Fine stories of men's world
By ERIC MILES WILLIAMSON

ISLANDS, WOMEN, AND GOD.
By Paul Ruffin.
Browder Springs, $24.95 hardcover,
$16.95 paperback.

PAUL Ruffin, poet, short-story writer and professor at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville, writes about Texas and the Gulf Coast so well that his new story collection is likely to define the literary territory for many years to come.

The 17 stories in the collection are about common people, folks from Texas and Mississippi who live quiet and humble lives -- factory workers, farmers, fishermen, husbands and wives and youngsters and oldsters. Although the characters are common people, the book is not. These stories are masterful, every line honed and tight and true, the sentences spoken by the characters in phrases we've often before heard but never before seen on the page.

Ruffin's work has been compared with that of William Faulkner and Flannery O'Connor, but his stories are not derivative. Rather, they're part of the new wave of Southern fiction generally and Texas fiction specifically, a wave that includes Southerners such as Barry Hannah, Padgett Powell, Chris Offutt and Charlie Smith, and Texas writers such as Glenn Blake and Tracy Daugherty. Not insignificantly, Ruffin occasionally pays tribute to Cormac McCarthy, a Southerner-turned-Texan like Ruffin himself.

Islands, Women, and God is a man's book about the world of men. The stories center on the conflicts inherent in the stifled, brutal and often senseless world of masculinity.

Manhunt, the opening story, is about the apprehension of an escaped convict. The hunters of the convict are local men who normally spend their days selling cars and working for insurance companies, these otherwise calm men turned into bloodthirsty bigots and would-be killers, the manhunt a legal excuse to do what they would be doing were there not the constructs of "civil" society. Underpinning our culture is a violence that needs very little to turn supposedly peaceful family men into primordial beasts, Ruffin seems to say.

In Tattered Coat Upon a Stick, Ruffin writes of an aging man who, rather than live out his days in senility and helplessness, emasculated, chooses to return to the family property in the country and end his life properly and with dignity. His end is far from morbid or maudlin, but instead glorious and beautiful.

Interloper relates the tale of a family man who discovers a burglar in his house and takes care of him. Just before the protagonist of the story meets the burglar, Ruffin writes,

No, it is nothing that would warrant calling the police or awakening your wife, nothing to justify wrenching off a table leg and swinging it wildly through the dark. But it is more than simply nothing. So you must summon whatever resolve you are capable of and go down the stairs into the cold darkness of what a few hours earlier was your warm and well-lit den. You are in charge -- it is your house, your domain, and while your wife and children sleep you must stand watch if there is a threat. This is the law. A very old one.

When Ruffin's men pop, when their natures surface, he is there with some of the most perceptive and powerful observations in American literature, or any literature for that matter.

One of the best stories in the collection, The Sign, shows the brutality of father to son and son to father. At the beginning of the story we find a description of the father beating his son:

"I will beat your skin off, boy. You hold still." And the belt came down time and time again on his back, lapping around his protruding ribs like a devil's tongue, then curling about his legs, snapping until all the feeling went away and there was only sound, only sound -- and he could feel the warm of his blood trailing down from the welts, seeking its way, gathering and dripping. He stood like something carved of wax, not feeling the belt but feeling the blood. He would not cry. He clenched his eyes and teeth, but he would not cry.

The story centers on the father's wedding anniversary and a family reunion. The son returns home for only the second time in 40 years for the event. The father is dying of cancer, and the son exacts his revenge in spectacular and appropriate fashion, not by killing the father but by doing something far worse and more enduring.

The title and final story of the collection, Islands, Women, and God, is about a man named Ray who fakes his own death and deserts his wife and children to live on the barrier islands of the Gulf Coast. He is discovered by a former co-worker and friend, and the story gives occasion for Ruffin to present a sad and unfortunately viable solution to the condition of men: solitude and atavism, regression into an animal state in nature. Ray says, "I'm in harmony, man, with this island, with this Gulf. I got everything I need out here to live, and everything's in balance." Later he explains that every man is called to this state of being:

"It comes for every man. ... Every man. Only most don't know what they're seeing or feeling, or they don't know what to do about it. I'm telling you, Roger, an old man over there [in society] is, as Yeats says, just a scarecrow. Out here he's more. He's everything. He's a skull full of lightning. He's -- he's God, or he's soon going to be, because God is all of this."

We leave the book with Ray on his island and Roger back in civilization, longing to be living on an island of his own, afraid to do so yet wanting to do so.

Islands, Women, and God is an astonishing book. Every page is beautifully written, splendidly rendered and bold. Where weaker writers grow timid and shrivel, Ruffin burrows deep into truths we know but don't admit to knowing. In a time when American writers seem to strive to either shock or soothe, Ruffin instead gives us an honest vision of what lies beneath the veneer of manners and society. He is a master of language and a peerless teller of tales, and he will surely be known as one of the best writers of his generation.

Eric Miles Williamson is the author of the novel East Bay Grease and a graduate of the University of Houston's Creative Writing Program. He lives in Missouri and is at work on his second novel.

Islands, Women, and God. By Paul Ruffin. In Islands, Women, and God, Paul Ruffin returns to the Alabama, Mississippi and Texas regions he rendered so memorable in his 1993 critically acclaimed short story collection The Man Who Would Be God. They are tales of passion, suspense, violence, racial injustice, renewal, and the inexorable human quest for meaning and identity, laced with flashes of humor. Ruffin's ear for dialogue is impeccable, and his narratives are ripped, pulsing and breathing, from the unmistakable fabric of reality. The author wastes no time engaging the reader's attention. On page one of "Manhunt," the first story of section I, in searing prose pungent as the smell of burning flesh, Ruffin drops his reader deep into the pit of human violence. "The Pond" features Gerald Roper, an aging man who trespasses across Mr. Earl Palmer's pasture to fish in an artesian-fed fishpond. During his fishing expedition, Roper snags a great white thing rolling "like a dumpling in oil as the hook pulled loose and the bobber whistled past his head and clattered onto the gravel behind him, and two eyeless sockets in a white face, cradled by trembling reeds, looked right past him toward the ghostly moon." Next the reader finds Roper questioned by a deputy to whom he has gone to confess his shocking finding. Though the deputy, after viewing the "catch" and recognizing what it is, tries to convince Roper he's hooked a pig, Roper adamantly insists that what he snagged was the bloated body of his former mistress. Among the male protagonists of the other stories in section I are Mr. Turner of "Tattered Coat Upon a Stick," who, terminally ill, returns to his beloved Texas hill country to face his own death; Johnny of "The Sign," who, brutally physically abused during his childhood by his father, returns to his home after a lengthy absence and exacts his sweet revenge; the two graduate students of "Corn-Silver" who are hilariously duped by an illiterate, white-trash kid; and Buddy of "The Dog," a tragic figure who, in saving a dog caught up in a trotline, has his nose bitten off by the very beast whose life he saves, only to end up so monstrous in appearance he's abandoned even by his wife and kids, assuming a huge and dark presence "like some kind of old imagined or remembered sin." "The Dog," tragic though it is, is balanced with a moment of hilarity characteristic of Ruffin's brilliant humor. In section II, "woman" takes center stage: woman as "Nature," the mirror of mortality, the instrument of renewal, and seducer. Ruffin bares the hearts and minds of his female characters with a dispassionate clarity reminiscent of the late Eudora Welty. In "Peaches," one of the most sensual stories in the collection, a white woman misinterprets the remark of a black man who tells her that she has "nice peaches." She and her husband, Murle, are peach orchard keepers, and sell peaches in cardboard boxes by the road. Having packed his pistol and journeyed deep into the woods to the black man's cabin to address the presumed insult, he finds him on his porch steps fondling the exposed breasts of his lover. She sees Murle and rushes inside their shack, standing just inside the doorway. Upon repeated questioning by Murle as to what he meant when he said Sally had "nice peaches," Cliff insistently assures him he was only referring to the actual peaches they were selling. Meanwhile, Cliff's lover, realizing his trouble with the white man, seduces him and relieves Murle of his frustration. During the intimacy which ensues, Murle overhears an animal shrieking in the barn. She assures him that it's "just that mule," and that Cliff will stay in the barn until they're finished. Later, after Murle receives the sexual fulfillment he's so long desired, he changes his demeanor toward Cliff completely, feeling like they're friends or brothers. The "gods" revealed in the collection are as multifarious as the men and women who turn to them in their hours of darkness. There's the Great Spirit of the Kiowa in "Tattered Coat Upon a Stick;" the wrathful God of "The Sign;" the jealous God of "Peaches;" the comforting God Buddy turned to in his huge and dark loneliness; and the God of Nature of "The Drought," "April Treason" and "Islands, Women, and God." In many ways, "Islands, Women, and God," the final and title story of the collection, is a brilliant summation of the men and women who dominate the stories preceding it. Ray, the story's protagonist, fakes his death at sea to live out the rest of his life alone on a barrier island off the coast of Mississippi. Philosophizing with his friend, Roger, who "finds" him but swears to keep the find a secret between the two of them so Ray's wife can collect his life insurance, Ray says: "About women. I'm gon' tell you something else about women, some more gospel, long's I got your attention. Women are a hell of a lot closer to the center of things than men are or ever were. They're closer to the Godhead. Women are Nature. Like this island. Man, they got dark currents in them, deeper than ours run, and their bodies and minds are a great mystery, which is why men will never understand'm. They're in synch with the motion of the universe. Men are just dreams, or worse, just half dreams, but women are real. Men look for the reasons, but women are the Reason." With his second collection of stories, Ruffin makes another significant contribution to Southern and American letters. In spare, muscular prose seamless as a tendril of kudzu, Ruffin probes, with haunting insight, the light, darkness and yearning of the human heart. --Larry D. Thomas, author of Amazing Grace

Islands, Women, and God, Stories by Paul Ruffin. Browder Springs Press, 2001. 237 pp. These seventeen stories play themselves out in the Deep South, East Texas, and West Texas, three areas as dissimilar--in geography, social mores, and philosophy--as, say, Iceland, Bolivia, and Ethiopia. And while Paul Ruffin does employ his considerable skill to give vivid descriptions of these places, his poet's eye and voice and heart focuses tighter and truer on his characters, who, as credible characters must be, are spit-polished mirrors of people everywhere. And what a parade of individuals he sends forth. There's Sam, who undertakes, with a tunnel vision worthy of Ahab, to capture an enormous manta ray in "Devilfish". And Mitchell, in "Tattered Coat Upon a Stick", who wants nothing more than to have his ashes scattered among the mesquite bushes and rocks of the place where he grew up, rather than end up planted in the upscale, manicured cemetery that his children insist upon. And Loretta, perhaps the most haunting of the bunch, who uses the only tool at her disposal to save her husband in "Peaches." Loretta, who is black, has to make her unique sacrifice in the unrelenting era of racial inequality. A young insurance salesman, in "Manhunt", must make his among kudzu-draped backwoods. In "The Interloper", a husband and father must seek out something in the dark rather than lose his family to it, and characters in two of the tales choose to face their final darkness on their own terms. Sacrifice and reconciliation abound. Several of the stories chip away at the old, hard strata of established society in their various settings, and prejudice and cruelty and pomposity are served up in equal measure with love and trust and devotion. In "Corn Silver", a haughty graduate student is duped by an ignorant boy; in "The Sign," a middle aged man whose greatest accomplishment was to move permanently away from his harsh, Mississippi delta upbringing must go back to finally confront it. They were his people only in biological fact. From the eldest to the ones in diapers, they were an illiterate lot, mostly day laborers, fundamentalist in their worship and ultra-conservative in whatever politics they followed. If evolution had had a hand in improving the line over the decades, he could not imagine what they must have been like a century before - he doubted that the generations had witnessed much more than a gradual separation of forehead from cheekbones and thinning of hair from the backs and shoulders of the males. And on and on, in trailer parks, at fishing holes, on wide front porches of bourbon swilling lawyers, the themes of facing death, and, perhaps more importantly, facing life, weave their way through. And it is refreshing to read a writer who chooses not to veil his work in deep symbolism and puzzling time shifts. Every offering in Islands, Women, and God is told carefully and beautifully and forthrightly. Like the works of O'Conner and Welty, they don't have be worked at, but simply enjoyed. Whether the situations are humorous--especially when the author's letter perfect use of regional dialect runs rampant--or intense, or sad, the characters ring always true, and might just be the lady you find yourself standing behind in a grocery line. The man leaning over his bacon and eggs down the counter. The little boy not paying attention two pews up. There's a comfort level that comes with recognizing folks--be they lovable or detestable or anywhere in between--and it is as beneficial when reading good fiction as it is when stepping into a crowded room. Some reviewers have said that Ruffin is at his best when writing about fishing, a pursuit that he loves, and is good at. He's managed to work it into his poems and stories countless times and, I agree, it makes for fine reading. But I hold that he shines brightest when dealing with average people facing the daily dilemmas that life and fate just plop down in their paths. In "Drought", a couple of city dwellers have sunk all of their savings into a farm, only to be dealt a stunning setback by nature. In bed that night they listen as frogs and crickets drum and chirp around the ponds and down along the creek. The air is fresh smelling, almost cool. They lie across the bed with their heads at the open window. "I suppose," he says, "that we'll get over this." "Oh, yes, we always do." "Still, wouldn't it be good just once to get something without having to give something up?" "Somehow," she says, "it usually seems to work that way." And it usually does. In stories and in everyday life. Facing each day as it comes. Giving things up. Getting over something. And Ruffin chronicles the delicate dance nicely. In "The Pond", an old man has fallen hopelessly, headlong in love. There were times when but for the fact that he had not a dram of creative blood in him he would have gotten up and written her a poem, so deep was his passion for her. Such is the depth of Paul Ruffin's passion for the ongoing drama of living. And the reader benefits greatly from the fact that his creativity far surpasses a dram. --Ron Rozelle, author of Into That Good Night, The Windows of Heaven, and A Place Apart

When I was 6 years old in 1950, my grandmother took me to a special event at the local drug store in Yorktown, Texas, which as of three years ago still had the original iron hitching posts along the sidewalk. The event was the local release of Johnny Texas, and Carol Hoff was signing copies of her new book. Recently my sister came across my copy and sent it to me. It's pretty ragged by now, having been read several times by me and having subsequently gone through a number of other kids. But I was overjoyed to find that it still has the same magic it had 50 years ago. I recently reviewed a number of books for a school curriculum program, and it was daunting to find just how muddy, disjointed and confused--both emotionally and philosophically--most "modern" juvenile fiction has become. All these years of pop psychology and political correctness have taken their toll. We no longer tell stories kids are expected to enjoy; we indoctrinate future citizens of the gray zone. Johnny Texas is about real people confronting and handling challenges in a real world. Their motivations are recognizable, their moral choices unambiguous. The history is fascinating. More importantly, real kids in or out of Texas will still find this one heck of a great story. Given current literacy levels, I'd say it's good for ages 8 - 12--also for English as a Second Language programs.

I read this book when I was in the second grade. It's about a family from Germany that settles in Texas, during its formative days. Their young boy, Johann, is soon re-christened "Johnny Texas" in recognition of the family's new life.

One day, Dad comes home with a slave, a young black man named Tobias who seems eternally morose, because they need help on their farm. Soon, Dad decides to give Tobias his freedom; thereafter, Tobias is a much happier fellow. He puts his bill of sale (proof of freedom) in a leather pouch and wears it around his neck.

Later, Dad gets involved in the war for Texas independence, and readers are treated to a BRIEF recap of the Battle of San Jacinto, wherein Sam Houston routed the Mexican army and captured Santa Anna.

This is a good book for seven-year-old Texans because they will, if they have been properly educated, recognize much of the Texas history -- plus, it's a simple story organized into chapters, and serves as an excellent introduction to the world of literature.

I recommend this book to kids throughout the United States. Texas history is more interesting than the history of any other state, and everyone should learn about it.

We home school our children. We are going to use this book as a back drop for introducing Texas history.

I absolutely loved the book! I felt, even though Rey and I are really different, the author shapes the character so that anybody can relate to him. I enjoyed reading as he struggled to field right and wrong, which everyone does from time to time. And especially the personal things, like his Tio Angel dying, I can totally relate what Rey went through. His defined writing makes Rey almost real. I have had to set the book down and remember that Rey is a character in a story. It is that good.

Rene Saldana's young adult novel, The Jumping Tree, is perfectly crafted to broaden your view of the youth of today. I have read it twice now and am still inspired by his stories of Chicano youth and the common (and often hilarious) misadventures that we all experience as we grow into young men & women. I especially love the frequent use (almost every page)of the spanish language in dialogue and descriptions...it's a bonus pleasure to learn another language while reading of Rey's growing pains! In short, it's like Harry Potter...but in Texas..and the magic is the only real kind: Human love!

René Saldaña's The Jumping Tree tells the story of Rey Castañeda, a boy growing up in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, where I am from. This is one genuine book. The things Rey and his friends do in this book are the same kinds of things I did with my cousins and friends growing up. With a style that actually made me laugh out loud, René writes about playing King of the Mountain, throwing pretend grenades at each other and jumping down from a tree to try and catch a branch. He does a superb job of showing readers that most Mexican kids' games are based on proving your friend is a bigger "chicken" than you are. He also has a great ear for South Texas slang. You read what these characters say to each other and you are transported. If you're from the Valley you're hearing your friends or cousins talking to you all over again. If you're not, you're given a rare opportunity to visit a wonderful place that is full of hilarious people with great stories to tell. I plan to use this one in the classroom as an engaging read-aloud. I look forward to reading more from this promising young author. You got it, René! Dale gas!

This was a great book, and I think it is enjoyable to read. I think if you want good books with more of a down-to-earth base, then you should read this.

This novel should be read as a part of our Texas history classes. It gives a wonderful perspective from the Indian point of view. It is the most moving novel I have read in a long time. Highly recommended!

Excerpts from some reviews:

from Midland (TX) newspaper, Nov 7, 1999: The story of Cynthia Ann Parker has become legend. Kidnapped from Parker's Fort near Mexia by raiding Comanches in 1836, she was completely assimilated into the Noconi band. She married tribal leader, Peta Nocona, and bore him two sons, Quanah and Pecos, and a daughter, Toh-Tsee-Ah. Late in 1860, she and toddler Topsannah, as the whites called her, were recaptured by Texas Rangers and returned to "civilization" and the extended Parker clan. Cynthia Ann never adapted to white culture. She was shunted from one Parker family member to another. Convinced she was a captive of the Texans, Cynthia Ann was determined to escape to the high plains and the Comanche way. The Parkers neither cared for nor understood Cynthia Ann's obsession with returning to her homeland and her people.

from Judy Alter, The Bookish Frog, Fall 1999: ... an innovative novel about Cynthia Ann Parker. Just when we thought there are no new twists to that old story, Charles Brashear proved us wrong-in a novel with footnotes. (Don't ever say were are afraid to try something new!)

from Amarillo News-Globe, Sunday, Dec 12, 1999, p. 19D: Two novels particularly suited for fireside reading are _____ and "Killing Cynthia Ann" by Charles Brashear.... this new book focuses on her life after her return to Anglo culture. Though presented as a novel, the story is well-researched. The book is even annotated, unusual for fiction.

from Fort Worth Star Telegram, Sunday, Dec 5, 1999: Charles Brashear is a conscientious author who is careful of his sources. What he's done is search out the most authentic records available, then build a novel by filling in imaginary details of emotions, relationships, conversation and background. The fiction device gives the reader a historical overview of the period, plus a vivid picture of a woman who lived with constant, unhealable heartache.... I like the placement of historical notation along the side margins very much. They are less disruptive, easier to go to and return from, than footnotes at the bottom of the page.

from Waco Tribune-Herald, Saturday, Nov 6, 1999 (Brazos Living, p. 8B) Brashear believes our interest in Cynthia Ann Parker more than a century after her death stems from a variety of reasons: our disbelief that someone could prefer another way of life to the American way; our collective guilt in the ultimate fate of American Indian cultures; and an unconscious desire for a simpler life, such as American Indians practiced. "Cynthia Ann's story of wildness keeps haunting us because we see in it a gross injustice that has never been righted. They killed the wildness in her, which we half suspect may have been the better part. And, while we may not be personally responsible, we feel a sort of communal guilt for the wrong done her," he explained.

Cynthia Haseloff has written a great western that very much deserves the 1998 Spur award recieved from the Western Writers of America.
The Kiowa Verdict is based on the trial of two Kiowa Indians, Satanta and Adoltay also called Big Tree, for taking part in the "The Warren Wagon Train Massacre." Satanta led about 100 Kiowas and Comanches and attacked a wagon train with only a dozen white men. This took place west of Fort Richardson, Texas, in the spring of 1871. There was little doubt who was responsible, for Satanta himself bragged to Quaker Indian agent Lawrie Tatum at Fort Sill:

"Remember this. If any other Indian comes in here saying he led the raid he will be lying, because I, Satanta, led it."

Satanta and Big Tree were the first Indians to be tried in a white man's court in Texas for crimes committed against Texans.
Historically both Satanta and Big Tree were convicted of murder and sentenced to hang. Governor Edmund J. Davis commuted their sentences to life imprisonment. Later Satanta committed suicide by leaping headfirst from a second story window at the Texas State Prison in Huntsville and smashing his head on stone paving.

Adoltay, or Big Tree, a young warrior, converted to Methodism while in prison, was eventually released, was ordained as a Methodist minister, returned to the Kiowa-Comanche lands around Fort Sill and was instrumental in converting many Kiowas and Comanches to Methodism.

One of the characters in this novel, Joseph A. Woolfolk, a Confederate and Frontier Regiment veteran, was appointed by the Thirteenth District Court of the State of Texas to defend the Kiowas. The prosecutor was S. W. T. Lanham, who later became governor of Texas.

Transcripts of the trial don't exist, so what courtroom action there is - and of course the thoughts and fears of Joe Woolfolk - are entirely fictional. What is real is the fact that poor Joe Woolfolk instead of putting up a token defense, actually defended his clients in court.

To paraphrase the sometimes Western writer Mark Twain, "the reports of the death of the Western have been greatly exaggerated." The modern Western has been part of the American literary scene ever since - and arguably long before - Owen Wister introduced readers to "The Virginian" in 1902, and it shows no signs of riding into the sunset.

Cynthia Haseloff has captured the spirit of the American frontier in a way that kept me spellbound from beginning to end. Not only did I come away with a true sense of the era, but I also became a new fan of the Western genre, as well (at least the Haseloff Western genre). I can't wait to read her prequel to this book, "Satanta's Woman." I would highly recommend "The Kiowa Verdict" to anyone looking for a great beside-your-bed read.

This book is the winner of the 1998 Spur Award for Best Western Novel (selected by the Western Writers of America).

Deborah Lighfoot Sizemore's The LH7 Ranch: In Houston's Shadow is the fascinating and informative true story of a cattle range that has operated since 1907 and the venerable family who owned it. Men and women worked hard to keep up with ranch life, stand fast through the Great Depression and finally stand up to a conflict with the growing metropolis of Houston. Energetic and aptly researched, The LH7 Ranch is a most compelling and highly recommended slice of Texan-American regional history.

Having reviewed books for THE CATTLEMAN magazine for 30 years, I read with pleasure this well-crafted work about a ranch in a part of Texas not commonly associated with ranching and ranch life. The Marks LH7 Ranch was established at the end of the 19th century in an area only about 20 miles west of the center of Houston. The author was fortunate in her work because she was able to interview all four of rancher E.H. Marks' children. This gives her work an immediacy not allowed to some biographers.--Copyright 1992 K.E. Snyder, Friends of the Fort Worth (Texas) Public Library

I got the book for Christmas and read it in two days. I loved it! Boy, what a family! I do a combination of genealogy and local history writing in the vicinity of the old LH7 Ranch and was thrilled to see what the author had done in this book.

Watching the relationship between Austin and Abilene is a little like looking down from a high tower watching two cars race toward a deadly collision. You desperately want to prevent the collision, but the movement of the cars is too beautiful, too graceful, and you don't dare intervene.

The beauty and grace are supplied by Pete Fromm, whose novel is filled with insights and surprises from the first page. What makes it the more remarkable is that the story is told by Austin, a high school sophomore in middle-of-nowhere, Texas, whose world view has been shaped entirely by his bipolar older sister, Abilene.

This is a fine novel on so many levels. It's a love story, a tragic love story set in the vast emptiness of West Texas, where everything is simple except for the people. It's a sports story, with an ambitious coach (Abilene) with an ax to grind jealously guarding her young phenom (Austin) out of love, hope and desperation, all of which are as twisted as a mesquite trunk. It's a story of a family whose love is under a blistering attack by mental illness, obsession and misunderstanding.

Most importantly, it's written with compassion, empathy and a delicacy of language that makes us hope that Fromm will keep producing for a long, long time. Put him in the ranks of Annie Proulx and Larry McMurtry. Come again, soon, Pete.

This is probably one of the more memorable stories I have read in the past few years. I was introduced to Fromm's writing through Nightswimming, and have gotten my hands on everything else he has written since then. His stories are compelling, his writing style is easy, and the characters have a great deal of depth and breadth to them. All of my friends who have read this book have been blown away by it, unable to put it down, consistently moved at the end.

From page 2 I was hooked. Perhaps it was because I could relate to the Texas surroundings, or the brother/sister relationship, or even the family struggle with Bipolar Disorder. But whatever it was I was engaged in this story from the "get-go". (See, I told you I could relate to the Texas stuff!) Don't think you have to share their passion for baseball, or know anything about mentall illness. You will live it! Pete Fromm had me crying--a heartfelt, hopeful cry. I wish I could visit these characters 10 years later and see How All This Ends Up.

I'm a Texas History teacher, and I use the book quite a bit in class. It is broken up into short, true stories of encounters with Indians in the days of early anglo settlement. Some of the accounts are funny, some harrowingly tense. Others so heartbreaking that I've never been able to shake the violent imagery. As other reviewers have stated, it reflects the opinions of the time, so if you're into PC BS you won't like it. Books like this shouldn't be forgotten.

This is an excellent peek into the history of Indian raids in Texas and the attitudes of those they raided. It is related through a man whose brother was scalped alive by Comanches, which accounts for his bias. It was also written in a day and age before the present-day hindsight morality and political correctness was in vogue, therefore it is a genuine book with genuine attitudes of the time.

This book, though written by a person who obviously hated Indian, was an excellent book for anyone interested in Texas history. I particularly like how the stories are indexed by county so that one may quickly find stories relating to local history as well. This book is not only fascinating from a narrative perspective but also from the fact that it contains photos of settlers who are chronicled in the stories, adding yet another dimension to the books authenticity. I highly recommend this book to parents who are trying to get their children to read (middleschool level). The book reads like a series of short adventure stories. I feel that teens would find this highly engaging especially since the stories are true, even though reported by a biased observer, Wilbarger.

Hello cousins!How are ya'll doing?I'm fine.I am the grand-daughter of Fannie Lou (Ferris)Whittaker and Orville Eugene Whittaker.My mother Susie Marie was their oldest child-my aunts are Betty and Patsy and my uncle is Larry Whittaker.I am fixing to create a family website on MSN Communities-I have alot of stuff that was written by cousin Phyllis Kitson.Once I get it done you all are invited.My email address is neal36@msn.com-please feel free to drop me a few lines,I love hearing from family.Hugs and love to all,Lillie
PS-I'm going to buy 2 of this book-one for me and one for my mom!

I was most gratified to learn (quite by accident) that a book about WAF had been written. WAF was my great-grandfather, his son, Henry Ferris, was my grandfather, and my father was Carl Dallas Ferris. One error in the book referred to my grandfather as childless, when, in fact he had two sons and two daughters, & was living in Spur, Texas, where he died & is buried. (Most family records show he was living in Wink, Tx. at his death.)I don't consider this a major fault, as much of the rest of the book was as I had read and heard. I am sure most historical writings contain errors, if we but knew the inside story. My father was a great storyteller, & he used to entertain us for hours with stories of WAF which he had heard from his father and Aunt Kate. Warts and all, I am just glad that after all this time, Warren Angus Ferris is getting some of the recognition he so richly deserved. I would recommend this book to anyone interested in the early days, regardless. Miss Starling did a very good job with old clippings and letters. Bravo! Janelle Ferris Berry

I appreciate Suzanne Starling for showing what Warren Angus Ferris did for Dallas, as well as showing what an interesting career and life he had. James Monroe Ferris was my great grand-father, who handed down the chain used to survey Dallas to my grandfather, Edward Eugene Ferris. He handed it down to my father, Raymond Edward Ferris. My father still has the chain and I wish a picture could have been included in the book. My father also has a gold watch which Warren Angus gave to his second wife. There are a couple of minor mistakes, such as James Monroe Ferris having been a United States Marshall for Greer County, TX (now Oklahoma) the entire time and not a Sherrif's Deputy. But, without a doubt this book is an accurate account of a complex, hightly intelligent man and his frontier life.

I fell in love with Moyer's first book, THE SECOND COMING OF LUCY HATCH, and of course had to read this one and get my fill of Ash Farrell again.

The story starts with Lucy and Ash living together and let me tell you - the first chapter is the best in the book as far as I'm concerned. Beautiful imagery; Moyer brings words to life with their love for each other. We meet Denise, Ash's 15yr old daughter, who is dropped off by her mother who is on her way to another adventure in Chicago. Denny doesn't want to interupt the love-fest going on but soon settles in and becomes part of the "family".

Story weaves a race issue as Denise (Denny) makes friends with Erasmus and the town troublemakers do their damage. This is just a small part of the story and I felt that it was boring; I wanted a story more about Ash and Lucy but it was still worth reading.

I see another Ash/Lucy book in Moyer's future and I plan on reading it too.

I highly recommend Marsha Moyer's latest novel, The Last of the Honky-tonk Angels. Ms Moyer's storytelling flows like an effortless conversation between friends. She has a natural talent for showing how life (and people) are not always what they seem. The story transcends physical settings and becomes timeless. Beautifully crafted, this story is a journey of change, discovery, and personal growth for Lucy, Denny, and Ash.

I think that this story is so appealing because many of us know people like Lucy, Ash, and Denny. Because we have all been involved in relationships that change because of misunderstandings or because of circumstances beyond our control, we can identify with these characters and their struggles to cope with change. We can identify with their struggles to express their natural gifts/talents and to grow personally, while trying to find happiness at the same time. During their journey, Lucy, Denny, and Ash learn what it means to love, to be loved, and to be a family. I thoroughly enjoyed this novel.

I fell in love with The Second Coming of Lucy Hatch and had no idea this one was a sequel. Filled with heartache and lust, and in the end a great big happy ending. I just hope there's another book to follow this one.