248 Western American Literature With Schroder’s move into the affairs of the Steele family there enters family attorney John Lloyd Branson. “Exceedingly tall, thin with graying blond hair,” Branson is a man of intelligence and strong will, a man in control. He speaks in a precise, studied drawl. The story accelerates with the contest between Schroder and Branson— that is, between pre-pondered motivation as cause for murder and human nature’s propensity for impulsive action. The book, therefore, takes on a dimen sion not found in a typical mystery. Further, Meredith has sharpened the techniques that made the Panhandle Sheriff series uncommonly successful: humor, suspense, witty dialog, and mem orable characterizations. An obvious change is in her use of place. Whereas her earlier books were “cozy,” a term coined to describe a closed environment where the lore of place is stronger than the detecting procedure, Murder by Impulse places its challenge on character. As someone has said of the better mysteries, man is the puzzle. ERNESTINE P. SEWELL Commerce, Texas The Train to Estelline. By Jane Roberts Wood. (Austin: Ellen C. Temple, Publisher, 1987. 227 pages, $14.95.) The Train to Estelline, a first novel by Jane Roberts Wood, would make a great choice for an eighth grade girl in need of a book for a report due on Friday. For the adult reader, however, the book fails in just about every way. Regrettably, Wood has chosen an epistolary form in which her heroine, a plucky schoolmarm of eighteen named Lucy, tells the story through letters to family, friends, and in desperate moments, to “Dear Diary.” She sets out to win the hearts and minds of her students and their proud but stubborn families. To this end, she climbs down a well to rescue one of her pupils, converts even the roughest of the boys, delivers a baby, discovers a dead body, all while battling the community’s poverty, bigotry, and lack of culture. Everything about this book is predictable. Lucy’s younger sister, who is “too wild” for her own good, is shipped off to Estelline, predictably pregnant, and predictably runs off with the rather boring, unimaginative Bob Sully, with whom the plucky heroine is madly in love. Hovering about the scene is the right man, but Lucy is so busy climbing down wells that she doesn’t notice. The reader, however, picks this up on about page twenty-two. It’s a sort of Texas style Gone With the Wind without the Civil War. Gratefully, there are several interesting minor characters who create some mystery. But the book doesn’t work because the voice doesn’t work. It just doesn’t present a sustained authentic sound. Even the “Gol-dern it ma’m”s don’t sound right. The voice is totally inadequate to the story, and it is too bad, because I think Wood has a story here in the urgency of the landscape, the terror and possibility of the open Reviews 249 spaces, the worship of water, the beauty of the Texas prairies, the social impli cations of the coming of the railroad, all of which remain frustratingly in the background. In fact the voice becomes increasingly irritating as the novel progresses. Wood too often tells us how we should feel about events rather than shows us: “The scene takes my breath away. It is truly lovely. I wish you could be here ... to see it.” I wish I had been. ANN PUTNAM University of Puget Sound Exile in Alaska. By John Mitchell. (Wasilla: Plover Press, 1987. 113 pages, $13.95.) In the last of seven stories here, “Points North,” the first-person narrator— presumably John Mitchell himself—is driving away from his homestead and Alaska for the last time, the thoughts of all he has abandoned bawling in his head “like cows waiting to be milked, yet I knew they never would be. When you left a place, you killed it.” This last assertion is ironic in the context of these stories, for they all illustrate how capitalists have killed Alaska’s genius and wilderness areas. Mitchell’s only mention of wildlife comes in the form of a reference—in “Squaw Man”—to...