There was a point in writing The Outlaw Noble Salt where I was overcome with grief. I’ve written some very sad historical novels, novels about war and loss and incredible grit, so to be “struck down” by this novel, in particular, was unexpected. I thought maybe it was me—my life, my career, the crisis of faith I seem to be continually caught in—and not the book at all. Then in the midst of a heart-to-heart conversation with a friend, the thought came loud and clear: these are Butch Cassidy’s feelings, not mine.

I resonated with this character in a way that might be surprising. Like Robert LeRoy Parker, I was raised in Utah in an empty valley just north of his, and I deeply understood his restlessness and his disillusionment, even though we were born a hundred years apart. I’ve felt the same love for the land, the people, and the history, as well as a need to find my own way. And every time I drive through Beaver River Valley, which is at least once a year on our family’s trek to the beach in California, I am overcome. It was the valley, even more than the man, that called to me.

Robert LeRoy Parker was a fascinating character, full of the contradictions that make humans remarkable and fallible. He was good even though he did bad things. He was honest even though he was wise. If it’s possible to channel characters—and research starts to feel like channeling after a while—the overwhelming feeling I got from Butch was genuine regret. He knew he’d gotten it wrong and chased a false happiness, and like his father says in the book, there are so few second chances. My goal with this novel was to give him one. Everyone deserves a love story, even an outlaw, and I hope he (and you) liked this alternate ending to an American legend.

Amy


KINDLE | PAPERBACK | AUDIO