REDSKIN WRITINGnThe West, by which Americans meantnthe frontier, has defined one of the polesnof American literature. New England,nand the Northeast in general, have alwaysnrepresented our sense of standingnin the long shadows of European civilization,nand even the best Northeasternnwriters—Hawthorne and Irving, to takenonly two examples—were seduced intonwriting and living as Europeans. Frontiernwriters, roughly identical with PhilipnRahv’s “redskins,” were more willing tontake America as they found it, as oystersnshould be eaten: raw.nThe most obvious early examples ofnfrontier literature were the humorousnSouthern sketches of Augustus BaldwinnLongstreet (Georgia Scenes) and JosephnGlover Baldwin (Flush Times of Alabamanand Mississippi). Following thenpath of so many Southerners, includingnMark Twain, Baldwin — originally anVirginian — ended up in California.nTwain is, of course, the best knownnSouthern frontier humorist, but his reputationnfor originality and uniquenessndepends on our ignorance of his predecessors.nOf course, not all frontier writers arenhumorists or even Westerners. (Thenbest of William Gilmore Simms is devotednto a period when South Carolinanwas still the frontier, and Simms deservesnan honored place as godfather tonWestern literature.) But down-homenhumor, exaggeration, and crudenessnhave always been as much a part ofnWestern writing as of Western living.nNo living writer better exemplifies thentype than Edward Abbey: independentnand strong-minded (or eccentric andnprejudiced, if you don’t care for him).nAbbey has written some of the bestnWestern fiction — The Lonely Cowboyn— as well as some of the best essaysndevoted to Western themes.nHis latest novel. The Fool’s Progressn(New York: Henry Holt; 485 pp.,n$19.95), is vintage Abbey, Abbey takennraw. It is a siaspiciously autobiographicalntale of a West Virginian who moves tonthe Southwest after Wodd War II. Afterna series of jobs as philosophy TA, parknranger, and welfare bureaucrat, and anseries of wives, mistresses, and casualngirl friends, Henry Lighteap is headednback to Stump Creek, West Virginia.nAlong the way, the reader is treated tonthe major episodes of his life and introducednto a rogue’s gallery of charactersnstrange enough to please Harry Crews:n36/CHRONICLESnREVISIONSnHenry’s IWW father, who is opposednto “Roosevelt’s War” and tells his sonnnot to enlist, but is at the same timenproud of his exploits; brother Will, whoncomes back from the war determined tonlive the old life on the farm—WendellnBerry without the poetry; a cowboynartist who gets rich on land speculations;nand an assortment of straight-shooting,nhard-drinking veterans.nWhat Henry and his friends have inncommon is an instinctive refusal to sellnout and live the lives that are created fornthem by marketing executives and socialnplanners. For good or ill, they are theirnown men, and it is small wonder thatnmost women prefer one of them —nwhen they can find one—to the computernsalesmen with soft palms and limpnmustaches, who have memorized a listnof good chardonnays, and keep a roughndraft of their Dewar’s profile ready justnin case. Abbey’s roughnecks—now reducednto something like an outlawnstatus — may be all that is left of thentrue American type, going all the waynback to Captain John Smith.nA former practicing liberal, Henrynnow has strong views on every conceivablen”minority” group, but he reservesnhis best shots for Latinos and Orientals.n”The cultural riches” Mexicans havengiven us, he reasons, come down ton”Tacos . . . Nachos. Burritos. Salsanmusic. Spray-paint art. Patr6n-stye politics.nPlastic Madonnas on acrylic-plushndashboards and other intellectual, scientificnand artistic treasures I’m sure Incould think of if I really set my mind tonit.”nHere is Henry a few pages later onnthe Japanese: “Rice Rockets, Niki-Tikinsewing machines. Hondas, Toyotas,nSonys, Kawasakis. Tofu metallics, noodle-soupnplastic. Vile cheap importedngarbage: to think that we Americans, innour blindness and stupidity, shouldnthrow our own people out of work, shutndown our great mills, let the ForestnService clear-cut our forests and thenBLM strip-mine our hills and the beefnindustry gnaw down our rangelands tonthe bone in order to produce rawnmaterials to trade to those Niponesen[sic] ant people in exchange for theirnbright cheap slick robot-manufacturednelectro-mechanical junk, none ofnwhich, not one single item of which, wenactually need.”nIf anyone thinks this is just a fictionalncharacter talking, he hasn’t read Ab­nnnbey’s essays. And here is the problemnwith this moving and entertaining book.nAbbey has become so angry and soncommitted to his principles, he hasntrouble writing with the openness tonexperience that characterizes the greatnnovelist. The fact that he’s right aboutnmost things (with the exception of religion,nwhere he’s half right in despisingnmost of its current manifestations)ndoesn’t necessarily make it work. ThenFool’s Progress may not be Abbey’s bestnnovel, but — part fiction, part satire — itnis still a wonderful book.nThe University of Oklahoma Pressnhas recently put out Recollections ofnCharley Russell by Frank Bird Lindermann($10.95, paper). The author was anclose friend of the renowned cowboynartist, and the scattered recollections arenworth dipping into.nThe greatest American writer tontackle the West (although not necessarilynthe greatest Western writer) wasnMark.Twain, whose letters are beingnpublished by the University of CalifornianPress. Volume one covers the periodn1853 to 1866 and includes much of hisnWestern adventures. The letters arenlively, amusing, and in most eases informative,nalthough it would be verynhard for the casual reader to figure outnwhich side Clemens was on during thenwar. As a traitor to his state and deserternfrom the Confederate Army, he wasn• understandably ambivalent. While publiclynwrapping himself in the Unionnflag, he was privately writing to hisnSouthern friends as if their cause werenstill his. In any case,-Twain-fanciers —nwhich includes almost every reader innAmerica—will want to purchase thisnand succeeding volumes.nAn interesting sidelight on the Westnis provided by a new study of thenHatfield/McCoy war: Feud: Hatfields,nMcCoys, and Social Change in Appalachia,n1860-1900 by Altina L. Wallern(Chapel Hill: University of North CarolinanPress; 313 pp., $32.50). Whilentelling the story of the feud. Wallernexplains the conflict was not so muchnthe result of personal animosities or ofnan inherenfly violent Appalachian naturenas it was a contest for powernbetween the progressive and well-to-donMcCoys, who favored economic developmentnand outside interests, and thenold-fashioned Hatfields, who retainedntheir faith in local traditions and communitynautonomy. (TF)n