I just spent the day reading a Ralph Compton novel. It was advertised, “If you like Louis L’Amour, you’ll love Ralph Compton.” Well, I love Louis L’Amour. I love Zane Grey. I think Ralph Compton is yellow bellied shit. When Louis L’Amour wrote westerns the good guys were straight shooters.
Not Ralph Compton. He’s no better than the scoundrels he’s guns down. I finished reading the book only to find it was ‘carried on’ to the next novel. It was Book I of how many I don’t know. But there was no advertising that it was Book 1. I wasn’t warned. I was bush whacked.
Consequently, I’ll never read another Ralph Compton.
(It was published by Signet Books of Penquin Books. If the decision to be immoral and a low down reader thieving yellow belly was not made by the author but some bean counter in the industry, then hopefully the Texas Rangers or Pinkerton's will hang that son of a bitch. My own guess is that a Penquin can walk more upright than a slithering Compton.)
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