Land of Wolves (Walt Longmire, #15)
Autor
Craig Johnson
Opinión
Revisando este sitio veo que no he escrito opiniones para la gran mayoría de libros en ésta serie. Eso está mal.
Ésta última entrada en la serie nos lleva a un clásico misterio de Walt Longmire de vuelta en el condado de Absaroka. Pero el sheriff aún está lidiando con el trauma del último libro donde se la pasó muy mal al sur de la frontera, esto lo hace tener ausencias o introspecciones fuertes donde se desconecta del mundo durante varios minutos.
Los vecinos del condado y la gente de su departamento se cuestionan si luego de sus últimas aventuras tal vez sea hora de colgar la toalla. Este es el tema de fondo en toda la novela y justo en las últimas páginas con un nudo en la garganta te enteras de su decisión. Este libro ahonda más en la melancolía y tristeza del personaje principal.
El autor también pinta nuevamente el hermoso Wyoming que algún día me gustaría conocer, y agrega elementos y personas ya conocidas y alusiones a personas como el shaman Virgil White Buffalo.
Algunas citas
Hanging is a very technical form of execution and difficult to perform properly; much crueler, painful, and primitive compared with other methods.
This is the moment when you find out you’re not ten feet tall and bulletproof.
“It was your job to protect him.” I stared at her for a moment. “Yep, it was.”
most of my clientele are VIPs.” “VIPs?” “Very Intoxicated Persons.”
So, do we pretend we’re Mormons or are we selling Tupperware?
It’s a courthouse, people drink in here all day.
Nobody knows what a modem does—they’re just magic and then the computer works.
keep her happy . . . try and keep all the women in your life happy . . . life’s easier that way in case you haven’t noticed.
How ‘bout I test his gonads with the point of my tactical boots?
I just wanted to get my son back—you can understand that?” “I suppose so,
“You know the difference between firefighters and Boy Scouts?” “What?” “Boy Scouts have adult supervision.”
He’s dead, Walt. Like you always say, ‘Buried in a shallow grave and shit off a cliff by a coyote.’
they were men of low character and they all met bad ends.
There’s a tendency in our society to romanticize the exploits of outlaws and gangsters, an insistence that they’re Robin Hood–type characters, that they have more in common with us than the people whom we hire to protect us and enforce our laws. I don’t buy that.
I guess you can’t call it daydreaming at night, so are you sleepwalking?
Food had tasted better then and the air had seemed sweeter, but maybe it was just the memories that made it so. There is no sweetness without loss. What I would give for five minutes to ask all the questions I hadn’t and listen to all the answers I’d ignored.
You’re at the Ass-Kicking World Finals and you’re first in line.
I sighed, feeling the only thing I always felt when I was in a hospital, the need to get out.
Because I’m Italian, and you two are heathens who would put pineapple on pizza.
“All the way out here in this godforsaken place?” Arriett shook his head. “And have you seen God, back there in that place where you live?”
Who, what, where, and why? I didn’t have an answer to any of the W’s.
moving along Hunter Creek and slowly climbing from the canyon, with the clouds stretching out over the plains, looking as if you could walk on them.
Just like you won’t know you’re dead until it’s too late, and the only thing that will happen will be a flicker of surprise as you hit the ground staring up at those cold, dead stars.
It’s a common fallacy that cloudy nights are the coldest—it’s the clear, glittering nights where a bone-shattering cold comes from the unending universe and descends upon the earth, shagging the trees with ice in a landscape that goes on interminably.
A land of strangers is a land of wolves.
A sob broke from his twisted mouth. The old man tossed the shotgun aside and reached out to take the boy, burying him against his chest with a retching cry that rivaled that of the wolf.
and trotted to the edge of the parking lot between us and the courthouse to relieve himself with the one-leg salute.
I picked up the star and pinned it back on, immediately feeling warmer.
I listened for the cry of 777M if you will, or Larry if you won’t. All I could hear was the whir of technology as the gas filled the tank. And I sighed, wanting to hear that howl so badly.