Is there anything so quintessentially American as the Western?[1] Despite that preacher Jesse Custer’s travels have taken him to New Orleans, New York City, and Europe, the underlying themes and imagery of the Preacher saga have always been that of the Western. Big land and a big sky, where a man can make anything of himself, accomplish any task he sets his mind to, where wrongs not only can be righted but inevitably must be, where life is as cheap as the desert sand and betrayal is as inevitable as the high noon challenge that precedes it. And in point of fact, the High Noon parallels were plenty enough obvious in the first half of Salvation without Ennis needing to point them out in the dialogue.

As the Preacher series enters its final third, Jesse Custer is a man alone. He’s lost his friends, some of his memory, an eye, and most damning of all, his way. And so, while taking the time to figure things out, he settles in the town of Salvation, Texas on a whim after running into a childhood friend. Salvation has its share of problems: unthinking Southern racism, a rich meat-processing magnate who uses his influence to buy the unlawful run of the town for his workers, and above all an uncaring populace willing to let it all happen rather than stand up. If there’s one thing that has been clear about Custer since the first issue, it’s that he is not a man who will refuse to stand up in the face of injustice. And of course it will become his salvation; but not just his. As so often happens in fiction, unlikely places have a way of gathering together unlikely people.

I was a lot more pleased with this book than I have been with the last couple. Ennis’ characters are a lot more compelling than his erratic main storyline, in which God must be held accountable for abandoning his creation to all the badness out there. I’m hoping he’ll pull a coup and reveal that the being Jesse has had his sights set on for so long is someone other than God; the villainy has graduated from ‘mysterious ways’ to almost cartoonishly diabolical, and I’ve always been one for principled disagreements rather than blatant vilification. Anyhow, the characters are a lot more compelling than all that, I was saying, and they really had time to shine without all the theology in the way.

[1] and other clichés with which you can start essays, by Chris Hammock. Available wherever fine books are sold.[2]
[2] Not actually available.