Brokeback Mountain is, believe it or not, less than 100 pages with normal sized print. It’s a tiny little novella, but a tiny little novella with a great big punch. I remember sitting in bed, reading it over the course of an hour, and promptly bawling upon the conclusion. I really don’t know what to say about it because it’s such a simple little book. Simple but perfectly done, I should say. I also think it might be one of the most romantic stories I’ve ever seen read. And yes, it’s so easy to think that when you’re picturing Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal as you flip through the pages, remembering how strong their chemistry was in the movie. But Proulx’s delicate yet intense prose is so appropriate in its use here that it takes Ennis and Jack’s story to a whole other level of romantic (and of course, tragic). Here’s a quote to show what I’m talking about:
“Without getting up he threw deadwood on the fire, the sparks flying up with their truths and lies, a few hot points of fire landing on their hands and faces, not for the first time, and they rolled down into the dirt. One thing never changed: the brilliant charge of their infrequent couplings was darkened by a sense of time flying, never enough time, never enough.”
This is real passion y’all. Read the book. It is everything.