“Charlie blinked and looked off toward the barn, toward Manuel. “I never thought it would wind up like this. I thought we was all fixed here for life.”

Lupe shrugged. “God has His reasons. He knows that when we have our bellies full, we don’t bother much with Him. He knows that we stop and listen to Him only when the trouble comes, so once in a while He sends trouble. Maybe He says to Himself, those people down there they think they are too big to need God any more…. Someday when all the people learn to pray again He will make it rain.” Lupe looked down. “I will pray, Mister Charlie.”

The Time It Never Rained, Elmer Kelton 

Texas has produced fine literature over the years. Her earliest works were in Spanish, with English taking over in the 19th century. As with all fine literature, Texas works apply universally — across other states and countries and generations.

(Of course, this post does not at all deny that the above also applies to good literature from other states. In fact, I would encourage readers and friends to investigate the literature of your particular state or of a state you might be interested in. You are likely to find some real treasures.)

Although I am in Puerto Rico as I write this, reading Elmer Kelton transports me to West Texas in such a way that, even as I sit midst bright, deep, tropical green jungles, I can feel the dry, hot wind blowing from the west and see the swirling dust boiling from behind my vehicle as I take a short cut across an unpaved road southwest of Midland, Texas, in a dry spell.

As for universal themes, Kelton’s novels deal abundantly, lyrically, beautifully, and poignantly with them, most prominently, that of men or women, however imperfect or scarred, who seek, sometimes desperately, to remain true to their roots and principles in the face of rapidly changing times and values.

There are other Texas authors who also do this well — Tom Lea’s The Wonderful Country comes to mind. Not to mention fine works of non-fiction, such as Walter Prescott Webb’s The Texas Rangers: A Century of Frontier Defense. But I’ll restrict my comments to Kelton’s novel quoted above, as that is what I am currently reading.

Charlie Flagg is a decent man, a rancher determined to do whatever it takes to salvage his ranch during the terrible west Texas drought of the 50s. With a slow, elegiac, spare pace and narrative, Kelton draws you in to the life of the ranchers and cowboys as they toil with hands and brain, ideating creative solutions to lack of grass and then lack of funds to buy feed, as the drought wears on, relentlessly, year after year. Lupe and his wife, Rosa, have lived and worked on Charlie’s ranch for many years and by the time of the quote above, their three children had been born there. 

Kelton manages to show that Charlie loves his son, Tom, but the reader sees that Lupe and his family are more valuable to Charlie than his own son, who lives for rodeo and whose wild, irresponsible ways eventually catch up with him. By the time of the above-quoted scene, Tom has sobered up and looks on with quiet, dawning understanding.

And Mary, Charlie’s wife, is a constant: sometimes as irritant, sometimes as encourager, but always a support and comfort whom Charlie loves and respects.

So we are confronted with a man, Charlie Flagg, who is fighting for his life, the only life he has ever known, as a killer drought consumes all before it and kills the dreams and life investments of neighbors and friends who have to fold and move away, never to return. As if that is not trouble enough, Charlie has also to deal with his stern banker, his devil-may-care son, relationships with Anglos and Mexicans, overbearing government agencies who insist that he take aid he has never taken before and refuses to do so now, and much more.

In other words, the novel presents us with the realities of life and how men and women deal with them.

For Texans who lived during that time, this has to be a very hard novel to read, as the images it evokes are powerful and wrenching, although, ultimately, deeply moving.

For all, especially the young, regardless of state or country you come from, it will grant an appreciation of your grandparents and great-grandparents’ determination to work and live for the future that they knew God had prepared but which they, perhaps, would never see. But you and I have.

And, it was all worth it.

“Time and memories — so many good things and so many bad — but strange how the bad things seemed to fade so that you remembered mostly the good. Maybe that was one of life’s main compensations, having those memories with the rough edges blunted down and the bright parts polished to a diamond gleam….”