Tuesday, April 16, 2019

Massacre by James Warner Bellah


Owen Thursday was a tall man, dried out to leather and bone and sinew. Whatever he was doing, he moved about incessantly, not with nerves, but with primeval restlessness; not with impatience, but with an echo of lost destiny.

Bellah’s elegiac story was adapted into John Ford’s excellent Fort Apache. It is rare that we have lighting strike twice where the beauty in print matches the beauty on screen. Here we have such magic.

I’ll not bother wasting time summarizing the familiar, suffice to say it still holds power.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.

Winter Count by Barry Lopez

  What I remember most from the first visit, however, was neither the dryness nor the cactus but the wind. When I was a child in California ...