Going up, the day was fine but the trail deep-drifted and slopping wet at the margins. They left it to wind through a slashy cut, leading the horses through brittle branchwood, Jack, the same eagle feather in his old hat, lifting his head in the heated noon to take the air scented with resinous lodgepole, the dry needle duff and hot rock, bitter juniper crushed beneath the horses’ hooves. Ennis, weather-eyed, looked west for the heated cumulus that might come up on such a day but the boneless blue was so deep, said Jack, that he might drown looking up.
― E. Annie Proulx, Brokeback MountainWithout getting up he threw deadwood on the fire, the sparks flying up with their truths and lies, a few hot points of fire landing on their hands and faces, not for the first time, and they rolled down into the dirt.
― E. Annie Proulx, Brokeback Mountain
It’s been over fifteen years since I watched the film. I remember the main beats of the story, but that’s about it. I’m glad I had some distance because the way Annie Proulx uses language is stunning. With every page, I imagined a new mountain landscape or a wind-beaten ranch hand trailer. Every page was a feast of raw, unforgiving landscape and an unforgiving place.
Dawn came glassy orange, stained from below by a gelatinous band of pale green. The sooty bulk of the mountain paled slowly until it was the same color as the smoke from Ennis’s breakfast fire. The cold air sweetened, banded pebbles and crumbs of soil cast sudden pencil-long shadows and the rearing lodgepole pines below them massed in slabs of somber malachite.
― E. Annie Proulx, Brokeback Mountain
Alone on Brokeback Mountain, two men, practically boys, fall in love over a summer of tending sheep. At the end of their contract, Ennis goes back to his hometown and marries his high school sweetheart, Alma, and Jack drives off in his truck for parts unknown. They reunite four years later. By now, Ennis has two daughters and a tense relationship with his wife. She wants him to find a better job to support her and their kids, but he refuses to switch to more reliable employment. Jack writes to Ennis from his home in Texas, saying he’s coming to town on business and wants to stop in and say hello. He’s married with a little boy and is on the road sourcing heavy machinery for his father-in-law’s business.
The two pick up right where they left off. Jack sees it for what it is – something bigger than he’s ever felt before. Ennis doesn’t deny his attraction to Jack, but refuses to do anything to upset his current life or put a target on his back if anyone ever found out about him and Jack.
They carry on like this, meeting up a couple of times a year for “fishing trips.” Ennis refuses to leave his meagre existence, preferring to have Jack when he can instead of risking it all and leaving with him. Jack returns to his family each time, but he keeps coming back for Ennis, hoping something will change. Ennis is a hostage of his own fear and prejudices and he holds everyone he loves prisoner along with him. He won’t change jobs to provide a better life for his family, as his ranch work allows him to quit and be with Jack when he comes around. He won’t leave Alma, but does not communicate with her or support her. Even after they divorce, he looms large in her life as they still must communicate for the sake of their daughters.
Raw is not a strong enough word to describe this story. It’s grit and sweat and ashes and hail. It’s biting winds and smoke-stained hotel rooms. It’s a hard life in a harder place. That’s why the brief respite that Ennis and Jack get on their mountain camping trips – just them and the horses and the campfire and the endless skies – are so perfect in their simplicity. They escape from their shame, their obligations, and their families. The fear is with them always, just over the next ridge or riding alongside them, but they can exist alongside it because, for those few days, they are not alone with their own swirling, crushing thoughts.
