I grew up on TV westerns. "Cheyenne," "Sugarfoot," the short-lived but wonderful "The Dakotas," and..."Wyatt Earp." I can still remember the words to the theme song..."Wyatt Earp, Wyatt Earp, brave, courageous and bold/long live his name, long live his legend, and long may his story be told...umm umm." It was a half-hour, and Wyatt was played by Hugh O'Brian, who never drank, never swore, and was always polite to the womenfolk. This, of course, was well-before Hollywood did a 360 degree turn and developed a fascination with the anti-hero. Yep, if the show was done now, we'd probably be treated to the sight of the bare O'Brian buttocks before the third week was up, and Wyatt would be cowpunching everything in a petticoat walking within a 13 mile radius of Tombstone, Arizona.

The truth of Wyatt Earp, as with most things, is undoubtedly somewhere in between. We'll probably never know exactly where, the late 19th Century not having the benefit of a Michael Moore to waddle around with a videocam and tell us all what's what. But GUNMAN'S RHAPSODY by Robert B. Parker probably comes close enough for ragtime.

Parker, of course, is better known for walking on the mystery genre side of the literary street, in a neighborhood he almost single-handedly gentrified. It's accordingly somewhat of a gutsy move for him and Putnam to publish this bad boy in a genre that suffers from undeserved neglect. A lot of the big boxes stick western novels in a section called "Westerns and War" over by their incredibly spotless restrooms. No matter; GUNMAN'S RHAPSODY is a good enough book to endure.

Parker's Earp doesn't come off as a carbon copy of Spenser or Jesse Stone, though there are some similarities to the former. Earp is no boy scout, but he remains true to himself. He lives in an era where he does not need to seek out violence; it comes to him of its own accord, and when confronted with it, he meets it head-on. Violence in GUNMAN'S RHAPSODY comes as part of Earp's position as assistant city marshal in Dodge City at a time when such a position had less to do with law enforcement and more to do with money. Politics and its bedfellow, economics, soon bring Earp and his brothers to loggerheads with Johnny Behan, the main power within the city. There is (as there usually is) a woman involved at the heart of the matter, one Josie Marcus, engaged to Behan, loved by Earp. When Marcus leaves Behan for Earp, things appear calm on the surface while sharks swim beneath in anticipation of the blood that is sure to spill, as alliances form, shift and reform. Parker, as always, brings to the table his considerable array of narrative gifts, including his canny ear for dialogue. He wisely does not endow Earp with Spenser's glib tongue, choosing, instead, to cast Earp as strong, quick and silent. Talk is a distraction for Earp in an era where distractions often meant the difference between life and death.

Parker, with GUNMAN'S RHAPSODY, actually pulls off the incredible accomplishment of writing a novel in a genre other than the one for which he is known, with a protagonist he is not normally associated with, and leaving the reader quite satisfied with the result instead of yearning for the familiar settings and characters. GUNMAN'S RHAPSODY is much more than a diversion, more than a traipse into uncharted Parker territory. It is, ultimately, a novel that stands quite well on it's own on the shelf of Parker's already awesome bibliography.

   --- Reviewed by Joe Hartlaub


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