God Save Texas

One

The Charms, Such as They Are

Subtle was the word my friend Steve used as we drovethrough a spongy drizzle from Austin to San Antonio ona mild February morning. He was referencing the qualityof the pleasures one might experience from observing the Texaslandscape small ones, requiring discernment although theactual vista in front of us was an unending strip mall hugging acrowded interstate highway. Subtlety is a quality rarely invokedfor anything to do with Texas, so I chewed on that notion fora bit.

There are some landscapes that are perfect for walking, disclosing themselves so intimately that one must dawdle to takethem in; some that are best appreciated in an automobile at areasonable rate of speed; and others that should be flown over asrapidly as possible. Much of Texas I place in this last category.Even Steve admits that Texas is where everything peters out the South, the Great Plains, Mexico, the Mountain West alldribbling to an anticlimactic end, stripped of whatever glory theymanifest elsewhere. But in the heart of Texas there is anotherlandscape that responds best to the cyclist, who lumbers alongat roughly the rate of a cantering horse, past the wildflowers and mockingbird trills of the Hill Country. Our bikes were in the back of my truck. We were going to explore the five Spanish missions along the San Antonio River, which have recently been named a World Heritage Site.

Steve is Stephen Harrigan, my closest friend for many years, a distinguished novelist who is now writing a history of Texas. We stopped at a Buc-ee s outside New Braunfels to pick up some Gatorade for the ride. It is the largest convenience store in the world a category of achievement that only Texas would aspire to. It might very well be the largest gas station as well, with 120 fuel pumps, to complement the 83 toilets that on at least one occasion garnered the prize of Best Restroom in America. The billboards say The Top Two Reasons to Stop at Buc-ee s:

LAWRENCE WRIGHT is a staff writer for The New Yorker, a playwright, and a screenwriter. He is the best-selling author of the novel, The End of October, and ten books of nonfiction, including Going Clear, God Save Texas, and The Looming Tower, winner of the Pulitzer Prize. He and his wife are longtime residents of Austin, Texas.

A New York Times Notable Book   An NPR Best Book of the Year

Beautifully written. . . . Essential reading [for] anyone who wants to understand how one state changed the trajectory of the country. NPR

Compelling. . . . Timely. . . . There is a sleeping giant in Texas, and Wright captures the frustration and the hope that reverberate across the state each time it stirs. The Washington Post

Superb. . . . An elegant mixture of autobiography and long-form journalism. The New York Times Book Review
 
Terrific. . . . Valuable and often provocative. . . . Wright s words could speak for both Texas and America. The Dallas Morning News

Vivid . . . Affectionate and genial . . . Capture[s] the full range of Texas in all its shame and glory . . . An illuminating primer for outsiders who may not live there but have a surfeit of opinions about those who do . . . It s a testament to Wright s formidable storytelling skills that a reader will encounter plenty of information without ever feeling lost. The New York Times

Important, timely, and riveting. . . . Wright, a lifelong Texan and acclaimed author, knows his way around the state s contradictions, from its wild borderlands to its craziest legislators. New York

A godsend . . . . Brilliant analysis. . . . Wright s treatment flows impressionistically from one topic to the next . . .  introducing myriad characters in a cascade of crystalline sketches. Newsday

The most entertaining and edifying nonfiction book I ve read so far this year . . . [Wright] is a rare beast: an elegant writer and a fearless reporter, with a sense of humor as dry as the plains of west Texas. Mary Ann Gwinn, The Seattle Times

At once a piece of journalism, a love letter to a place and a memoir.. . . [Wright] writes about his state with the fervor, knowledge, and ambivalence that comes from deep-seated familiarity. The Wall Street Journal

Wright s