I’m not a girl who reads a lot of westerns. Sure, I enjoyed Appaloosa. Who doesn’t love cowboys like Han Solo, or Malcolm Reynolds? But books about Texas, where the inside cover talks about old families gaining cattle wealth, then oil wealth, are not my thing.
But “The Son” came highly recommended. So I got it from the library. It sat. And sat. And sat. So I returned it.
Then it was propped up on a display table at the library. I grabbed it. It sat, then found it’s way into my book stack.
Finally, the other day I picked it up. You know how sometimes you pick up a book, figuring you’ll just read the first page or so, and twenty pages later realize you’ve sat down? “The Son” is that kind of book. It’s glorious and complicated. It has interesting characters, living in “interesting times.” They are characters filled with regret, and yet animated by forces bigger than themselves. Men and women who love the landscape of Texas, who cannot live anywhere else, who thrive only on those plains.
It’s a fantastic read. And I almost dropped it back at the library. Lesson learned.