The rural way is a funny thing. For one, it’s relative.

(Small communities also remind me of The Pace Of Being Known.)

I once spoke to a girl, born and raised in L.A. She thought it was funny she went to a university that was larger than my “hometown.”

When I said that I also went to a university that was larger than my hometown she nearly died at the irony.

I am still not sure I understand her glee about the whole thing.

But the point is that most consider “rural” to mean “small.”

When people talk in this way, it is often a cliche about a town of a few thousand that is a 30-minute car ride to the next town.

I mean, in some ways, I consider Lubbock to be rural. It’s not a “small” town. But it’s five hours in the car to get to a larger town.

That is not what McMurtry is referring to here.

The rural way of his parents and grandparents was more like: There’s not much of a road or fence (west of the Mississippi river) between Mexico and Canada.

Understand: Urban folk don’t get rural folk.

In a Narrow Grave was in effect a kind of summing up of what I had observed during the passing of the rural way: the way of my father and mother and their people. It also happened to be the best-designed book I will ever have. Bill Wittliff was reaching his peak as a book designer just about then.

-Larry McMurtry, Literary Life (Amazon)