In Memory of Kent Haruf

"And so the two McPheron brothers went on to discuss slaughter cattle and choice steers, heifers and feeder calves, explaining these too, and between the three of them they discussed these matters thoroughly, late into the evening. Talking. Conversing. Venturing out into various other matters a little too. The two old men and the seventeen-year-old girl sitting at the dining room table out in the country after supper was over and after the table was cleared, while outside, beyond the house walls and the curtainless windows, a cold blue norther began to blow up one more high plains midwinter storm."

- from Plainsong by Kent Haruf

Last Sunday the literary community lost one of its greatest contemporary writers when Kent Haruf passed away at the age of 71. Haruf was the bestselling author of Plainsong, a National Book Award Finalist, as well as six other novels and a number of short stories. He was also my favorite writer.

Verlyn Klinkenborg called Plainsong "a novel so foursquare, so delicate and lovely, that it has the power to exalt the reader." There is nothing I can say that captures so accurately the significance and beauty of Haruf's words as that. He was an author who painted landscape with fine brush strokes, who spoke the voice of the high plains freely and directly--resisting the folksy "aw shucks" sentimentality we sometimes find in certain forms of Americana.

I've taught his books, written about them, shared them with my loved ones, and have taken them to heart. Though I never met him, Haruf was one of my literary heroes, a writer who influenced so much of what I try to do on the page, and he set the bar high for those of us who aspire. Had I ever gotten the chance, I would have thanked him for that.