If I could give this book 6 or even 10 stars, I would.
"Texasville" takes us back to Thalia, Texas, thirty-some years after the events of "The Last Picture Show." (McMurtry has taken a few liberties with the timelines of the series, which bothers me a little but not much; anyway, "Texasville" takes place in 1986) and we once again meet up with Duane, Sonny, Jacy, Ruth Popper and Genevieve.
Whereas LPS focused most on Sonny, T-ville is Duane's story. Duane has made his fortune in oil and is living large, though he only has a few hundred in the bank and is in deep debt. He's married and has four kids, two of them grown, and this brutally hot summer the town of Thalia is celebrating its centennial with a huge party; also, Duane's high school class is holding it's 30th reunion.
Duane's wife is materialistic, oversexed, snarky but loves him to pieces. His kids are variously serial brides, dope dealers and preteen psychopaths. Even his dog is neurotic and also stupid, but fanatically loyal.
And Sonny? Poor Sonny. McMurtry apparently took to heart the famous writing advice "Kill your darlings." He doesn't kill Sonny, but he's let the years turn him into a sad, lonely, mentally-unravelling character who owns several local businesses like Sam the Lion used to, but lacks his dignity or force of personality.
Jacy has grown up and moved away, then come back to town. She is more mature, less spiteful, but still self-absorbed and sometimes high-handed with others.
Ruth Popper, now that her husband is dead, works as Duane's secretary, and she is easily the happiest person in Thalia. Her long-ago affair with Sonny seems to have saved her soul, if not her life.
The book's outstanding feature is its humor. McMurtry almost seems to be sitting next to you as you watch events in Thalia unfold, elbowing you in the ribs, winking, and laughing just as loud as you are at the hilarious situations that develop, whether it's a tumbleweed invasion during a parade, Duane taking out his frustrations on a wildly expensive but hideously tacky hippo-shaped footstool, or his eleven-year-old twins' seriously foul back-talk. It's clear McMurtry had a lot of fun writing this, and I had a lot of fun reading it.