During the summertime, when my grandfather was alive, we normally ate on his back porch, which overlooked the lake bellow us. I remember one after-dinner discussion: He confessed that he himself had tried his hand at a few short stories before he became an attorney. He said he wrote “westerns,” little pulpish stories with sentences like, “He shot the bartender in the face, and rolled underneath table and took aim again. They were just now drawing their pistols. He fired twice. The big feller toppled, and the loud one became louder, holding his knee, shrieking. ” When we didn’t have our discussions, my grandfather would often go into the living room by himself and put a ladder-back chair three feet in front of the television and watch his favorite movie of all time: The Outlaw Josey Wales. Other westerns such as Hang ‘Em High, Pale Rider, and High Noon enjoyed frequent showings as well. My grandmother, too, loved stories from that time period, and although the novel she published more aptly belonged to the romance genre than the western, her story revolved around pioneer life and Native Americans. I’m reminded, too, that my father’s generation, that of the baby-boomers, were captivated as children by cowboys and Indians, not Luke Skywalker and Indiana Jones. And now, with the plethora of blockbuster superhero movies dominating the screen—Batman, Spiderman, Superman, Ironman—it’s difficult for my friends and me to imagine that the gunslinger was once the great American superhero.Without this generational propensity to love Westerns, I was not looking forward to reading a The Way West, even if it had won the Pulitzer in 1951. I didn’t care about sheriffs, outlaws, shootouts, bank robberies, stampedes, vendettas, scalpings, and what was happening back on the ranch with Ma and Pa. Frankly, I thought I was a little too cosmopolitan, if not sophisticated, to relate to men who spit tobacco and slept with their guns. Much to my astonishment, not one of the characters in The Way West was stereotypical; furthermore, although there was one stampede, I never ran across a single instance of melodrama. The story I read, like its main character Lije Evans, was remarkable for its simplicity, humility, truthfulness, and quiet strength. Rather than highlighting the dramatic dangers of the wild west, Gutherie turns his attention to the promises of the frontier west, the finer details of Manifest Destiny, the hope of a better life, free land, and the sacrifices of real people overcoming ordinary hardships. More specifically, this is the story of a wagon company gathering itself in Independence, Missouri in 1845 and journeying thousands of brutal miles to Fort Vancouver, in Oregon Territory. Rebbeca Evans, wife of Lije Evans, relates the central conflict of the story:Miles. Distance. Distance was the enemy, not Indians or crossings or weather or thirst or plains or mountains, but distance, the empty awesome face of distance, the miles on wrinkled miles of it, the levels and hills and hollows and bluffs, unconquerable by the slow turn of wheels or the creaking step of oxen. There was no end to it, not even any shortening. Morning and night it was there unchanged, hill and cloud and skyline beyond reach or reckoning.And it this distance, there are other challenges: whether to stay put or move on when a man burns with “Camp Fever,” what to say to a woman who loses her child to snakebite, or to a woman who loses her child to miscarriage. Beyond instances of death, there are conflicts of personality, propriety, and morality: whether to hang an Indian for horse stealing, whether to use buffalo dun for cooking fuel, whether to marry because of pregnancy. Gutherie shows great empathy for all of his characters, even the unlikable ones, and in the process creates a world so unerringly balanced and authentic, that when an instance of high drama finally does come to bear, say, a confrontation with Sioux Indians, or the fording of the Snake river, we embrace it with great anticipation and marvel that a story can be so entertaining while so true. But more than rigorous authenticity and down-home story-telling, it’s Gutherie’s ability to introduce his characters slowly, by degrees, that makes his novel exceptional. Gutherie reminds us that some people, like a shallow, muddy creek, are much more than they appear, and sometimes first impressions, if we trace them to their source, can lead to vast underground lakes of surprising depth and clarity. The process, of course, takes time, but is all the more rewarding, since we don’t readily identify with these people or see the traits that make them heroic. Lije Evans, for example, is far from the typical western “hero.” He can’t fight, he doesn’t wield guns, and initially, when compared to Indiana Jones or Ironman, he’s a colossal bore. But it’s only by spending time with Evans that we come to see him as heroic: He’s strong but humble, quite. Leadership is thrust upon him; he’s an attentive father; his relationship with his wife is based on deep friendship (and is very endearing, and touching); he shows respect to everyone, even those who don’t deserve it, and he’s very slow to anger. One of the other pioneers, a much lesser man, can’t help but admire Evans:Evans wasn’t in a hurry to proceed. He had his jackknife out, whittling on his nails. Underneath his thin-worn shirt Mack could see the bulge of muscles. A balanced man was Evans, big, slow, growing in stature with the captaincy. Mack felt with a twist of envy that here was a person sure to make his mark in Oregon, sure to lead in the organization of the territory, sure to represent it in some major office. It wasn’t the future of him, though, that excited envy. It was the man himself. It was in the suggestion in his looks and manner that he was at peace with himself, at a kind of modest peace that won men to him. Did he have no inward weakenesses, no secret conflicts Mack wondered; no faults beyond the doubtful fault of unsure confidence, beyond the disappearing fault of indecision. Did he know the outlaw impulses? Did he wake up at night and try to run from judgement? Other characters, besides Evans, such as his son, Brownie Evans, continue to grow on us throughout the journey to Oregon. Brownie, all of nineteen, is smitten with sixteen-year-old Mercy McBee, who, by all descriptions, is extremely attractive and all but ignores him. Unfortunate for Mercy, Mr. Curtis Mack, all of thirty-five and married to a frigid wife, takes her aside and whispers sweets nothings in her ear. Knocked up and full of shame, Mercy marries Brownie to avoid the ostracism from having a child out of wedlock. In time she discovers that Brownie just might be worth getting to know. tWithout thinking more, without letting herself hesitate, she said, “Brownie?”t“You awake?” [Brownie said.]t“I just this minute woke up. Brownie?”t“Uh-huh.”tShe came out with it. “I’m—I’m leanin’ to care for you.”tHe didn’t answer right away. Waiting, she came to know he couldn’t. “I hoped you’d want to know,” she said. And in the same way, we the reader learn to care about Brownie and Mercy, Evans and his wife Rebecca. We learn to suspend our judgment, give people of a different background a chance, and perhaps even enjoy the ride with them—as long as it lasts.
Billed as the sequel to The Big Sky, A.B.Guthrie, Jr. calls once again on Dick Summers, retired mountain man, who played a major role as guide and mentor to young Boone Caudill, before finally calling it quits and heading back to Missouri.In The Way West, the migration has begun in earnest. Wagon trains are forming up, destination Oregon. Summers, who married upon his return to Missouri, has just lost his wife to illness. His neighbor, Lige Evans, along with his family, is fixing to pack up and head west. He knows Dick Summers, and he knows that Summers is more than capable of getting a wagon train to Oregon.As the story unfolds, the various families signing up to make the journey are introduced. Hands are hired to help with the livestock, preparations are completed and the train sets off for Oregon with Summers as their guide.Guthrie tells a fine story, not just about the difficulties on the trail, but the social interactions as well. Like Wallace Stegner who wrote so adeptly about the strengths and frailties of ordinary human relationships, Guthrie also excels in this arena. Coupled with some of the most amazing descriptions of wilderness scenery, The Way West is an articulate and beautifully told story.Dick Summers is a man with depth. He has lived large and his heart and soul reflect the beauty and fierceness of the land he loves. He did okay in Missouri; accepted the changes that came with domesticity and civilization, but inside, ahh well, inside he was always a mountain man. He is a man with an extraordinary grasp of humanity. Life, experience, and simply paying very close attention, have opened his eyes and expanded his vision. There isn't much that scares him, bothers him or throws him. He is a man with two feet planted firmly on the ground.He is also an introspective man, a ruminator, a man prone to self-reflection. His neighbor, Lige Evans, is cut of the same cloth only doesn't know it. What he does know is the Summers is one the finest, most capable men in his life. He also knows that the wagon train, without Summers as guide, would probably never make it to Oregon.Lige is a simple man, a modest man, a trustworthy, family loving man who has decided to move his family west. He does not consider himself a leader, yet somewhere along the way the train decides that he would make a better captain than the one they hired. Thrust into his new role, relying heavily on his friend and neighbor, Dick Summers, Evans begins to learn about himself in ways he never imagined. He could do worse in the mentor department, but he certainly couldn't do better.The Way West is not an action adventure story. It is a peek at the unbelievable strength and fortitude necessary to uproot and move across an untamed wilderness on a hope and a prayer. It is a snapshot of what the west not only looked like before the emigrants arrived, but how it forged a new character in those attempting to make the journey.
What do You think about The Way West (2002)?
I enjoyed this second book in a series by A.B. Guthrie about the people who settled the Western frontier much more than the previous one (The Big Sky) which I never finished reading. In this one, we are re-acquainted with Dick Summers, a crusty old frontiersman with memories of his younger days before the West had become the promised land for the thousands of pioneers heading across the Oregon trail. And so he agrees to pilot a wagon train on its difficult journey from Missouri across the plains and mountains, from Fort Laramie to Fort Hall and on to Fort Vancouver. I enjoyed Guthrie’s simple straight-forward approach to this story which describes the hardships the journey entailed without romanticizing it or lapsing into mellowdrama . The book was interesting to read because of the details it painted about what life was like on the trail for the women as well as the men, leaving the reader to marvel at the courage and determination it took for entire families to pack up and head off into territory they really knew nothing about. (At the same time I can’t help wondering whether the wives were as enthusiastic about heading West as their “menfolk” since most likely women‘s concerns weren’t given much consideration when making the decision to go!) As much as I enjoyed this book, it’s always impossible to read novels that pay homage to the pioneer spirit and the settling of the West without also recognizing the devastating effect it had on the people who had lived there for untold generations and who were forced to give up a way of life that had endured for centuries.
—Trisha
I first read about this book in John Unruh's The Plains Across, which I would boldly call the seminal work of serious Oregon Trail history. His review is glowing, but the thing that really sums it up is; "...the author captured the quintessence of the entire experience..."Couldn't say it better myself.The Way West isn't for everyone. It's a human drama first, and historical fiction second; there's no historical figures acting anachronistically, no gunfights, and no lurid descriptions of sexual e
—David Ranseen
Let's be clear! I love Westerns as a genre-movies, books and even TV. I had a positive outlook as I began this book, since I enjoy a good "oater", and the author, A.B. Guthrie won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1950. The novel did not disappoint. A group of farmers in Missouri decide to make the perilous journey from their homesteads to the wilds of Oregon. Some of the train members have come from further east, seeking a new start. To call this adventure perilous is certainly an understatement. All of the dangers one might expect to find, if you have been exposed to any western media form, are present-changeable and fierce weather, heat, wind, lack of water, rattlesnakes, wolves, raging rivers, deep gorges, desert-like terrain-all to be crossed on foot, (since most members of the wagon train walked). Everything you might need must be transported with you, from flour to sewing needles-all transported in covered wagons or on the backs of pack mules or, if necessary, carried by hand. Why would anyone undertake such an intimidating endeavour? Guthrie gives us many reasons, including the desire to help Oregon as a territory become part of America, and out of the hands of the British. The primary reason was the desire to own land that was thought to be so rich in its flora, fauna, and potential for successful homesteading, that the idea of "Oregon", became almost mythic in its dreamed-of state. Guthrie does "the pioneer spirit" proud! Living in a time when we have difficulty imagining daily life without electricity, running water, the internet, and almost any kind of food imaginable at our fingertips, the circumstances overcome by this relatively small group of ordinary folk, is quite extraordinary. His characters are likeable, except for the controlling Tadlock and some of his cronies. After the first couple of chapters, I realized that my perceptions of the characters were being indirectly influenced by my visualization of Dick Summers, the wagon train pilot, in the form of a buckskin clad Jimmy Stuart, and Lige Evens, the other main male character, as an embodiment of Gary Cooper. Those images remained with me throughout the novel, and are a tribute to Mr. Guthrie's characterizations, and two Hollywood greats who epitomize integrity and "the good guy", in just about any type of environment. Stuart, whom I adore, made many westerns, some darker that others, and Cooper is the sheriff abandoned by those he has sworn to protect, in the classic High Noon.Guthrie's novel was made into a 1967 film of the same name, starring three Hollywood big ticket stars: Richard Widmark, Robert Mitchum, and Kirk Douglas. The film includes many of the physical challenges faced by the train's members, but I was not happy with the casting, nor their portrayals of Guthrie's characters.Guthrie is also known as the writer of the screenplay for the famous western, Shane, and received an Oscar Nomination. The Way West is actually a sequel to The Big Sky, in which Dick Summers is a mountain man, with a deeply felt attachment to the mountains of Oregon, thus making him an ideal candidate to pilot the train in the sequel. He appears again in Guthrie's third book, Fair Land, Fair Land, as Summers with a conservationist-type character slant, from the mid nineteenth century. I intend to read both of these volumes, along with These Thousand Hills, a separate novel about the world of cattle ranchers in the 1880's.If you enjoy beautifully constructed descriptions of the land, weather, and characters from a time and place gone by, who seem real enough to step out of the page, The Way West is for you.
—Laurel
