As promised, here is my review of another book by Cormac McCarthy. It has been made into a movie. I’m looking forward to seeing it. It will be very interesting to see if it tracks the book. In fact, to see if it can track the book.

This was my first exposure to Cormac McCarthy’s novels. The first thing that struck me was that the man never saw a quotation mark he liked. Nor a lot of complete sentences. Believe it or not, this style carried over into dialog. Very few he saids. Very few references to proper names. Complete sentences as scarce as hen’s teeth. Run on sentences like pebbles on a beach. Not since e e cummings have we had such rebellion against Strunk and White, the writing guide.

But guess what. It works. What a narrative this is! From the time his character Llewelyn Moss finds a couple of trucks of dead and dying drug runners in the desert and skips off with a couple of million dollars of drug money, and all through the heart pounding chase by the minions of the self-described owners of the money, McCarthy, with his staccato style, batters the senses and storms the emotions, virtually from the first page to the last. And all the while, sprinkling Southwestern homespun philosophy — McCarthyisms I came to call them — that kept me pondering and smiling.

I’ve tried in this report to mimic McCarthy’s style. To a degree. A poor job I have to admit. But maybe you’ll get the picture. Or not. Unless you read the book. Do it. You’ll like it.   

© 2008 R. Leland Waldrip