Helpful Score: 1
Let's start with the disclaimers: I didn't have a shelf for westerns until I read this book, and previously, my only experience with the genre was a much-detested junior high school reading of Shane (which Mr. Kurtz encourages me to revisit), and the beginning of Lonesome Dove, which I eventually cast aside in favor of other pursuits. I had also read Annie Proulx's "Brokeback Mountain," and inquired as to whether Kurtz's novella was better. He said "Absolutely."
Dear reader, he was telling the truth.
So, what makes A Wind of Knives the type of western that makes gals like me, who don't care much for the genre, feel like maybe there's something to it after all?
First of all, the title is ridiculously great. I had been meaning to pick up A Wind of Knives solely based on the violent promise of its title, and I'm glad I finally did.
Secondly, although you'll find quite a lot of brooding, talk about the Texas landscape, and horseback riding, it's also obvious that this is a story that goes beyond those western clichés and offers some unique characters with complex souls.
Third, and not to spoil the plot, but this will all end badly. Maybe not "Unforgiven"-level badly, but Daniel Hayes isn't a lawman or an outlaw, at least in the six-shooter sense. He's a man who wants revenge, but like most of us average everyday vengeance-seekers, it's a dream that will never come true. And that's what I found most interesting about Kurtz's book, because the typical western, in my mind, is all about chasing down the bad guys and delivering some form of frontier justice. Is there justice in this book? Perhaps, in its way. But more likely, it's the same type of thing we humans deal with every day, as frustrating and maddening as that is, with a man stuck in the middle, trying to figure out what to do about it. Is he supposed to just let it go and move on? Even if the bad guy gets shot, does that really solve anything? And what does one do with a hole in the heart that can never be mended?
So, while the western is not likely to become my favorite genre of all time, after reading this book I can say I kinda get it. I still think Texas is a terrible place for steers, queers, and women to live (and, based on personal experience, that doesn't seem like it's ever likely to change), but I can also see why the enterprising lone wolf (or coyote) might want to test their mettle out there.
Thanks, Mr. Kurtz, for giving us this surprising little gem of a western, and I look forward to reading more of your work.
Dear reader, he was telling the truth.
So, what makes A Wind of Knives the type of western that makes gals like me, who don't care much for the genre, feel like maybe there's something to it after all?
First of all, the title is ridiculously great. I had been meaning to pick up A Wind of Knives solely based on the violent promise of its title, and I'm glad I finally did.
Secondly, although you'll find quite a lot of brooding, talk about the Texas landscape, and horseback riding, it's also obvious that this is a story that goes beyond those western clichés and offers some unique characters with complex souls.
Third, and not to spoil the plot, but this will all end badly. Maybe not "Unforgiven"-level badly, but Daniel Hayes isn't a lawman or an outlaw, at least in the six-shooter sense. He's a man who wants revenge, but like most of us average everyday vengeance-seekers, it's a dream that will never come true. And that's what I found most interesting about Kurtz's book, because the typical western, in my mind, is all about chasing down the bad guys and delivering some form of frontier justice. Is there justice in this book? Perhaps, in its way. But more likely, it's the same type of thing we humans deal with every day, as frustrating and maddening as that is, with a man stuck in the middle, trying to figure out what to do about it. Is he supposed to just let it go and move on? Even if the bad guy gets shot, does that really solve anything? And what does one do with a hole in the heart that can never be mended?
So, while the western is not likely to become my favorite genre of all time, after reading this book I can say I kinda get it. I still think Texas is a terrible place for steers, queers, and women to live (and, based on personal experience, that doesn't seem like it's ever likely to change), but I can also see why the enterprising lone wolf (or coyote) might want to test their mettle out there.
Thanks, Mr. Kurtz, for giving us this surprising little gem of a western, and I look forward to reading more of your work.
