Who Is Duane In Texasville?

Duane’s arc in 'Texasville' is all about unraveling. He’s not the ambitious young man from McMurtry’s earlier novel—just a guy watching his life fall apart in slow motion. The debt, the shaky marriage, the sense that time’s passed him by... it’s a masterclass in midlife storytelling. What gets me is how little he fights it. There’s a resignation in him that’s almost comforting, like he’s accepted the chaos. Jacy’s return should’ve been a catalyst, but instead, it highlights how much he’s settled. Darkly funny stuff.

Duane in 'Texasville' is such a fascinating character—I’ve always been drawn to how Larry McMurtry writes him with this mix of weariness and stubborn charm. He’s the same guy from 'The Last Picture Show,' but decades older, and life hasn’t been kind. Now he’s stuck in this small Texas town, drowning in debt, his marriage collapsing, and his kids running wild. What really gets me is how McMurtry makes Duane’s midlife crisis feel both tragic and darkly funny. He’s constantly at odds with his past, especially his unresolved tension with Jacy (who reappears like a ghost from his youth). The way he stumbles through relationships—clinging to his wife Karla one minute, then spiraling into chaos the next—feels painfully real.

What stands out is how 'Texasville' turns Duane into a mirror for generational stagnation. The oil boom’s gone bust, and so has he, but there’s this weird resilience in how he keeps going. The book’s tone is lighter than 'The Last Picture Show,' almost satirical, but Duane’s arc still hits hard. His failures are so human—you laugh at his bad decisions while recognizing how easy it’d be to make them yourself. That’s McMurtry’s genius: he makes a washed-up oilman feel like everyman’s cautionary tale.

If you’ve read 'The Last Picture Show,' revisiting Duane in 'Texasville' feels like catching up with an old friend who’s had a rough couple of decades. He’s still in Thalia, but the youthful bravado’s gone—replaced by this exhausted pragmatism. The town’s changed (it’s the 1980s now, and the oil economy’s collapsing), and so has he: his hair’s thinning, his business is failing, and his marriage to Karla is this messy, affectionate trainwreck. What I love is how McMurtry contrasts Duane’s younger self—a guy who once thought he’d conquer the world—with this middle-aged version who’s just trying to survive.

Jacy’s return shakes things up, but Duane’s reactions are so telling. He’s not the hotheaded kid anymore; he’s weary, even when he flirts with chaos. There’s a scene where he drives around aimlessly, avoiding his problems, that stuck with me—it captures that feeling of being trapped by your own life. The humor’s darker here, but it works because Duane’s become this reluctant straight man to the town’s absurdity. By the end, you wonder if he’s learned anything, or if he’s just too tired to care. It’s brutally honest storytelling.