“I didn’t know what I was doing. I was like a man fighting bees.” Charles Portis is the only novelist whose books I’ve read twice. (He only wrote five of them, so that helps.) True Grit is the most-perfect of his novels, a lean 215-page tale of a girl seeking revenge on the man who killed her father. Like all of Portis’s books, it is funny and absolutely packed with great sentences. No other fiction has given me so much comfort in the past few years. I plan on re-reading Portis until I’m as dead as Tom Chaney.
* * *