Accepted by Columbia University in the fall of 1959 after ten years in France (my native country) and ten in Venezuela (my next in line, barely emerging from a cruel dictatorship), I forced myself to read “The Virginian” (a Western classic) by Owen Wister, a Spanish-English pocket dictionary in one hand, having never read an American novel before, as a way of improving my English language (the third for me, the one I hated the most for being so different than Spanish, my previous nightmare). I don’t remember why I was reading this particular book since I had no preference for so-called “cowboy books,” but it prepared me, in a strange way, to read “Finding Billy Battles” (another Western classic, I predict) by Ron E. Yates 56 years later. I said in a strange way because about half way in those years I became a writer of American novels myself, although eventually specializing in postmodern fiction.
Ted Sayles, in “Finding Billy Battles,” could’ve simply become Billy Battles by time travel anytime in the story, not necessarily early on in his life, depending on how creative and clever the author, any author, wanted to be, using postmodern novelistic techniques, and thus reducing, if not eliminating, the explaining stuff in the prologue and the complexity of the introductory chapters. But Ron E. Yates, being a traditional writer, a superb one, I may add, told the story straight forward, from the heart, from beginning to end, the way journalists do, but in the first person to add immediacy and intimacy—two amazing ingredients. Wise choice!
So Billy Battles tells his own story (Chapters 1-25) once Ted (the real storyteller, interviewer, editor, helper, and user of Billy’s old journals and letters), his great grandson, is out of the picture. And it’s a fantastic story, legitimately Western because it happens in that well-defined period in American history, where traveling trigger-happy pistol-smart cowboys, twisted-minded horse thieves, wandering misfits, cold-blooded outlaws, overly wealthy ranchers, fearless frontier doctors, iron-headed disciplined sheriffs with amazing shooting skills, and the likes met or confronted each other in all kinds of fistfights and deadly shootouts in and out of old town saloons aplenty with hard drinks, loud music, pool tables, and beautiful women. Ahhh, yes--those old Wild West days that forever grow into myths and legends and top-grossing Clint Eastwood movies!
Surprisingly, Yates delivers a story that, for the most part, avoids all this--the clichés and stoic supermen gunslingers and romanticized cowboy lore that normally dominate the Western genre. His main character, Billy, trying to live a peaceful life that includes a steady job as a newspaperman, a loving wife and child besides his already loving mother and respectable in-laws as well as trusted and loyal friends, is drawn by accident into unexpected encounters of violence, treachery, murder, tragedy, and hate. Moving from town to town, mostly by urgency or special need, he crosses large, barren, and dangerous pieces of lands, like the 60-mile stretch between Cimarron and Arkansas Rivers, which Mexicans call “Jornada de la muerte”…expecting to run into bands of Kiowas and Comanches! This contrasts greatly with Hogback Ridge, the land onto which the University of Kansas today sits—his early, quiet place of higher learning while still living in Lawrence with his mom…or Dodge City (“…a ‘wicked cattle village,’ grown prosperous on the hide of the buffalo and the flesh of the Texas longhorn.”), where he got his first job as a journalist reporting for the Dodge City Union.
I’m not a fan of guns, but here I’m suddenly, and later repeatedly, exposed to more guns and accessories than I ever imagined existed in that era. This excessive, although finely described, Western element violates Hemingway’s self-imposed writing practice of always doing a “complete research of your subject” but using only “ten percent of it in your story”. I mention this famous novelist because he was also a newspaperman (initially a reporter for the Kansas City Star) and wrote short, clear, crisp, unadorned sentences like Yates does—not a coincidence, I imagine.
Describing things—anything!—regions, old towns, atmosphere, sunsets, windstorms, ranches, barns, saloons, people, feelings, work in progress, family reunions, aging, loneliness, fear, encounters, guns, shootouts, horses, trains, ships, wars, morals, you name it—is Yates’s greatest gift, I think. He has the unusual ability, care, and patience to define with simple words, freshness, and finesse what normal writers omit--from the feeblest element to the most delicate detail. I’m still amazed at the variety of colors and textures in people’s eyes and attires, for example, he dutifully illustrates to render truth and authenticity to his characters, even the unimportant ones. Likewise, he risks criticism, unafraid, for using (perhaps too much) the vernacular language these people conversed with in late nineteenth-century Kansas and other states, adding to this one of the most freewheeling displays of metaphors I’ve seen in novels in recent years (“the place was as quiet as a room full of owls,” for example, still rings in my head).
So Billy Battles accidentally kills Nate Bledsoe’s mother and intentionally his brother who tries to kill him first in a shootout near Billy’s property, occupied by these strangers, early on in the story. This, predictably, turns the novel into a revenge type of story, which the reader also must endure. But Nate is also, we soon find out, a horse thief and rapist of women and worse.
Small talk, often witty and amusing, colloquially authentic to this era, well-depicted by Yates, abounds and goes along with the action and shootouts and reunions of family members, relatives, and friends across the many states described, mostly south, west, and north of Kansas. The dialogue gets larger and more philosophical in later chapters, when Bill marries Mallie and unexpected problems ensue, his daughter now in the balance, turning the story in a completely new direction, which points to Asia. Loved this book!