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Culled from his thirty or more books, Graham's "North American Sketches" were written between 1880 and 1925. They form the companion volume to his stunning South American and Scottish sketches also edited by John Walker. Here, we travel with the eccentric Scottish gaucho and radical MP for Menteith to the Mexican frontier and the Texas borderlands.
It is a savage world oscillating between barbarity and loneliness Graham describes for us. Time is punctuated with bloodshed, pointless cruelty, man's inhumanity to man, but also with hope and awe of this still wild land. "A Hegira," perhaps the most powerful sketch, depicts Graham's repeated encounters with six fugitive Mexican Apaches escaping from "the law" as he and his wife head north from Mexico City to their San Antonio ranch. "Silent and stoical the warriors sat," he describes them in the first encounter, before their flight, "not speaking once in a whole day, communicating but by signs; naked except the breech-clout; their eyes apparently opaque, and looking at you without sight, but seeing everything." These figures from two worlds meet up again. "Days followed days as in a ship at sea; the waggons rolling on across the plains" as Graham's party continually spies traces of the Apaches fleeing to their homes in the north, pursued by Mexican Indian hunters who, over a week, track down and kill them all. Nothing during his journey inspires in him so much fascination as those "stoical," silent "indios bravos": "I wondered what they thought, how they looked upon the world."
There is in these sketches a profound sense of disenchantment with civilization as practised, with "progress" as conceived. The American and Mexican public, he writes, doubtless believe in the problematical "Uncle Sam's Justice [sic]," the "poetical justice" of slaughtering Indians. Nevertheless, Graham does not completely scorn "civilization"; far from it. "We might have taught [the Indians] something, they might have taught us much, but soon they will all be forgotten, and the lying telegrams will speak of 'glorious victories by our troops.' " Some sketches, in fact, exhibit Graham's great admiration for the Anglo and Mexican societies he in other places condemns. "A Chihuahueño" is a wonderful portrait of Miguel Sáenz, a mestizo from Chihuahua. Full of Sáenz's witty proverbs, the sketch shows Graham's fascination with folk sayings. "Trust not a mule nor a wench", Sáenz quips; and "Among soldiers and prostitutes all compliments stand excused."
Graham's portraits of Mexico and Texas are every bit as fascinating as his awesome South American Sketches. If you like W.H. Hudson and Joseph Conrad, you'll love R.B. Cunninghame Graham.
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Clearly written (for economics), this work will prove useful to the general reader with little background in the subject.
(The numerical rating above is an unwelcome default setting within Amazon's format. This reviewer does not employ numerical ratings.)
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Yet the most interesting thing about him, his writing, is even less well-known than his political career. As John Walker, the editor of several Graham anthologies, points out, he "is one of those writers [some] people claim to have heard of, but have never read." Compared to Graham's usually lively South American sketches, his descriptions of Scottish life and landscape are more densely written and "mellow". Yet the quiet scenes of the Highlands and Islands he conjures up won't fail to viscerally grip you.
The lyric sketches at the beginning of the book are some of Graham's best. "Inch Cailleach" (1927) describes the wooded Island of the Nuns, a place "stranded like a whale upon the waters" of Loch Lomond, near Graham's home at Menteith, in Dumbartonshire, just north of Glasgow. Graham muses on its monastic past: "The voices of the sisters singing in the choir must have been scarce distinguishable from the lapping of the wavelets on the beach, or, blending with them, made up a harmony, as if nature and men were joining in a pantheistic hymn. Nuns may have lived upon the island with, or without, vocation, have eaten out their hearts with longing for their lost world ... but the dim sisterhood has left no record of its passage upon earth except the name Inch Cailleach [Island of the Nuns], beautiful in its liquid likeness to the sound of the murmuring waves, and the wind sighing in the brackens and the bents."
Later, he describes a grey chapel, burial place of the McFarlane and McGregor clans. "Quietly they lie, they who knew never a quiet hour in life ... Bitterly they paid for the slaughter of Glenfruin, with two hundred years of outlawry, and with the hand of every man against them. Well did they deserve the title of the 'Clan Na Cheò' [Clan of the Mist], for the mist rolling through the corries was their best hiding-place..."
While the passing of time is palpable here, the nuns, McGregors, and McFarlanes "have left an aura that still pervades the leafy isle. Nothing is left of them but the vaguest memory, and yet they seem to live in every thicket, every copse." Graham exhorts at the end of the sketch, "Let them sleep on. They have had their foray, they have chased the roe and followed the red-deer. The very mists upon the mountains are far more tangible than they are now..." Yet in a dramatic swoop, Graham conjures up a heroic Last Day, when all this island's dead shall gather again: "Under their rude tombstones men whose feet, shod in their deerskin brogues, were once as light as fawns, are waiting till the shrill skirl of the Piob Mor [the great Highland bagpipe] shall call them to the great gathering of the clans."
An immensely impressive book. 5 stars.
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