Robert Morgan

I finished my third Robert Morgan novel, This Rock. I'm unable to deem this one my favorite nor the other two, Gap Creek and The Truest Pleasure. While reading, I was reminded of a recent conversation Johnny and I had with our friends Chris and Joanne over Indian food at Khyber restaurant. Chris told us he'd been watching reruns of the TV show Bonanaza on Saturdays, and what he liked most was that men were Men unlike the feminization of males in our current society, and on TV these days. The men in Morgan's novels - Hank, Tom, Muir, Moody - were not perfect, but they did not cower to politically-correct conventions. The women, Julie and Ginny in particular, became heroines to me in the truest heroic sense. They worked hard as hell, forgave and stood by their husbands, made strong coffee on the stovetop, and cleaned their homes without our nifty Swiffers or Lysol wipes. I feel like I know these people through Morgan's poetic description of historic, rustic living as they exemplified the Psalm, "Establish the work of our hands for us - yes, establish the work of our hands." On the back of This Rock's dust jacket, the New York Times Book Review compares Morgan's writing to "the raw, lonesome pathos of Hank Williams's best songs." In addition, I also think not only are Moody and his cohorts just the type of scoundrels to appear in Johnny Cash's lyrics, but I believe if Moody's life were lengthened he would have mirrored Johnny Cash's spiritual life.

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