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Passing lightly over the oft-profiled Alamo stalwarts--Jim Bowie, Davy Crockett, and the young commander William Travis--Harrigan focuses on fictional secondaries, primarily botanist Edmund McGowan and mother and son Mary and Terrell Mott. Rigidly devoted to his work, Edmund straddles the fence in the dispute over Texas, even as war murmurs grow. But when he meets widowed Mary, who maintains her small inn with a steady, gentle resourcefulness, his good nature pulls him steadily into the inevitable conflict. Mary herself is forced to quarter Mexican soldiers; and then, as she watches incredulously, her young son seeks to test himself in the erupting skirmishes. Eventually the trio find themselves inside the Alamo during the nearly two-week battle, their various conciliations frustrated by the surrounding mayhem.
Harrigan's Texas is an uncertain, dangerous jostling of peoples, a place where disaster threatens too frequently, where practical knowledge is paramount and political ambivalence untenable, and where a primal beauty appears often as if by magic: "Hundreds and hundreds of lush gray cranes ... spanned the sky almost from horizon to horizon, and the whole procession moved with the quiet, ordained manner in which events unfold in a dream." However, the emblematic significance of the Alamo itself remains inscrutable. As Mary tends to the dying, watching hope turn to hopelessness, she can only respond to Travis's rallying orations with disillusionment: "She had heard enough of these empty patriotic effusions by now to feel that the Alamo was nothing but a sinking island of rhetoric." The Gates of the Alamo nonetheless sweeps us into the many and variegated smaller stories that compose the larger one. It's a book to remember. --Ben Guterson --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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Using a mix of Northamerican, Mexican and Tejano characters both real and imagined, we see what life in Mexican Texas was like. One major character, Edmund McGowan, is a naturalist in the employ of the Mexican government who sees no reason to break away. The mysterious end to that income sends him to Mexico City to find out what's happened. The possible breakaway of Texas is the talk of the town, and although Edmund insists that many of Mexico's Texas citizens are perfectly happy (settlers had to become Mexican citizens and Catholics in order to own land) a Mexico City barber sets him straight: "Ah, but these days one can only be a Mexican in one's soul. It is very difficult to be a citizen when one's government is so inconstant." Also on this trip he meets Stephen Austin, fresh from prison following his latest attempt to have a rational dialogue with Mexican president Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, and Juan Almonte, an intelligent and powerful Mexican nobleman, all of whom will play major parts later in the book. McGowan's relationship with widow Mary Mott, who runs an inn on the Texas coast, adds a deep personal note to their troubled times, as does the tie between the Mexican sergeant Blas and a mysteries Maya girl.
The roster of character is large, but each one is sharply drawn and memorable. The siege of the Alamo is exciting and unromantic. Some of its heroes emerge as quite heroic, others portrayed as regular people fighting for their lives. The heroism is not confined to the defenders of the Alamo: many Mexican officers were horrified at Santa Anna's insistence on killing everyone in the fort.
I'm not sure I agree with that familiar bookending device of using a 1911 Alamo parade to encase the story, but what the heck, I was glad the book went on that much longer. Unlike the work of many journalists who turn to fiction, every page of Harrigan's novel is alive and vibrant.