Bondi out of prison, but things don’t go quite as planned, and Burns ends up on the run with nothing but his guitar and his trusty steed.

From there, it’s a gripping cat-and-mouse story set in the desert. Abbey’s descriptions of the landscape are breathtaking and unmatched in Western literature.

Butcher’s Crossing by John Williams (1960)

In my opinion, Butcher’s Crossing is the most underrated book of the Western genre. You’ve probably never heard of it, but it should be on your reading list ASAP.

Considered one of the first to de-romanticize life on the frontier, the story is set in the 1870s and follows young Will Andrews, who has ditched Harvard, and been inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson to come West in order to find . . . something. Meaning? Purpose? Himself? All the above, most likely.

Butcher’s Crossing is the small Kansas town he lands in before shortly thereafter joining a buffalo hunting expedition that heads into the mountains of Colorado. They deal with everything the Old West has to offer: extreme dehydration and thirst, early snowfalls, feisty animals (both domestic and wild), and raging spring-time rivers — all set within a merciless buffalo hunt (slaughter, really). Andrews learns some hard truths not only about the land, but about his own make up. But, he also does find something meaningful, and ultimately has to choose between going back East, or venturing even further West. I legitimately didn’t know what he’d choose to do until the very end (and I won’t tell you, of course), which is a sign of a superbly-written character.

Robert Olmstead’s recent Savage Country also takes on the buffalo hunt plot line, and while it’s rather good, Butcher’s Crossing was far better.

Little Big Man by Thomas Berger (1964)

Berger writes the fictional life story of Jack Crabb, who is our 111-year-old narrator. Crabb is thrust into Cheyenne Indian life as a young boy in the mid-1800s after his family is massacred while traveling west. From there, the story jumps back and forth between Crabb’s various forays in and out of the worlds of Indians and white men. Along the way, we run into numerous famed real-life characters of the West, including Wild Bill Hickok, Calamity Jane, and in particular, General Custer (Crabb claims to be the sole white survivor of the Battle of Little Bighorn).  

It’s partially satire, but also rather accurately portrays both the unfortunate stereotypes ascribed to American Indians as well as the reality of their lives on the plains. There are plenty of hard-to-believe plot twists, but that’s part of the book’s semi-outlandish and epic nature.

It’s largely written as a narrative, with little in the way of dialogue, so it’s not a quick read. It’s extremely well written though, and in a more authentic voice than many Westerns are. It actually reminded me of Lonesome Dove in terms of its writing style — which is about as high a compliment as can be given.

True Grit by Charles Portis (1968)

Though the story has twice been turned into a feature film, it was Portis’ short 1968 novel which first introduced the public to two of the most memorable, and naturally, grittiest, characters in Western history: 14-year-old Mattie Ross and one-eyed US Marshal Rooster Cogburn.

An older Ross narrates the story of the time she sought revenge for the murder of her father. Young Mattie ventures to Fort Smith, Arkansas to find a man who would help her on this quest. She decides on Cogburn — who has a penchant for violence and a quick trigger finger — because she believes he has the “grit” to get the job done (which means, of course, the disposal of the murderer). Cogburn agrees, but is incensed when Mattie insists on coming along; he tries to lose her a number of times, but Ross displays her own tenacity and keeps right up.

The language and dialogue is almost over-the-top old-timey — and therefore comes across a little unrealistically (it does work especially well with this story for some reason, though!). Despite that, Portis writes some of the most memorable scenes of the entire genre. If you’re afraid of snakes, there’s one in particular that might haunt your dreams.

The Time It Never Rained by Elmer Kelton (1973)

Voted by his peers in the Western Writers Association as the greatest Western writer of all time, and recipient of a record 7 Spur Awards, Kelton authored a number of books that could appear on this kind of list. I read a handful, and thoroughly enjoyed each and every one; the best of the bunch, though, in my opinion, is The Time It Never Rained.

West Texas had suffered through droughts before, but nothing like the real-life destructive dry spell of the 1950s. Kelton tells the story of this drought through fictional aging rancher Charlie Flagg. As the drought gets worse with every passing season, nobody — from the Flores family (the loyal ranch hands), to twenty-something aspiring rodeo cowboy Tom Flagg (Charlie’s son), to local bankers and landowners, to the numerous Mexican migrants coming across the border looking for food and work — remains unscathed.

Ultimately, the townsfolk start either drifting away, or turning to the government for provisions. Flagg, though, a bit of a stubborn curmudgeon, spurns federal help and tries to stick to his self-reliance through it all. Will he make it through the drought, or will the harsh conditions force him to leave behind the only life he’s ever known? Not only does Kelton create relatable, memorable characters that you’ll find yourself rooting for, but he paints a vivid picture of the hold Mother Nature had on Western towns and families.

There are few writers whose entire canon ends up on my to-read list, but Kelton is one.

Centennial by James Michener (1974)

If you’re looking for a single book that encapsulates all of Western lit’s sub-genres, Michener’s epic, 900-page Centennial is the way to go. Although set in and named for a fictional northeastern Colorado town, the book actually begins well before any town is established. In fact, Michener begins with a chapter of the geological beginnings and even the dinosaurs of America’s western landscape. From there, each chapter covers an aspect of typical Western lit, all set in or around the town of Centennial: Indian life, hunters and trappers moving from east to west, battles between whites and natives, buffalo hunts, cattle drives, and more. Where Centennial goes further is its depiction of western life after the 1800s, when farming and small-town crime and Mexican immigration all come to play a part in daily life.

At 900 pages, it’s not a quick or necessarily easy read. (You might think that’d be obvious, but a tome like Lonesome Dove is in fact both quick and easy.) The nice thing, though, is that each chapter, although long, is only loosely connected to each other chapter. The novel roughly follows a family tree over the course of centuries, but the plot points differ and the chapters can in fact almost be read as short stories.

Indeed, Michener’s lyrical writing is magnificent, and it’s a joy to read a chapter of it every now and then (at least that’s how I did it).

The Shootist by Glendon Swarthout (1975)

How many different ways can the story of a Western gunman really be told? Glendon Swarthout took that challenge and created the exceptional tale of dying gunman J.B. Books.

Having been diagnosed with terminal prostate cancer, the nefarious gunfighter decides that he’ll spend his dying days in El Paso. The town is none-too-happy about his being there and tries to convince him to leave, but he stubbornly stays. Being an infamous man, various folks come out of the woodwork when word gets around that he’s dying in El Paso, including journalists hoping for a story and other gunmen looking to bolster their reputation by killing Books.

You’d think the story would perhaps be more about Books recounting his life stories, but it’s really just about those last few months and an older man trying to somewhat redeem his sordid reputation. And the way Books chooses to go out on his own terms at the end is as memorable a scene as you’ll ever come across.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford by Ron Hansen (1983)

Hansen’s 1983 novel verges on true-to-life biography of the (in)famous bank robber Jesse James, and his assassin, young Bob Ford. Somewhat lacking in the way of action — the James Gang robberies are only briefly covered — it’s mostly a character study of the eccentric James, and his obsessive, devoted minion, Bob Ford.

It was only when Ford was convinced that James would kill him (and when the reward money became too high to ignore) that the 20-year-old killed James in his own home, while his back was turned and his gun holsters removed. Ford figured he’d be a hero, but while he was pardoned by the Missouri governor, he became a bit of an outcast. He was a terribly interesting figure himself, and in fact the final quarter or so of the book covers Ford’s life after the murder.

Hansen noted that he didn’t stray from any known facts or even dialogue; he just imagined some of the scenes and added more detail than was perhaps known. It’s not a quick read, but sure a good one.  

Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry (1985)

There’s a reason I’ve often compared the other books on this list to Larry McMurtry’s Pulitzer Prize-winning Lonesome Dove: it can readily be considered the Western against which all others are judged. Of the many dozens of books I read in compiling this list, Lonesome Dove was, without a doubt, the best.

The story is a seemingly simple one: two long-time friends — Augustus (Gus) McCrae and Woodrow Call, along with a ragtag group of ranch hands — embark on a cattle drive from the Rio Grande to Montana. Along the way they encounter outlaws, Indians, old flames, and plenty more. McMurtry takes 800+ pages to tell this story, but it’s so good that you’ll be rather sad when it comes to an end (which it will do far too quickly).  

There are three other books in the series as well. While Lonesome Dove was the first and best of the bunch, the others are also great: Streets of Laredo (1993), Dead Man’s Walk (1995), and Comanche Moon (1997). Read them by internal chronological order if you’d like (in which case LD is third), but you don’t have to. I read ‘em in the order they were published, and I didn’t feel like I was missing anything.

If you read one Western in your life, make it Lonesome Dove.

The Revenant by Michael Punke (2002)

More survival story than true Western, but the setting — 1820s Wyoming and Montana — merits its place on this list. If you’ve seen the award-winning movie you know the broad outlines of the plot: After being savagely attacked by a bear, frontiersman Hugh Glass is barely alive. His comrades carry him along for a couple days, but he slows the group’s pace too much. They decide that Glass will die any day now, and leave him behind with two men who are tasked with caring for him until that time comes, and then burying him. The two men leave early however, taking all of Glass’s supplies. Against all odds, Glass regains consciousness, sets his own broken leg, and crawls/hobbles his way over 200 miles to the nearest outpost, even allowing maggots to eat his dead flesh in order to prevent gangrene.  

While elements have certainly been embellished over the years, it’s based on an unbelievable true story. Unlike the movie version, which is largely fictionalized and diverts quite a bit from original historical accounts, the novel on which that movie is based stuck to them as much as possible, with just conversations and thoughts being imagined.

The scenes of primitive self-surgery, belly-crawling miles through hard terrain, and hunting and foraging with no tools whatsoever are the stuff of survival legend. It’s like Hatchet on steroids and for adults. While you’ll certainly read it quickly, the story won’t soon leave your mind.

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy (2005)

McCarthy has a number of Western novels that could qualify for this list, but my own favorite by far was 2005’s No Country for Old Men.

Unlike many Westerns on this list, it’s set in the relatively modern 1980s, on the border of Texas and Mexico. While hunting in the desert, Llewelyn Moss stumbles upon a drug deal gone bad, and claims for himself two million bucks he finds amongst the carnage. Of course, that missing cash isn’t going to go unnoticed, and almost immediately Moss is hunted by some really bad dudes, including one of the most terrifying villains in Western history, Anton Chigurh.

The best parts of the story, in my opinion, center around the aging Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, who investigates the crime and sets out to protect Moss and his young wife Carla Jean. As is a staple of the genre, Bell laments how things are changing in the West. He can’t keep up with the increasing, senseless violence. Can he manage to protect the Mosses? You’ll have to read to find out (or watch the excellent movie).

Perhaps surprisingly, I didn’t care for McCarthy’s near-universally-praised Blood Meridian, and although the Border Trilogy was enjoyable, I see No Country for Old Men as McCarthy’s can’t-miss Western.

The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt (2011)

Eli and Charles Sisters — the Sisters brothers — are assassins who’ve been hired to kill a prospector in 1850s California. They’ve been told by their employer — the Commodore — that this prospector is a thief. Of course, the truth is a little more complex than that.

As with many Westerns, the Sisters’ sibling relationship is also complex. There’s jealousy, disdain, even anger. But ultimately, there’s a deep-seated familial love for each other. For a modern novel, the language deWitt uses — in the form of brother Eli’s narration — is surprisingly believable as coming from the place and time period. There’s also plenty of humor and misadventure to go along with the seriousness of the plot. It’s a good balance, and one that many of the best Western novels tend to find.

The Son by Philipp Meyer (2013)

Spanning a handful of generations of the McCullough family, the story is told largely through the lives of three main characters: Colonel Eli, his son Peter, and his great-granddaughter Jeanna. 

The Colonel survived a Comanche raid as a kid and lived with the tribe for 3 years. When he returned, he eventually became a Texas Ranger, and then a rancher, and often feuded with the neighboring Garcia family. The son, Peter, is a disgrace to the Colonel because he’s soft and falls in love with a Garcia daughter. Jeanne spends many formative years with the Colonel, and she’s been the one to acquire his drive for business and empire. In her later years though, she contemplates who will take over the family business in a world that’s quickly abandoning its uses for cattle and oil.

It’s a history of the West, within a family epic set in Texas. It chronicles both the cowboy and rancher ways of the Old West, along with how that culture largely disappeared as the world modernized.  

El Paso by Winston Groom (2016)

Winston Groom is most well-known for penning 1986’s Forrest Gump, as well as a treasure trove of masterful and wide-ranging history books. In 2016, for the first time in about 20 years, Groom published a new novel — a fantastic Western called El Paso.

It’s the story of a kidnapping in the midst of Pancho Villa’s Mexican Revolution. Villa takes hostage the grandkids of a wealthy railroad magnate, and what follows is a rollicking tale of an eclectic cast of characters trying to get them back. What’s great about the book is how many real life characters Groom peppers in: Ambrose Bierce (who has a fascinating story of his own), Woodrow Wilson, George S. Patton (whose auspicious start came in the Mexican Revolution), and a few other railroad tycoons.

The book really has everything: gunfights, romantic drama, an epic bull fight, a cross-country race between a train and an airplane, and some history lessons about America’s first armed conflict of the 20th century. It’s nearly 500 pages, but reads very quickly, and deserves a spot among the best Westerns of this new era of the genre.

Dragon Teeth by Michael Crichton (2017)

Taking on a forgotten aspect of Western exploration, legendary techno-thriller author Michael Crichton originally wrote Dragon Teeth in 1974, but it wasn’t published until just last year, almost a decade after his death. Set in the 1870s, the fictional story follows the real-life “Bone Wars” between dinosaur hunters Othniel Marsh and Edward Cope.

Back then, there was a lot of glory (and of course money) to be had in discovering dinosaur bones, particularly out West. This led to some ruthless rivalries, most notably between Marsh and Cope. In Dragon Teeth, William Johnson is a fictional Yale student who takes a summer to work for the two dino hunters (how he comes to work for not just one but both of them is for you to find out).

It’s a super fun, entertaining, swashbuckling story about a little-known aspect of the West. Beyond just cattle drives and buffalo hunts, the Bone Wars really captured America’s imagination and spirit of adventure.

The post 21 Western Novels Every Man Should Read appeared first on The Art of Manliness.

21 Western Novels Every Man Should Read published first on https://mensproblem.tumblr.com