The Big Empty is the latest in a rarely-attempted subgenre of Western fiction which I prefer to others - a book centered around real-world people dealing with the harsh realities of economic struggle and social change. Reminiscent of several of Elmer Kelton's best-known works, it is populated by neither outright heroes or villains but instead presents a cast of characters who really did and still do exist in the world.
Trace Malloy is a sort of standard, government-issue West Texas cattle rancher, struggling to meet the tremendous economies of maintaining a legacy herd on a legacy ranch in Conquistador, Texas while being faced daily with insufficient budget constraints. Ranching has long been a slowly worsening, losing proposition, one which can barely pay its own bills in the best of times, and Trace and other residents of the dwindling ranch town know that unless things change for the better, the town, the ranch and the people will go the way of the buffalo grass that once covered the now barren, rocky ground spreading out endlessly around them. Oddly, even though everyone knows they'd be better off elsewhere, no one really wants to leave. Cocooned in time and space, they lament what has been and await what may come.
When a potential answer to the town's prayers for self-preservation arrives from out of nowhere in the form of California-based AzTech company, a computer chip producer seeking to open an expansion plant there, it seems a godsend but soon opens up a whole new set of stresses and uncertainties the town has never had to deal with before.
Like many backroad West Texas towns, Conquistador has become somewhat lost to the advance of modern society. While not completely a remnant of the near-Old West, it has always existed within a finite mindset. Things are done a certain way or they're not done at all. Traditional values of respect, thankfulness to the Creator and having each other's back in difficult times are of instinctively greater importance than turning a greater profit or leaving the old way of life behind for an easier one. While people like Trace can see the need for change and welcome the presence of AzTech initially, it quickly becomes apparent that their rancher ways of doing business are lost on the corporate drones sent from California, where productivity and efficiency are all that matters. Inevitably, this strong faithfulness for tradition is a mere radar-blip on the corporate brain trust back in Milpitas.
One of those highly motivated tech-world suits is Blaine Witherspoon, whose job it is to get the new factory built to code and performing on a set capacity schedule and it is Blaine who is expected to win the town's remaining economically weary residents over to the AzTech value system based on the promise of jobs, better infrastructure and a secure, somewhat comfortably sterile, future where presently it seems to have none. Possessing both the built-in sense of greed and ego as well as the fear of failure and personal insecurity that goes with the position, Blaine attempts to assert himself on his company's behalf and expects that he will not only be respected for the opportunity he's granted the town, but given free reign over the use and sometimes the abuse of the arid land's limited resources of water and power.
Steffy is very knowledgeable in his description of the logistics of the tech industry and weaves the growing entity that is AzTech into a third dominant character as the novel progresses. AzTech becomes both a savior and an unknowable force for evil, depending on which side of the barbed wire one stands on. This leads to a regrettable clash between Malloy and Witherspoon early on, as the town debates the less-than-charismatic plant manager over water rights. Minor violence is inflicted upon Witherspoon at the hands, presumably the right one, of Malloy and subsequently much of the fate of the town and its future comes to depend on these two stubborn, mostly closed-minded men to find a way to get along with each other and effect a compromise that works both for the company and for the people who will be forced to coexist with it. At no point does the book coerce the reader to take a side. The views of both men are treated with equal consideration, even though Witherspoon endures the brunt of the physical and psychological gauntlet that is daily life in West Texas.
The Big Empty is essentially the narrative of an oft-repeated clash of ideals - of prideful, small town Texas values (which have seemingly grown irrelevant at the dawn of the new millennium) squaring off against the impersonal, data-driven ideals of modern industry. Beyond that, what makes this novel turn its own pages is the author's hands-on experience with his subject matter. Steffy is able to gently bring his characters and their environment to life in the same way Kelton could. Having some familiarity with the finer details of small, forgotten West Texas towns, I found myself frequently having to remember that I was deep in the heavily forested East Texas Piney Woods while reading his descriptive prose. If you've never spent time in this wide-open, almost featureless region of the state, covered in what is commonly referred to as "desert linoleum", a term used to denote its lack of eye-appeal, Steffy's ability to capture the nuances, human and otherwise, of the region are reason enough for reading.
There are certain moments in novels where the author is able to transport the reader, creating a memory that will last forever. I have never forgotten the night spent on a sandbar in the middle of the Brazos in Grave's Farewell to a River, the moment when Charlie Flagg has a heart attack on the backside of his ranch in The Time It Never Rained or the dreamlike sense of place accompanying Sears' account of napping in his canoe on a lake in Canoeing the Adirondacks with Nessmuk. Within The Big Empty there is an uncomfortably hot afternoon horse ride shared between the two men and a veteran ranch assistant as they seek to "work on things" which takes them to the edge of nowhere and beyond, instilling in both Witherspoon and the reader a sense of feeling completely alone and detached, that is rarely possible anywhere else except for the vast void that is the Big Empty. It is a land that ultimately doesn't care about people, no matter how much they need it to, and one that serves as the compelling backdrop to what is one of the better novels this reader has discovered in a while.
Since this is sold under the Western genre, I should reiterate that it is not a stereotypical Western novel in any way. If you want guns and bad guys, bars and beauties, Wal Mart has that. If you are looking for a better-quality product, The Big Empty is well worth it. It rewards in many ways, those ways being familiar to anyone who is used to reading contemporary accounts of the West that are appropriate to the rural Texas of the past 75 years. More writers should approach this intimidating genre, one where the bar has been set high; it's been awhile since anyone tried. Highly recommended for anyone over 40.