ANNIE PROULX’S BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN OR “THIS AIN’T NO LITTLE THING”... CRISTINA CHEVEREªAN University of Timiºoara Shortly after Brokeback Mountain’s controversial 2006 Oscar race, this paper will take a look at the brilliantly-written, thought-provoking short story behind the movie. Annie Proulx challenges her readers’ expectations with a stereotype-crushing epic of few words, in which a ‘love that dares not speak its name’ gets the final say. In a 21st century dominated by the all-too-fascinating power of moving pictures and special effects, the average entertainment consumer most often tends to forget the true magic of story-telling. The controversial Brokeback Mountain, icon-movie which undoubtedly stole the discussion panel and the limelight at the 2006 edition of the Academy Awards, is a cin- ematic performance which goes beyond mere glamor and technical artifice into the lost world of common living gone astray. The film fully benefits from its acknowledged excellent directing by Ang Lee, flawless acting by Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal, and breathtaking scenery. The acclaimed screeplay to match was fashioned by Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, very few people remembering, however, the true inspiration for their efforts: it is literally the somewhat neglected story behind the story that shall make the focus of our discussion in this paper. Surprinsingly enough, Brokeback Mountain is not just another case of attention grabber carefully constructed by the Hollywood industry to court the politically correct. The source that it quite faithfully translated onto the big screen happens to be an exquisite literary achievement by one of the most successful American writers of the last decades: Annie Proulx. In the contemporary vortex of images which overrule the more limited appeal of the written word, many of the movie-goers might need reminding of Proulx’s remarkable career: her debut novel, Postcards was given the P.E.N.- Faulkner Award for fiction in 1993, being closely followed by The Shipping B.A.S. vol. XIII, 2007 42 News, which won the Irish Times International Fiction Prize, The National Book Award for Fiction and no less than the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1994. Against this resonant background, Brokeback Mountain struck like lightning: “Annie Proulx figured no magazine would touch her short story, the tale of two Wyoming cowboys whose romance is so intense, it some- times leaves them black and blue. But The New Yorker published it in 1997, and it went on to win an O. Henry prize and a National Magazine Award” (Cohen 2005: 1). Later on included in Close Range. Wyoming Stories, the piece contributed to the volume’s recognition by The New Yorker Book Award for Best Fiction 1999, the English-Speaking Union’s Ambassador Book Award (2000) and the Borders Original Voices Award in Fiction (2000). Unfortunately, enthralled by the 2005 movie-version of the story, many reviewers and even more viewers fail to pay tribute to the writing that set everything in motion. Peter Bradshaw’s review for The Guardian sets the record straight in a succinct presentation: “Brokeback Mountain is an adaptation of a piece of writing from 1997 by Annie Proulx that already bears the reputation of being the best short story ever to be published in The New Yorker magazine” (Bradshaw 2006: 1). What is it, then, that has made this short story not only a groundbreak- ing literary achievement, but also the inspiration for a thought-provoking movie? The first thing that comes to mind is its daring topic: an FAQ posted by the writer on her website starts by calling the story “an examination of country homophobia in the land of the Great Pure Noble Cowboy” (Proulx 2005b: 1). Ennis del Mar and Jack Twist are barely 19 when they meet on a summer-herding job on Brokeback Mountain, which turns out to mark the beginning of a tragic, timeless and wordless emotional involvement between the two men or, as Anthony Lane assesses it, “a love story that starts in 1963 and never ends” (2005: 1). The plot is uncomplicated and clear-cut, easy to summarize but not at all facile in terms of symbolism and implications: There’s nothing romantic about herding huge numbers of four-legged beasts left to range far and wide, and cowboys pretty much have cornered whatever romance there is in rugged outdoor animal husbandry. Riding herd on sheep guaranteed a horseman a hard time in old Westerns, but Ennis and Jack make the most of it, even if their diet is mostly beans. They don’t talk much, but Ennis speaks of being raised by his brother and sister after their parents died in a car crash, and of a woman named Alma he plans to marry. Jack tells of his parents and working the Texas rodeo cir- 43 LITERARY ENCOUNTERS cuit. One night, Ennis decides to sleep by the fire rather than head off to his lonely post, but in the small wee hours, with the fire dead, he’s freez- ing. Jack yells at him to join him in his tent. A simple human gesture in sleep prompts a frantic coupling that in the cold light of morning each man is quick to dismiss. The summer ends, and as time goes by Ennis marries Alma and Jack weds Lureen, and they each have kids. The men’s shared passion keeps its fire, and their affection and need for each other grows. Over the years, they contrive to spend time together back on Brokeback Mountain. Always there is the threat of exposure and the fear it breeds (Bennett 2005: 1). Eventually, Ennis belatedly finds out about his lifelong companion’s accidental death, much too late for any essential decisions to be made. After years of denial and repression, he stands both rebuked and painfully illuminated, in a final attempt to take upon himself the responsibility of the never-assumed promise: “Jack, I swear –” he said, though Jack had never asked him to swear anything and was himself not the swearing kind” (Proulx 2005a: 54). The inner struggle of two characters placed in adverse circumstances and surrounded by standardized prejudice stands at the highly sentimental core of the story. As Gail Caldwell of the Boston Sunday Globe puts it, “Brokeback Mountain does some of the best things a story can do. It abolishes the old West clichés, excavates and honors a certain kind of elusive life, then nearly levels you with the emotional weight at its center” (2005: 1). How does Annie Proulx fight cliché? First and foremost, by means of distributing two male characters in an enduring love-story built according to the sinuous yet quite easily recognizable patterns of human relationships in general. It has been the “gay-story” label that has done the story and, sub- sequently, movie the most considerable share of injustice. Proulx’s aim is much wider, as Roger Ebert accurately points out in a review to the film-ver- sion: “Ennis and Jack love each other and can find no way to deal with that. Brokeback Mountain has been described as ‘a gay cowboy movie’, which is a cruel simplification. It is the story of a time and place where two men are forced to deny the only great passion either one will ever feel. Their tragedy is universal. It could be about two women, or lovers from different religious or ethnic groups—any ‘forbidden’ love” (2005: 2). It is interesting to note how the all-encompassing dimension of the two men’s minute drama has managed to pervade most interpretations, regard- less of their orientation or main focus. Thus, Paul Clinton follows the same B.A.S. vol. XIII, 2007 44 line in his CNN report, stating that “to label Brokeback Mountain as ‘the gay cowboy movie’ does a great disservice to its haunting love-story, stretching over decades, which survived in a time and place in which the two men’s feelings for each other were utterly taboo” (2005: 2). Romanian analysts of the phenomenon also emphasize the simple and touching story about the time that passes while feelings remain unchanged. Deconstructing stereo- typical reception, Alex Leo ªerban talks about two ‘cowgays’ who are, in fact, rather bisexual, get married and have children: apart from this ‘biolog- ical incident’, the topic itself is the love that knows no boundaries in time, space or gender (cf. 2006: 1). Iulia Blaga goes even as far as offering a definitely non-queer perspec- tive upon the narrated issues: he maintains that the focus lies neither with the gay couple, nor with the romance developing within it, but rather with Love itself (cf. 2006: 1). Projected upon the background of options such as marital compromise or divorce, it is this larger than life feeling that stays the absolute constant coordinate around which the action revolves. This is, indeed, the insight that Proulx herself offers into her work, while making her intentions clear to her audience: “I hope that it is going to start conversations and discussions, that it’s going to awaken in people an empathy for diversity, for each other and the larg- er world. I’m really hoping that the idea of tolerance will come through […] It is a love story. It has been called both universal and specific, and I think that’s true. It’s an old, old story. We’ve heard this story a million times; we just haven’t heard it with this cast […] I think this country is hun- gry for this story, because it’s a love story and there’s hardly much love around these days. I think people are sick of divisiveness, hate-mongering, disasters, war, loss; and need and want a reminder that sometimes love comes along that is strong and permanent, and that it can happen to any- one” (qtd.