McMurtry May, Vol. 5 - The End!!!
Not the boys. Just me.
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You done this
“You done this,” he said aloud several times. “Jake started me off, but you was the one sent me back across here.”
These are more or less the final words Call says to Gus, though Gus has been long dead by this point. I was struck by this final exchange, if you can call it that, in part because here is Call once again refusing to take responsibility. He blames Gus for his journey home. He blames Jake for his journey away. He cannot take it upon himself to tell Newt he is his father — they leave things mostly unsaid in a moment of raw dissatisfaction.
I thought often about the notion of doing something to yourself — an act we see play out three times, basically, in this last little section of Lonesome Dove.
Call — who has put himself in the position of leading this group to Montana — then takes it upon himself to ride all the way back to Texas to bury Gus.
Gus — who is injured by a poisoned arrow and refuses to let a doctor amputate both legs, the poison killing him.
Blue Duck — who thrusts himself out of a window on the way to his hanging, thereby taking control of his own death.
I think all three of these characters are responsible for their own lack of livelihood. I don’t mean they are strictly speaking suicidal: I mean that their lives are local, small, and painful because of how they limit themselves. You might think that a giant journey across the country — there and back — would change a man like Call. Sure, he’s maybe a little different. The scene where he leaves his belongings, including Hell Bitch, to Newt feels like something that could not have happened if they ever left Texas.
Call walked the few steps to the boy and squeezed his arm so hard Newt thought his fingers had pinched the bone. Then he turned and tried to mount the dun. He had to try for the stirrup three times before he could mount. He wished had had died on the Musselshell with Gus. It would have been easier than knowing he could not be honest. His own son stood there — surely, it was true; after doubting it for years, his own mind told him over and over that it was true — and yet he could not call him a son. His honesty was lost, had long been lost, and he only wanted to leave.
I’ve written a lot about the ways in which these characters are literally going extinct throughout the novel. I have to admit a trope I’m always moved by is someone’s ambition ruining their lives — perhaps this is why a movie like The Lost City of Z makes me cry so much — even (and especially) when that ambition is (as is often the case) is misguided. Of course none of these guys should have been making this journey. Why did they do it? What was the point? They did it because they wanted to — it seemed right. Their lives had previously been big (when they were Rangers) and then small (when they were Hat Creek); perhaps leaving would make them feel big again. It doesn’t work, of course. By the end of the novel, Call is practically a ghost, lurking through paths he once took.
In turn, I was fascinated by the younger generation’s capacity and interest in staying put. July stays with Clara. Lorena stays with Clara. Newt stays in Montana. There is no sense of nobility in staying where you are, but these characters seem to know and understand that the only way to live is to grow and build, rather than wander through the margins. They’re horrified by the actions of Gus and Call by the end — the former for dying, the latter for refusing to let his friend by buried by his two girlfriends. There is a security in the choices these characters make. That doesn’t mean they’re immune from death — we see how Clara’s lot in life has gone — but it grants them an opportunity to change and shift. They can exist in other contexts. I was saying this just yesterday that part of why Clara is such an interesting late game addition is because she sort of infuses the real world into the narrative. That’s not to say I expect — or even want — a book like Lonesome Dove to engage with that which is “realist.” I get that we’re working in genre, to some degree. But Clara has been living in this book’s version of the real world. She is concerned with money and resources, death and illness, love and what comes after. She takes responsibility, which has both hallowed her and made her life worth living.
Blythe sent me this long essay from just a few weeks back in the NYRB about McMurtry, broadly, and especially Lonesome Dove. The main comparison made in this essay is that Lonesome Dove is a kind of “Moby-Dick of the plains” — or as the essay puts it, a big book about big things. I can see the comparisons: both are about the folly of ambition, the price of adventure, the overpowering wonder and horror of nature. But Moby-Dick is a much stranger and metaphysical book — to me, it’s like if Lonesome Dove took place in outer space. Moby-Dick also has the benefit of being told from the point of view of an outsider; it’d be like if Lonesome Dove was from Jasper Fant’s point of view. Wait — that’s a good idea. DON’T steal it.
When nature rises up over man in Moby-Dick it’s a little bit like woo yay in part because we recognize that the whaling industry is this giant, monstrous thing that came to define a whole way of life for many years. When nature rises up over man in Lonesome Dove, there’s a much more wistful sense of acceptance. Like, damn, yeah — if it’s not snakes, it’s dehydration; if it’s not murder, it’s illness. These guys do not go out especially nobly — their deaths do not “mean” much. They are rendered human by that which unites them. Call is the outlier, in part because he’s cursed to keep living.
Last thing
Pea Eye was so brave!
Actual last thing
Several months ago, Blythe — the most vocal Lonesome Dove fan in my life — asked if Fran Magazine might be a good place for her short essay on how Lonesome Dove changed her life. I said, hell yes. That’s going to close out the issue today. I found myself relating to many of these. I imagine you will too. Blythe’s words below.
Reading Lonesome Dove Has Changed My Life
“2025 is the year of Lonesome Dove,” I am always saying to friends I am trying to get to read Lonesome Dove. While 2024 was the year of The Power Broker because of the book’s 50th anniversary and the read-along 99 Percent Invisible podcast, the popularity of Larry McMurtry’s Western is organic, due entirely to a groundswell of hot people with the opinion “There’s life before and life after reading Lonesome Dove.” I’ve read the 900 thousand page book and 1.5 of its prequels, and my life has completely changed. Here’s how:
Revolutionized the way I dress. It is hard to remember a time before Lonesome Dove, when I wore shoes that were not cowboy boots. Today when I shop I ask myself one question: would an Old West whore wear this to sleep in? If the answer is yes, I buy it to wear when I walk around Park Slope.
I am always thinking about old age, death, unrequited love, and friendship. To quote the Lonesome Dove Wikipedia page, “The novel contains themes including old age, death, unrequited love, and friendship.” Before I read the book, these were the four things I was always thinking about. Now I’m never thinking about anything else!
Learned a grape phrase. One of the main characters writes a Latin phrase on the cattle company’s sign without knowing what it means: “Uva uvam vivendo varia fit,” or “A grape changes color when it sees another grape.” This is so true about grapes.
I changed my Instagram bio to Hell Bitch. While Larry McMurtry was notable for writing compelling women, the female character I most related to in the book was Hell Bitch, an evil horse that keeps biting people.
My motto became “ADIDAB (All Day I Dream About Biscuits).” Biscuits were mentioned so many times in this book that I became desperate for biscuits. I asked Instagram for recommendations for vegan biscuits in NYC, and received recommendations for non-vegan biscuits in NYC and recommendations for vegan biscuits not in NYC. I bought ingredients, improvised a vegan biscuit recipe, apologized to my boyfriend for making inedible biscuits, and then triumphed after the biscuits were actually so good my boyfriend suggested I start a Substack(?).
I hate Blue Duck now. Fuck Blue Duck (the murderous villain of Lonesome Dove.) That guy sucks.
Learned there’s a fashion brand called Blue Duck. What kind of sick motherfuckers…
Whenever there’s a Lonesome Dove thinkpiece I am like “They stole my idea to read Lonesome Dove.” I read Lonesome Dove 40 years after it came out but I still consider myself ahead of the curve. I am tired of all these people stealing my idea to read Lonesome Dove, and stealing my idea to be from Texas (I am from Illinois).
I did *NOT* buy property in Montana. This is extremely impressive when you learn that at the same time I was reading Lonesome Dove, I was also watching Yellowstone. Admittedly the only reason I did not do this is because I have no money.
I *DID* buy a Stetson. Well, I had $170, and now I have no money.
Spent at least two hours thinking about who I could cast in a miniseries adaptation of Lonesome Dove. This is a lot of hours when you consider no one was paying me to do this. It’s even more hours when you consider I didn’t know at the time that someone is actually planning to make a new Lonesome Dove miniseries. In the spirit of generosity, here are a few ideas for the producers: Matthew McConaghey is Gus, Woody Harrelson is Call, Ethan Hawke is Jake Spoon. Richard Linklater directs. OK, no more free tastes! Timmy Chalamet is July Jones and Steve Zahn is Roscoe. That’s it! Willem Dafoe: Lippy. AND THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GETTING UNLESS YOU HIRE ME. (Blue Duck is Cate Blanchett.)
Learned the word “passel.” I also learned the words “sorrel,” “crow-hop,” and “remuda,” along with 700 other words about horses. This will come in handy in my life which involves absolutely no touching of horses because I’m too scared to embarrass myself while trying to get up on the saddle.
Developed the opinion that I could cross a river on a horse. Once I get on the horse, there’s no stopping me.
Spent an entire plane ride zooming in on New Mexico on the seat-back flight tracker. In an act that presumably got me added to a domestic terrorism watch list, I spent a flight from Florida to NYC trying to understand the landscape of a pivotal Lonesome Dove prequel scene.
Became murderously angry at Larry McMurtry. Sure, I got mad whenever Larry killed a beloved character, but my real gripe was the preface McMurtry wrote for Lonesome Dove, in which he spoiled one of the book’s biggest plot points. LARRY!
Felt genuinely loved when I cried so hard reading the last 100 pages that my boyfriend, a little spooked, stroked my hair and said “I am sorry about your favorite character.”
Got mad about Game Of Thrones all over again. It’s been awhile since I cared about a sprawling cast of characters in an old-timey world populated by magical creatures (buffalo). It reminded me: GoT didn’t have to be like that!
Learned how to write. 10 pages from the end of the book, a dude shows up out of nowhere, imparts a vital piece of information to a main character in two sentences, says “This is the longest conversation I’ve had in ten years. Goodbye,” and the leaves. That’s how you win a Pulitzer Prize for exposition, baby!
Became aware that I’m going to die, and grateful that I’m not dead yet. Lonesome Dove is sweeping the nation because it’s one of those books that makes you want to really LIVE. Characters keep dying, but some of them also keep drinking coffee and drinking whiskey, buying candy, trying to get laid, riding horses with their friends, enjoying life. It made me want to eat biscuits and tell everyone I know I love them. Even if they stole my idea to read Lonesome Dove.
Fran again. Thank you, thank you, thank you for participating in another fun BOOK CLUB MAY. I am sad to see McMurtry May come to a close. This was extra long and extra fun. Thank you to everyone who put this book into my head as a possible book club option — Mom, Dad, Blythe, Brendan, Phil, Jake, Jack. Thank you to everyone who has commented and discussed and hung out and lurked. It’s always such a blast. I am planning to watch the Lonesome Dove miniseries soon… but I am not sure when. Maybe like, mid-June? It would be fun to discuss that with everyone too. I am also thinking about doing a possible book club this fall too, maybe in the month of November. Maybe a book I have read before so it’ll be less work. Howards End — kidding… haha… unless? Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns? Did the end of the book make you go, “wait — that’s how it ends?” I felt like I was going crazy. I felt like Bandit after he got the mouse. Like omg… the Dry Bean — it burned. Xavier! The whole thing is dust. I couldn’t believe it.
There’s a passage close to the one you cited near the end of the book, Newt’s response to Call’s departure, that I’ve revisited countless times, and never fails to make me misty eyed:
“Looking at the Captain, Newt began to feel sadder than he had ever felt in his life. Just go on, he wanted to say. Go on, if it’s that hard. He felt too young; he didn’t want to be left with it all. He felt he couldn’t bear what was happening, it was so surprising.”
I read this for the first time last fall and fell in love with it, revisiting it for this book club has so fun. Your observations and insights got at the heart of what I loved about McMurty’s writing. Thank you Fran Mag :)
Streets of Laredo next time…?
I cried too much on Sunday between watching The Heiress and finishing this book. In both cases I assumed it would be no big deal because I had seen/read these works before. Turns out like Newt I had more tears in me than I expected.
The last sentence of this book is insane. It’s already so bleak and it ends on a note of gothic despair. I believe the miniseries ended on Call and the journalist instead, because it’s just too haunting as a wrap up to this big saga. A lot of Westerns end with gunslinger figures who are kept out of the civilization they helped to create and preserve. McMurtry takes it a step further by sending Call home to a ruin.
McMurtry is an interesting revisionist. He gets close to making a kind of feminist critique of the West that could be too simplistic — Clara as a more well rounded matriarchal figure who offers community and safety in opposition to the violence the Hat Creek boys meet. But Clara is not capable of making a better world on her own. She needs help too, in the imperfect form of a few lovesick cowboys who stick around.
Call’s character comes to the fore in the last section, revealed arguably as the villain of the story — Gus without his charm and generosity. His name suggests a call to adventure, and McMurtry is not so hot on the idea of adventure. I tried doing a fantasy cast of Lonesome Dove with classic Western actors (didn’t get much further than a mustacheless Howard Keel as Jake Spoon), and I think both Call and Gus could have been Wayne in different modes — the more relaxed Wayne of Rio Bravo or the terrifying Wayne of The Searchers. Anyone who enjoyed Lonesome Dove and is interested in more Western movies might check out one of his best performances in Red River, another cattle drive epic about fathers and sons.
I love Pea Eye not getting the Newt-Call connection all the way to the end. I feel for him. I’ve never been much of a noticer.