Death of a Gunfighter by Lewis B. Patten

 

He stared down at the boots. They the finest calfskin a man could buy, Patch had said when he gave them to him. Dan had intended to put them away and save them for good, but Frank Patch told him, “You wear them boy, that's the way to enjoy a thing. Use it. What good ‘ll them boots do you if you put ‘em in a closet and let your feet get too big for ‘em.”

This novel is one of the revised Lewis 100 Best novels.

I’m of two minds here.

On the one hand, the ambition is admirable. A tale of a town that is ready to move on and a man who is not.

A Marshal less past his prime than past his time.

A town perhaps not as civilized as it assumes.

The tale is told inside the heads of many participants, from the marshal to seemingly peripheral players.

The motives and rationales are seldom straight lines as in lesser narratives, but messier, far more human.

This mature take is the admirable hand we consider.

On the other hand, it seems that Mr. Patten’s vision, while mature and appreciated, is not quite matched by skill.

This same story in the hands of a Steinbeck would be a classic.

Here, it is admirable—a thoughtful read without quite being an A.