A good while ago, my dear friend ASD in Scotland wrote a letter which struck to my own Constant Reader soul:
I believe that Alan Bennett said it most beautifully in one of his plays: “The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought special and particular to you. Now here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours.”
I so echo those words. We’ve all had a great love affair with the LONGMIRE series on TV---he’s the essence of every good movie cowboy, in his kindness and his honorable nature and his rough exterior, tough abilities and tender heart. He’s a lawman, a family man, a loyal and generous friend. And his thoughts are deep and profound---perhaps he expresses them so well because of all those hours of solitude riding the miles of his jurisdiction in that big old truck.
Now, we’ve read all the books on our NOOKS, and are all amazed and impressed with the great, sweeping imagery of Craig Johnson’s writing, as well as the down-to-the-molecule understanding and expression of people, with their glories and flaws. I so recommend them to anyone, for wonderful stories peopled with immaculately drawn, memorable folks living their lives in Absaroka County.
You can SEE and hear the gravelly road as he eases that big old vehicle along, see the wider-than-heaven sky he's surrounded by, and feel the unflinching Wyoming wind in your face, the bone-seeking, determined cold of a blizzard. You can smell the breeze-burned suede of Walt's coat, the worn leather and motor oil and old paper and maybe the whiff of yesterday's prisoner's cigarettes, as well as the faithful, ever-present DAWG, as the truck doors open.
Walt Longmire is a character drawn sweeping and spare, and is one of the most interesting folks in fiction in a LONG long time---you'd be glad to have him looking out for you, and doubly glad to call him friend. I’ve taken to jotting down some of his musings in my own journal, for the thoughts and ideas, but mostly for the sheer beauty of the words:
Seeing her again was like unearthing an emotional library card with a lot of overdues.
A feeling like you’re leaking time.
Good friends are the ones who can remain close without losing their ability to surprise.
All the important promises are about leaving or not leaving.
The satisfying gurgle of impending caffeine.
What the HELL is happening to my county?
It was Monday of the second week of February and people talked less because their words were snatched from their mouths and cast to Nebraska. I had an image of all the unfinished statements and conversations from Wyoming piled along the sand hills until the snow muffled them and they sank into the dark earth. Maybe they rose again in the Spring like prairie flowers, but I doubted it.
Longmire words BLOOM.