Back in the day when newspapers still prowled the earth, I was working for a metro in Oregon and had a serendipitous lunch one day with a couple of colleagues. We got to talking about books and genres and novelists, and what worked and didn’t, and folks who were in it for the long haul and those who were one-shot wonders. Louis L’Amour’s name came up, along with the eternal debate of whether a mere Western constitutes literature in any sense. It … [Read more...]