GIDDYUP

In order to become an equal-opportunity book reviewer for the local newspaper, I decided to check out something from the western genre at the library yesterday. I think I've only read three westerns in my lifetime: something by Louis L'Amour (pick whichever one you want, as I think they're all pretty much the same); one by Kansas author Donald Coldsmith, and TRUE GRIT, which was a major disappointment. Whoever was the screenwriter for the movie version of TRUE GRIT was a true genius because the book is a yawner.

But, anyway, I moseyed on out of the library with my fourth western, something called SADDLE BOW SLIM. It was written in 1948 but is new to our library and it's in large print, so that's always a bonus. I won't mention the author just in case he's still alive and rounds up posses to go after critics, but he has other westerns on the local shelves and is, according to the book cover, a "Spur Award" winner, which must be the western writer's answer to a Pulitzer.

So I enthusiastically saddled up on my exercise bike last night to start reading SADDLE BOW SLIM --and, gosh durn it, I hate to say it, but this book is sorrier than a toothache on a Sunday afternoon. Practically every page has a groaning simile (like the one in that last sentence), and the cowpoke vernacular annoys me.

But this is a western!! What did I expect? Shakespeare? And I'm going to finish reading this book, if only to make a list of the Ten Most Appalling Similes in Literary History. I already have two to nominate: "The big gent's face was as black as the belly of a horse at midnight," and "Tensions flowed through the room like currents of air curling up from a rat hole." Winners for sure.

SADDLE BOW SLIM is already giving me saddle sores after just 66 pages. It's going to be a long ride.