In the Distance

In the novel’s final section, Diaz brings the theme of Isolation and the Search for Belonging full-circle, as Håkan once again sets his course for New York. After Asa meets a violent death, Håkan is cast back into his loneliness and isolation. In Chapter 19, Håkan gazes into the canyon for the first time and sees “a majestic hopelessness” (198)—another instance of foreshadowing that something terrible will transpire there. Diaz utilizes tone, mood, and sentence structure to heighten the contrast between the quiet, peaceful weeks Håkan and Asa share in the canyon and their sudden, chaotic end. For example, he creates a gentle mood, using complete sentences to describe the protagonist’s hideout: “Håkan found bliss in their austere life in the dome” (199). When describing Asa’s death, the author uses discordant fragments: “Then, the three riders leisurely making their way down the gorge. Chatting. Laughing. Asa’s horse in tow. Asa’s body strapped to it. Right under Håkan. Asa’s head shining with blood” (201). Earlier in the novel, Diaz uses fragments to depict Håkan’s mental state when he is delirious with fever, and their presence here emphasizes a similar delirium brought on by grief.

Asa’s death leaves Håkan bereft of his sense of belonging, plunging him back into loneliness and isolation, all the more intense because of the reprieve he experienced with Asa. Diaz’s novel suggests that Håkan’s sense of belonging deeply impacts his identity—the loss of the former triggers the loss of the latter. In the following decades spent alone, he loses his senses of purpose, time, and self: “It was dead quiet in his mind. He rarely thought of anything that was not at hand. Years vanished under a weightless present” (206). The maze that he constructs symbolizes his isolation. Like Håkan’s solitude, the labyrinthine earthen structure gives him a feeling of safety, numbs him to reality, and requires careful maintenance. Diaz repeats several passages of text word for word or with slight alterations in Chapter 20, including the sentence, “A year and an instant are equivalent in a monotonous life” (207). This repetition gives the chapter a sense of echoing emptiness that befits the years Håkan passes alone.

The gang’s arrival in Chapter 21 displaces Håkan from the solitude of his maze-like burrow. The soldiers’ uniforms help to establish the setting and signal the re-entry of the wider world—with its history and political context—into Håkan’s narrative. Most of the novel takes place in the antebellum West, and the former Union soldier’s words imply that the Civil War has recently ended: “‘Ever since peace reigns again,’ he [says], looking at the gray soldiers with a smirk, ‘we’ve been riding about, trying to survive. You know. Plenty of opportunities out there’” (222). The gang’s dialogue also develops the theme of Myths of the West by revealing that the Håkan’s reputation has only grown during his many years in hiding. The criminals greatly admire the Hawk and his extralegal exploits: “How did you do it? All those things. You know, the brethren, escape from the law. Stay away for so long” (221). The reminder of his now-legendary violence dredges up all of the shame and pain of Håkan’s past: “The disgrace, the guilt, the fear came rushing back, wiping out all the years spent in solitude. He was back where he had left off” (220). Håkan’s internal torment over his infamy underscores the thematic significance of his refusal to join the gang and his mostly nonviolent escape—cleverly using Asa’s favorite recipe to trick the men into consuming a sedative—since eventually, it too becomes a tale, distorted and retold, absorbed into the specter of the Hawk’s legend.

Håkan’s clash with society after the fugue state of his years in the burrow reignites both his will to live and his search for belonging. After leaving the burrow, Håkan regains his purposefulness and agency. He begins to set hopeful goals for himself and take concrete action again “[a]fter years of restless rambles followed by years in a stagnant haze” (226). By sending Håkan back to Clangston and James Brennan’s mine, Diaz retreads the original steps of Håkan’s journey, brings the story full-circle and demonstrating the physical and emotional transformation he’s experienced. The town that was a single street when he was a young man is now a bustling, clamorous city full of filth, violence, commerce, and lies. The theatrical production that Håkan sees develops the theme of Myths of the West. The performers turn his life into a grisly play in which he’s the villain. Ironically, even though everyone knows the story of the Hawk, no one recognizes the old man. He is simultaneously anonymous and legendary, a juxtaposition that reveals how little the myths of the Hawk reflect the reality of Håkan.

As Håkan retraces his steps now elderly and weary, the shift in his perspective illustrates how his relationship with the wilderness has changed over time mirroring his journey from childhood to adulthood, from innocence to experience. Håkan observes: “The few wonders he encountered seemed old and tired. Nature was no longer trying to kill or to amaze him” (227). Both Håkan and the wilderness have been transformed over the course of the novel, exploited by human civilization. The introduction of Captain Altenbaum’s narrative establishes what it takes for an immigrant to prosper in America—treating nature like something to subdue, and exploiting the labor of Indigenous Americans to produce capital—and, in turn, demonstrates why Håkan never could. Diaz’s protagonist is incapable of subjugating his fellow humans and exploiting nature for monetary gain.

The novel’s ending centers the theme of Isolation and the Search for Belonging connecting it to Diaz’s subversion of traditional Western genre tropes. When Håkan accepts Captain Altenbaum’s offer to go to Alaska guaranteeing that he “can be sure that [he] will be left alone” (250), it initially appears that he has given up on reuniting with his brother or ever finding a sense of belonging. His rejection of the boy’s offer to join him further suggests that he has chosen isolation. However, the revelation that Håkan wishes to return to Sweden in a desperate attempt to reach the only place he has ever felt he belongs subverts the Western genre’s glorification of rugged individualism. By establishing Håkan’s search for belonging as the engine that drives the narrative forward, Diaz positions longing for human connection and intimacy as heroic traits, directly contradicting the idealization of the Western genre’s lone rider, imbuing it instead with a deep sense of loneliness, isolation, and pain.

In addition to this subversion, Diaz also complicates the notion of America as the land of opportunity for everyone. Håkan has always felt like a stranger and an intruder in America—most acutely when he encounters Indigenous communities whose land and lives are under constant threat from European settlers. Whatever Håkan hoped to find in America when he was a boy pales in comparison to what it takes from him—Helen, Asa, and his own sense of self. The novel suggests that Håkan’s rejection of his own violence, his refusal to capitalize on the legend that sprung from it, and his respect for nature and desire to heal rather than dominate renders him unfit to make his fortune from the American wilderness. Diaz grants his protagonist a tragic heroism and dignified resolve at the novel’s ending: “A moment later, the boy, leaning over the deck, saw the colossal man pick up his bundle and stare at the icy extension ahead” (256). Diaz’s final image reflects the iconic exit of the Western genre’s lone rider, subverting it to reflect not a reification of white, masculine heroism, but rather a disillusionment with and rejection of it. Håkan has survived many journeys in barren, desolate places, and it is possible that he will reach his destination one day. However, it seems more likely that for Håkan home will always be in the distance.