Guild by Ed Gorman

 

“He’ll probably try to kill us both. Frank Cord, I mean.”

“You scared?”

 “A little.”

Guild said, “That's about how much I’m scared, too.”

Here we have, to my eye, a bit of a curiosity. It is Tuska’s pick for the best of this author, and there is indeed craft here. Pacing, setting, all the elements are here, and yet…I find the entire affair a bit toothless.

A bit, “I’ve mapped out all the discrete parts that should make a fine Western tale, now let’s Insert Slot A into Hole B.”

Our protagonist is a troubled bounty-hunter, his trouble is outlined for us at the beginning of the novel.

We are told the incident haunts him.

Beyond a mention of the incident here and there I never felt any haunting.

Truthfully, I never felt that any character here was alive. They all seem dress-up simulacra from other more vital novels.

We have confrontations simply because this part of the plot demands it.

We have passionless relationships that we are told are meaningful.

It seems strange to find so little to like in a novel that is clearly written with craft.

To be clear, there is nothing wrong with the elements—it is all in the stew itself. All a bit watery.

Then again, perhaps the fault is all mine for failing to see the art here.