January 29, 2004

Plains Folk: Ace in the Hole

Tom Isern, Professor of History
North Dakota State University

It’s not going to win her another Pulitzer, but for any citizen of the plains, Annie Proulx’s new novel, “That Old Ace in the Hole,” is full of interest, in ways intended and unintended by the author.

Readers know Proulx most for her Newfoundland novel (later a motion picture), “Shipping News,” and perhaps also for other works such as “Postcards,” “Accordion Crimes,” and “Close Range.” Recently I had the opportunity to hear her speak at the University of Nebraska, which helps me understand her writing better in ways intended and unintended.

Proulx spoke about the importance of place to an author. This is a point evident in her works from Newfoundland, Wyoming, and now the Texas Panhandle. She has an eye for detail, an ear for inflection and an overall sense of what makes a place what it is.

And yet, Proulx explains, she resists literary commitment to any particular place. She says early in her career she was advised to avoid being identified with one locale, as that would limit her audience and influence.

Does she have emotional attachments to the places she writes about (and lives in, in the cases of Newfoundland and Wyoming), someone asks? Proulx reflects and then replies that her attachments are more to landscapes than to people. Following her address, her interactions (or lack thereof) with a cordial public are those of an outsider by choice.

Ace in the Hole is set in the Panhandle of Texas. To that level land comes Bob Dollar, a confused but reasonably likeable young man who is surreptitiously scouting hog farm locations for Global Pork Rind, a corporate hog operation. You may think he is the main character of the novel, but he isn’t, for Ace Crouch, an old windmiller, is making things happen behind the scenes.

There are two great things about the novel. The first is Proulx’s ability to discern and display those features and habits that define a place, which in this case is the ostensibly fictional community of Woolybucket, Texas. Cafes and cafe talk figure largely. Oh that every prairie town had a Cy Frease and an Old Dog Cafe.

The other great thing is the plotline, the invasion of sparsely populated lands by corporate pork interests, a matter of immense consequence for the plains, whatever you think of the development. If you read no other part of the book, then read pages 331-36, where Bob and Ace, sitting atop a windmill swigging ice tea, debate the future of the plains. If you care about this place, then you cannot fail to be gripped by the dialog.

There also are some disappointing things about the book. First, Proulx goes over the top with petty satires and double entendres, especially names. Second, she seasons everything with vinegar. Life is not that sour, and art need not be. Third, there are some signs of carelessness. The field research is good, the historical research not so good.

The failure of the book in the end is not one of fact but one of imagination. Proulx and Crouch devise a scheme to thwart the hog outfits and envision a different future for the country. The scheme precipitates a little too easily, and the vision is unoriginal. It involves buffalo. As I have said before, bison are noble beasts worthy of respect. They should not be deployed in a culture war against people we don’t like.

What people hate about corporate hog farms is that they come in without commitment to community and take profits away. I prefer authors who behave differently.

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