Sarah Bly and Margaret Peel, a pair of well-to-do American friends with literary tastes who have spent a number of years as expats in Europe, impulsively decide to host a retreat for struggling writers at a Wyoming ranch…which becomes slightly complicated when a couple of snobby literary critics of their acquaintance invite themselves along. The interactions of the outsiders with the more down-to-earth ranch hands and local townsfolk, plus the personal and creative struggles of the writers at the retreat, form the bulk of the story—during which Sarah and Margaret each take unexpected steps forward on their own personal journeys as well.
This is such a unique, unexpectedly pleasant book, especially surprising given that the English MacInnes’ usual fare was Cold War-era spy thrillers. If I had to guess I’d say that this book was an author’s just-for-fun project—a love letter to Wyoming, and a chance to air her opinions about literary trends and critics of the day. On my second reading, I wondered during the first few chapters if my recollection of the novel was a little rosier than it merited—MacInnes’ writing can be a trifle clunky at times—but the further I got, I warmed to the story just as much as I had the first time. I mean—literature meets Wyoming, in 1948? That sounds like a book that was written to order for me.
I was also reminded of another reason I had liked the book the first time. MacInnes shrewdly nails a couple portrayals of narcissistic, manipulative behavior amongst her supporting characters; and it’s thoroughly refreshing to watch Sarah and Margaret have their eyes opened to it and free themselves from the trammels of being manipulated—realizing that they’ve been tailoring their actions and opinions to retain the good opinion of people they don’t even like or respect, and that they just don’t have to do it anymore.
A perfect novel? No, of course not. As I mentioned, the writing style can be a bit uneven. MacInnes doesn’t always have the surest hand with dialogue, sometimes making her characters express their ideas in a more stilted way than people really talk, even in books. And she cheerfully indulges in the technique today deplored as “head-hopping,” sharing the thoughts of multiple characters on the same page or even paragraph. There are a lot of characters to keep sorted out and we get at least a few pages from the perspective of every single one. There’s a bit of swearing by the cowboys and a few other male characters.
Still, Rest and Be Thankful somehow hits a sweet spot for me. It’s not brilliant literature, but it’s winningly unpretentious, and it deals with a setting, and an era, and themes that I’m fond of. The final chapters depicting the enthusiastic turnout of a small town for their annual parade and rodeo make a peculiarly satisfying, even heartwarming conclusion, just a touch bittersweet to read now as one looking back on a vanished era. And they contain an interestingly acute observation from an across-the-pond author: that American literary high-brows have largely ignored the culture of their own country’s common people (especially the western half of the country), unless it’s to look down their nose at it or twist it to their own interpretations.
“If this had been the annual festival in a little town in Mexico, or the South of France, he would have stood for hours and applauded. He would have talked about it for months afterwards. Authentic folk art. The Color of the Soil…And he missed the whole point, why you and I are so happy…Doesn’t he know the joy of seeing ordinary hard-working people looking so prosperous and proud of their lives? Doesn’t that tell him anything?”
Perhaps that’s the idea at the heart of Rest and Be Thankful, and perhaps that’s what makes it appeal to me.
Rest and Be Thankful, published in 1949, is still in print and available in both ebook and paperback. A customer review on Amazon notes that the current edition is missing one short scene, not not necessarily vital to the plot but an amusing one. The version I read was an original 1940s hardcover which, wonder of wonders, was actually in my local library system!
This is an entry for Friday’s Forgotten Books, a weekly blog event hosted by Patti Abbott.
Leave a Reply