In his 1971 An Introduction to American Literature, Jorge Luis Borges compared the North American western unfavorably to the gaucho and outlaw tales of Argentina. That Portis’s novel took so long to win such respect may be due to being labeled a western. True Grit-and Portis’s other novels, too-have, despite invariably good reviews, been only grudgingly accepted by the literary establishment. I have no way of proving this, but I would bet that True Grit is still read by more people than those three combined. In 1968, critics were arguing about whether John Updike’s Couples accurately depicted suburban life, whether Norman Mailer’s Armies of the Night was journalism or literature, or whether Gore Vidal’s Myra Breckinridge was literature at all. Written by a former Marine sergeant and journalist from southern Arkansas with only one previous novel to his credit-the moderately successful Norwood (1966), the endlessly hilarious account of an ex-Marine's journey from Texas to New York to collect $70- True Grit couldn’t have been further outside the mainstream of ’60s American literature. Portis’s unassuming little novel-in most editions it clocks in around 220 pages-seems an odd candidate for such devotion. True Grit begs the question as to whether a book in print 50 years after publication and which inspired two hugely successful films can properly be labeled “cult.” Mass cult might fit better. (A likely no-show is Portis himself, who has never established a public persona through profiles and interviews.)

Charles Portis is the person and the work is his novel True Grit, which turns 50 this year. Merriam Webster defines cult as “great devotion to a person, idea, object, movement, or work (such as a film or book).” This weekend hundreds of cultists will gather in Little Rock, Arkansas, to celebrate a person and a work.

True grit novel