242 Western American Literature Chapter four’s “Characters” are as bizarre a cast of characters as any town could ever assemble, including (besides an astonishing collection of Flynns and Gormans) two non-irishmen with fantastic histories. There is Buster Copeland, son of the local milliner, who returns from the Orient to insert an exotic blade between his father’s fifth and sixth ribs — and won acquittal for the act. And Norwegian Henry Kolbo, who was the local movie projectionist while a Kenmare high school student, went on to amass several million dollars before he died in a 707 crash on Mt. Fuji in 1967. The Morrow book is anything but a sober-sided account of life on the North Dakota frontier. There is not a drab scene or a dull passage in the book. The actual texture of the prose is more surrealistic than realistic, as the adventures and anecdotes of these “poor, bigotted, and quarrelsome” Irish are revealed to us. The book is packed with characters and episodes that come at us with bewildering speed and variety. But it is the Irish who give the book its distinctive flavor. CLARENCE A. GLASRUD, Moorhead State University The Dime Novel Western. By Daryl Jones. (Bowling Green, Ohio: Bowl ing Green University Popular Press, 1978. 186 pages, $8.95 cloth, $3.95 paper.) If it is true, as Daryl Jones says, that the dime novels that remain today are physically deteriorating, difficult of access, and too much ne glected by scholars, then his little book should mend that situation. It is to be highly recommended as a sensible, straightforward, and comprehensive survey. Jones’ organizational scheme is a bit prosaic, perhaps, but serviceable. The heart of the book is the chapters that consider the settings, the types of heroes and heroines, and the plots. Within those general topics, Jones strongly emphasizes the chronological development that occurred as the dime novel kept pace with changing cultural forces and aesthetic fashions. The complexity that his attention to chronological development produces is perhaps the strongest feature of the book, and it exposes the superficial generalizations most of us are wont to make regarding the dime novel. Methodologically, Jones stands firmly in the American Studies tradition of Henry Nash Smith and John Cawelti, which deals with popular litera ture by identifying genre conventions and explaining their appeal by cor relating them to contemporary or universal cultural anxieties. But Jones’ book contains a whiff of rebellion against that tradition. Almost alone Reviews 243 among the Caweltians, Jones chooses to act upon Cawelti’s suggestion that aesthetic, as well as purely cultural, considerations might be worth explor ing. “Changes in the character of the Western hero,” Jones tells us, “re sulted from the complex interplay of several aesthetic and socio-psychological dynamics which, in the last analysis, remain inextricably inter woven.” (p. 117) One hopes that scholars will follow Jones’ lead. If they do, we will soon have a deeper and more balanced appreciation for popu lar literature than the American Studies tradition has yet given us. One hopes, too, that Jones’ book will launch a movement to study, preserve, and make more accessible the dime novels that still exist. Paper back reprints of a few outstanding or representative examples of the genre, like Philip Durham’suseful — but lonely— editions of Seth Jones and Deadwood Dick on Deck (1966) would be most welcome. GARY TOPPING, Utah State Historical Society The Last Good Kiss. By James Crumley. (New York: Random House, 1978. 259 pages, $8.95.) Although nobody has investigated the genealogical niceties in detail, it is pretty generally agreed that westerns and thrillers have family in com mon. The relationship may not be conjugal or parental, but the two are at least kissing cousins. They are also both commonly assumed to wear the bar sinister of polite letters, to be the sort of kinfolk that are fine in their place, but that you wouldn’t want your daughter to marry. Some thing like this could (and doubtless will) be said of The Last Good Kiss which, if read unsympathetically, can easily be dismissed as yet another whodunit, genus private eye, species missing person. Ostensibly this novel asks the question...
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