Most of my life (85 years’worth) I read to gain information – about politics, specific things or the world in general. Then, about 40 years ago, I started reading novels by contemporary acclaimed authors, like Kingsolver, Philip Roth, E.L. Doctorow, Stegner, Black novelists, et al. A great novel presents wisdom and a deeper look at life and all its mysteries and confounding elements. Books are my savior and solace and the only places I can go for relief from the madness of this life.
I’ve been hooked on author Ivan Doig, ever since first laying eyes on him with his captivating novel, Dancing at the Rascal Fair, some years ago. He was formally introduced to me by Thea, the exceedingly nice and extremely astute employee at Readers’ Books.
I remember coming in that day, many moons ago, and asking her who she might recommend that writes like Barbara Kingsolver, and she promptly handed me a copy of Doig’s singular, extraordinary novel about two cousins, homesteaders, who’d reached American shores after a long, nauseating and grueling sail from home in Scotland, and eventually landing not far from the Rocky Mountain range in Western Montana.
These two fascinating, deeply flawed but exquisitely drawn characters move the reader through their complex and ever-changing lives at the turn of the 19th century, in a time when homesteading in the deep far west was on the rise and land was open for the taking.
This tale is told with all the descriptive power of Wallace Stegner, whom Doig studied with for a time when the former taught literature and writing at Stanford. The writing is intricate and artful as well as utilitarian, as it carries you through the dynamic lives of these two protagonists. All the while, Doig is painting a detailed landscape of the Rockies, shared by western Montana, so that it becomes an ever-changing and shifting picture of climate and stark weather interwoven into the stories of the lives of the people brought to and caught up in its ebbing and flowing drama.
The Rockies become characters themselves, identifiable by their deadly dry spells, beyond-freezing assaults of winds, thunderous rains unlike – in degree of magnitude and longevity – practically any place on Earth. And the lives of all, the hapless homesteaders, ranchers, poor and rich, some undeserving and some lucky enough to contend or even come to treasure life there. Happenstance plays a big part, while planning and luck and the uncertainty of … everything, is inextricably tailored into the mix.
And along for the ride, usually on horseback, are the ties of family, friendships, with twists and turns, burning hatreds and shards of wisdom, and the endurable loves and passions of humankind in all its myriad costumes and manner and expressions.
Doig is an artist, using words to paint images and colors of mountains and creeks, meadows and trees, all blended in a countryside of sagebrush in a mantle of forest.
Here is the work of a master story-teller who can weave tapestries so beguiling it rivets interest and participation of a reader, comparable to the ability of a Kingsolver, a Faulkner, a Hemingway or a Steinbeck or a Lamott. Ivan Doig’s work is that of a truly accomplished writer, that I was fortunate to be handed by “accident” one remarkable day, and for a lifetime to boot.
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