![]() ![]() I’ve always been a fan of anarchical tales. In Westerns we not only get to look at the scenery, we get to experience how it makes it makes our hero’s life better, or worse, or sometimes both. ![]() The West itself, is a major player in the story, just like The City is often the silent protagonist in urban fantasy. They also, in my experience, always have a deep connection with the landscape. I’m really not one to meander around in someone else’s fictional world, content not to know where I’m going. See, I love a sense of purpose and a sense of place in a novel. ![]() Well, there’s definitely a sense of nostalgia at play, a wistfulness that comes from the knowledge that the young, wide-eyed reader from those days no longer exists. What was I thinking? And why does my attraction to the traditional Western still remain? Reflecting upon that now makes me very uncomfortable. So was the tradition of courtly love – men prepared to die for their women, defend their honour, and ride to the ends of the earth to rescue them. ![]() The notion of the male hero was appealing and entrancing. Teenager me, was totally seduced by the landscape and the romance and the action. I didn’t understand the inherent sexism, or the fact that many of them were formulaic. At 14, when I started out reading Westerns, I wasn’t much of a critical reader, so I devoured them with an enormous but undiscriminating reading appetite. ![]()
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