Thomas McGuane, a neglected American writer, is still respected, but his books were better-known in the 20th century. His style is graceful, his characters complex, and he has an offbeat vision of what it means to be an American in a troubled period of history.  

And Nobody’s Angel, published in 1979, is a masterpiece of alienation. Even the blurbs on back of the paperback are excellent: “The thinking man’s Western… McGuane is meticulous with his metaphors, as precise and witty as a Renaissance poet.”

I wouldn’t call it a Western, but I see the critic’s point. The hero, Patrick Fitzgerald, “a fourth-generation cowboy outsider,” has left Germany, where he served in the army, and returned to the family ranch in Montana. Although he loves the ranch, he is often angry. We have the feeling early in the novel that something, someone, or someones will explode.

This strange, gorgeously-written novel, set in Montana in the 1970s, teems with rage (probably PTSD).  However, the novel begins humorously.  On his first day back,  Patrick goes to town to look for his grandfather, Francis X. Fitzgerald, and finds him trying out for a movie, Hondo’s Last Move.  (The movie is never made: the studio decides to go with science fiction.)

When the director, Duxbry, tells Francis X. that he’s in the movie, Francis, who has been begging for the role, shows no gratitude: “On the basis of what?”

They’re a peculiar family.

This book is very “horsy,” but these scenes are enjoyable even for those of us who aren’t.  On the ranch most of Patrick’s duties are horse-oriented:  he breaks horses, rides horses, feeds horses, shoes horses, and watches a horse give birth. 

And eventually he meets and falls in love with Claire, a rich married woman from Oklahoma who has rented the ranch nearby – with her husband.

That said, this isn’t just a man’s novel. And it certainly isn’t just a love story. There are six women:  Patrick’s pregnant sister Mary, just out of a mental hospital; their estranged mother, who shows up at exactly the wrong time; three good-natured prostitutes who make quiche; and, yes, we must talk about Claire. 

Claire is the perfect woman for Patrick, but from my point of view, she is the least believable character. (I also have this trouble with Hemingway’s women, so that shows you where I stand.) Claire is a fantasy figure, not especially vivacious, constantly peeling off cotton dresses, while Patrick admires her breasts. In all fairness, Claire knows horses. She trains them, I think. Patrick is in love with Claire, but she is perhaps less in love: she says she won’t leave her husband.

There are rocky times ahead.

There’s darkness, there is humor, there is sex, there’s a state I’ve never been to (Montana). The writing is lyrical, and I look forward to reading his later books. I believe McGuane is still writing.