Fighting Man by Frank Gruber

 

He was twenty-six years old, a towhead with washed out blue eyes. Schoolteacher, gambler, horse thief, camp follower, murderer and cannibal; he had been all of them.

The above is the first sentence in this 1948 novel by Mr. Gruber. That succinct matter-of-factness is peppered throughout the brief page run.

The novel follows an old storyline—the outlaw assuming the guise of a lawman.

The difference here, despite the 1948 pedigree, there is a casual violence that one might encounter in later Spaghetti Westerns or “adult” Westerns of the ‘70s.

The other difference, where often the violence in the two later examples I provided, that “modern” violence is often for grand guignol effect, inserted for the “cool” factor. Here its offhanded matter-of-factness serves us better as it seats the realities of true grimness without the need of wallowing for effect.

The difference between a hunter telling a tale and gamers swapping first-person shooter “accomplishments.”

Overall, it is a formulaic novel but an effective one.

I close with another brief offering of Mr. Gruber’s barebones violence.

A sentry stupid from illicit sleep, raised himself between two tents to see what was causing the noise that sounded like galloping horses. His mouth fell open in amazement—and then he died.

Says it all in two short sentences.

·        In war not all are diligent, nor all brave.

·        Some of us are prone to the realities of being a tired human.

·        Bodies need sleep.

·        This sentry slept when he shouldn’t.

·        He awakes as we all do, slow to process what is around us.

·        For that he is surprised by his end.

·        Surprised in a war zone.

·        We all sleep, we are all surprised.

·        T’is life.

·        T’is death.

Solid fare for a “mere formula Western.”