Get Your Waller Without Buying The Book
And now for something completely different: The last cowboy rescues the long-legged lady from her dreary life as a stripper. He looks great in his jeans; she looks great in her tassels. They fall in love, they have exalted sex - on mountaintops, even - but, inevitably, It Cannot Be.
Yes, Robert James Waller is at it again. “Border Music,” the third novel by the purveyor of love too perfect for this imperfect Earth, of mythic men and grateful women, of maddeningly diluted would-be-Hemingway prose, is now in bookstores.
Which means everyone will be flying like peregrines to either: a) buy it, read it all in one weepy night and then buy another copy to give to a friend, or; b) retrieve their free-to-the-media promotional copy in the mail, mockingly read lines aloud to equally snooty co-workers and hoot and laugh and make great fun of it.
The former, good thing for Waller, greatly outnumber the latter.
His first novel, the now-legendary “The Bridges of Madison County,” has sold an astonishing 8 million copies worldwide since it was published in April 1992. It is the best-selling hardcover of all time and is still on The New York Times best-seller list - today marked its 131th week. His second novel, “Slow Waltz in Cedar Bend,” has sold “only” 2 million copies since it was published in November 1993. The first printing of “Border Music” (Warner Books, $17.95) is a mere 1 million copies. But with Valentine’s Day on the horizon, maybe they better fire up the printing presses.
And so he is beyond parody, beyond bad reviews, beyond unbelievably bad book-jacket pictures. (Even if you don’t buy the book, sneak a look at the elusive Waller’s picture on the dust jacket. When last we saw him, on “Slow Waltz’s” jacket, he was wearing a denim shirt and red suspenders; now he’s turned into Zorro or the Phantom of the Opera, half-hidden behind a big black hat. Ah, the glaring light of fame.)
If you’re too sophisticated and/or too cheap to buy this book, here’s a way you can have your Waller and quote it, too. We’ve picked out some of the highlights for you.
Dedication:
No peregrines or southern winds this time, but the same general theme of freedom and loss or some such thing: “For the sound of distant trains/And passengers left at the station.”
Hero:
Jack Carmine. Texas Jack Carmine, to you. He’s 47, a Vietnam veteran and a gentleman. Likes his beer long-necked and his wimmin long-legged. Seemingly incapable of speakin’ in complete sentences or without droppin’ his “g’s.”
Heroine:
Linda Lobo. Miss Linda Lobo to you, “Dancin’ Lady” to Jack. (And she calls him “Bandit.” Awwwwww.) She’s a stripper with a heart of gold and a 3-year-old daughter. When a jerk at the bar tries to rip off her G-string, Jack whacks the guy upside the head with a pool cue, and they take to The Road.
How you can tell he’s a gentleman, or maybe just a tease:
Keeps offering her her own room when they stop for the night. Can lie in post-shower nakedness in a bed - with a long-legged, equally showered and naked stripper, mind you - and just talk. It takes about 100 more pages before she finally breaks down and makes the first move, saying, “Come dance with the dancin’ lady, bandit. Music’s playin’ and time’s goin’ by.”)
Oddly named woman:
Linda - how conventional and unWalleresque after the exotic Francesca of “Bridges” and Jellie of “Waltz.” But wait, there’s a sub-plot, involving Jack’s uncle, Vaughn, who falls briefly yet deeply - must be a family trait - in the thrall of a woman in New Orleans named … Gumbo.
But what about a dawg?
“Bridges” had “Highway,” the golden retriever, and “Waltz” had Malachi, the border collie. “Border” has Hummer, or is it Earl? One’s the dawg, and one’s the handyman at the ranch, but they’re paired so often, the name may as well be Earlandhummer.