Inventing Montana: Dispatches from the Madison Valley by Ted Leeson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Ted Leeson has been one of my favorite authors since his first book in 1994, The Habit of Rivers. That book contained essays concerning his trip throughout the western United States mostly fishing for native trout. Since then he has written a fair number of books on flies and fly tying. I rarely buy those types of books, preferring the literary over the practical (let’s not think what that might say about me), but it is his essays that I look forward to reading. Two years after his debut book he edited a volume of essays titled The Gift of Trout. That was a good book, but I was really looking forward to his next volume containing only his work. I had to wait eight years from The Habit of Rivers until publication of Jerusalem Creek, another exceptional book of essays, centered in the Driftless area.
In those first two books, I found Leeson to be a bit more weighty…maybe “academic” is the word I’m looking for. I loved those books, but from what I remember, they seemed to be filled with lots of thought-provoking, introspective pieces. Maybe the word “serious” is what I’m thinking. Seven years after Jerusalem Creek, Leeson published Inventing Montana. This book contains the classic Leeson writing consisting of “academic” language, such as this sentence from Chapter 7, The Most of It: “Given its encumbrance with conditions and qualifications, many people might dismiss the question as invalid or meaningless to begin with.” But, unlike (to my memory at least) his other two volumes of essays, Inventing Montana has a lot more personal feel. I believe one of the reasons it does so is because of the humor he injects into most of the pieces. This is a welcome element to Leeson’s writing that I think makes this book his most reader-friendly volume yet.
His chapter titled, Local Semiotics, contains a side-splitting discussion among his friends when they happened upon the only open campsite, but it hand an ice scraper in the middle of the picnic table. They tossed around their theories on the plausibility of an ice scraper being used to hold a tent site in a Yellowstone campground (for those of you who visit the Park with any regularity, you’ll understand the importance of finding, and then holding, a campsite). Two of the party
“took up the question from a more or less epistemological standpoint: What constitutes value? How do we know value, and wherein does it reside? And for whom? Is value intrinsic.”
And of course, others in the group
“considered the scraper from the perspective of intentionality. Had it been left deliberately or accidentally? Was it a sign of something other than forgetfulness?”
A park ranger happened upon them in the middle of their conundrum, but refused to weigh in one way or the other.
Leeson has spent the last 20 or so years visiting Montana for about a month with a handful of friends. The group is an eclectic bunch, which creates the backdrop for many of the essays. These essays take place in a relatively small area, the Madison Valley. Focusing on such a small area, with a group of close friends, helps bring an intimacy to the book, an almost folksy feel to it. Such as his essay about Ennis.
For those of you unfamiliar with Ennis, Montana, it is the quintessential cow town, with the added feature of being the quintessential fly fishing town as well (which is an odd dichotomy considering the occasional conflict between cattlemen and anglers). He points out that one thing among small towns is the inhabitants’ penchant for waving to passing automobiles. As a motorcyclist, I’ve grown accustomed to waving to other motorcyclists, but there is always a question of which motorcyclists do you wave to: only the ones riding the same type of bike? Ones with helmets? In town? At a stoplight? Leeson analyzes the problems associated with waving when your license plate clearly shows you are an outsider.
“Mindful of how visitors like myself invade the place each summer, I worry that initiating a wave might be perceived as the overeager ingratiations of a tourist on holiday. Such people presume to a familiarity that does not exist and may force a return wave in a kind of extorted intimacy that leaves the other driver feeling he’s been compelled to engage in a nonconsensual act.”
And of course, what would a Leeson book be without soaring paragraphs of magical prose?
“Some years bring as well, however, a season within this season, a smoldering, incandescent stretch of days when the mercury flirts with triple digits and a string of nights not much cooler—the depths of the dog days and the hottest part of the hottest part of the year….in the forge of each day, the sun hammers the landscape to the same hard and brittle sheet of earth.”
For those of you who might have tried Leeson before but didn’t quite get into it, give this one a try. For those who already enjoy Leeson, you’ll love the extra dimensions this book adds to his repertoire.
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Scott,
I have never read any of his works, but they sound interesting. The comments about waving to passing autos bring to mind the same habit where I grew up in West-Central Indiana.
When I was growing up it was just expected that you waved, especially to other drivers. In such a small community you knew everyone anyway so you waved or honked. Haven’t been back there in a number of years, but I’ll bet that they still do.
Thanks for stopping by Harry.
I really like his three “literary” works – great writing and very thought-provoking. He’s a professor (Oregon), so you do occasionally get the academic lingo, but nothing to cause one not to read his stuff.
I think all small towns have the “wave” thing going on. He just has such a funny way of thinking about the nuances of the thought process behind the wave.
RE: the hand wave. Backcountry areas I frequent, hand waves begin to show up only on dirt roads, as an acknowledgment of sorts that you can’t be all bad if you’re out here in god’s country. The hand wave also seems to progress in its generosity the further you venture away from pavement: from nonchalant lifting of a coupla fingers off the steering wheel what up?, to full blown eye-contact-nod-and-handlift-hey there of the backwoods. Funny, no?
RW,
I find the same thing. The motorcycle wave is an especially interesting one. I see many motorcyclists only wave to those who are on the same bike, especially in town. But the farther from towns, the more inclusive the waves become.
…or maybe they’re just asking my help in fixing their flat, hmmmm that might explain the overly-enthusiastic waves I got on my last trip…
mike
Thanks for the review. I’ll check it out when I finish “Ten Years Later” (a “Three Musketeers” sequel).
Sounds pretty high brow though. I rarely discuss epistemology when camping. It’s usually more along the lines of “Why won’t this #$@%# stove light” and “Quick where should I throw this?” when it erupts in a huge fireball that threatens to consume the truck.
Interesting about the motorcycle wave. I ride a Kawasaki Vulcan 800 (when it isn’t snowing) and most riders seem pretty democratic, but I know some that are “Harley only” types.
I prefer a quote from a fellow rider I met in Florida. Her take on it was – “If you’re ridin’ – you’re ridin’”.
MDW
FR,
I haven’t heard of Ten Years Later. Not a Dumas book, is it?
High brow? Some parts are academic, but mostly funny and insightful. A great combination. I didn’t even mention in the review the sense of place and camaraderie in the book.
With the motorcycle wave, I agree with your friend–I pretty much wave at everyone (even scooters). I do find myself initiating the wave less frequently in town though–it gets hard with the hand on the clutch so much.
Yes, Ten Years Later is by Dumas. There are actually three books that he wrote about the Musketeers. “The Three Musketeers” , “Twenty Years After”, and “Ten Years Later”. I was pretty surprised when I found this out.
The third book is so large that it is often broken up into three books “The Vicomte of Bragelonne”, “Louise de la Valliere” and “The Man in the Iron Mask”. It’s very confusing.
Did you know that the man in the iron mask plays a very minor role in the book by that name? No wonder Hollywood had to change things around to make it into movies.
MDW
FR,
Huh…I’ll be. I have The Three Musketeers and Man In the Iron Mask (it’s been decades since I’ve peeked below the covers), and did not know (maybe I did, but can no longer remember?) about the 20 years/10 years books. Nor did I realize Man In the Iron Mask is only a third of a larger work. Thanks for the enlightenment.
Leeson is, in my view, the best essayist working now in our zone. I like Gierach, but Leeson scratches deeper and evokes better. But I’m an elitist egghead, except with no breeding, credentials, or accomplishments. But the Habit is, for my money, the second best hunka words on flyfishing (after River Runs) if style is your thing.
Dave,
I’m with you on Leeson. Style is definitely a large portion of the allure for my reading pleasure. I can sometimes forgive a bit of content if the style is great, but have a hard time going in the reverse direction.
I live in MT, fly fish, read about and value what it means to be “from” here. I found the author’s style to be overly contrived and cutesy. I’m not a fan of FPPT, nor do I have much respect for characters identified as The Writer, The Cook, The Painter, etc. This might work as fiction, but not as a work about people who I’d like to get to know – such as those who have been coming here for 20 years. But, as with most people from out of state, it’s hard to get to know them. Leeson perpetuates that notion. I can’t recommend this book.
DJ,
Thank you for commenting–it’s nice to get a local’s perspective. I’m up in the Ennis area a fair amount (maybe three times a year) since it’s only about 5 hours from my house. The wide open farm land, narrow valleys and towering mountains feel much like my home, yet having such a huge influx of visitors makes it much different than here. And I suppose rather difficult at times. “Getting to know” Leeson (or those like him)–I hadn’t really thought much about that aspect, yet I don’t know if the point of the book is for us to get to know him, or those he is with. It’s for us to see Montana through his eyes: how he invents Montana. Did you find he painted an unflattering image of Montana/Montanans?
Scott,
Nice review. Got this book for Christmas but short of sneaking a few quick paragraphs, have yet to read it. Looking forward to the read…
Sounds like good stuff to burn away the dead of winter…
Bob
I don’t know if I’m a bit biased since I do visit the area quite frequently myself. But I’ve always liked his writing regardless of locale.
I took the reviews as a reason to purchase a used copy of Inventing Montana. He does give you a lot to think about in addition to a great story. A nice touch on my copy is that it is signed by Ted himself.
Ray,
Thanks for taking the time to leave a comment. That’s great that you were able to get a signed copy. When I went to purchase mine I did a quick look for a signed one, but couldn’t find any at the time. He always leaves me with plenty to think about.
[...] Addendum: The Cutthroat Stalker posted his own review of Inventing Montana here. [...]
I can remember way back when in my hometown, Brownsburg Indiana, everyone waved to everyone, even on Main St. Well, the town has grown exponentially over the years and is now an extension of Indianapolis. Over this past Fourth of July, my family traveled to visit my wife’s mother in Southern Illinois, She lives out in the country about a half hour east of Mt. Vernon. Everyone we passed, from people in cars and trucks to Mennonites hanging their laundry waved to us. It’s nice that it still exists in places.
Hey Mike! Yes, it is great to still come across those pockets of friendliness, and it’s too bad when they disappear. Now that we’ve settled in my wife’s hometown ( pop. 1500ish), it’s nice to be involved in the waving to people I’ve come to know, and strangers too. We’re this very moment celebrating Pioneer Day (a Utah holiday) on the local town square. People from far and wide who used to live here come back, and it’s neat seeing all the locals greet each other and those returning as they watch the parade or see their children and grandchildren participate in the greased pig chase. I’ve lived in big cities (Seattle, Phoenix, San Diego and Los Angeles), and I wouldn’t give up my mountains and hometown country life for anything.