Shooting puppies is just wrong, even if it is literary.

REMEMBER
1. I'm not a genius. I just like books.
2. I can be a little off-task at times
3. I'm not exactly topical.
4. I never said I had good taste.

Howdy,

I say howdy because it's been Wild West week in my reading life. Apart from my continuing work on the Inferno I've wrapped up Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian, and started work on Rebecca Solnit's River of Shadows (which I'll talk about next time). In other news, there is now a picture of me on the blog, so you know what I look like. Exciting, yes? No? Not even a little?

You're a fucker.

So, fucker, have you read Blood Meridian? It's. . .ah. . .good. Possibly.
Listen, I'm not really sure what to say about this book. It's definitely bold, definitely unique, definitely orgasmically violent, but if you're idea of a good Western includes any of the following elements: rough-hewn, plainspoken heroes, black-hatted villains, great-hearted heroines in gingham dresses meeting life's hardships with stoic courage, a moral universe looked after by a just God, or The Duke, then I don't think this book is for you.

The book is set primarily in the southwestern U.S. and Mexico during the 1850's, and centers on the. . .eh. . ."adventures" of a character known only as The Kid. He joins up with a group of mercenary Indian killers contracted by the Mexican Government to collect Apache Scalps. Cormac McCarthy's West is a place of unrelenting and senseless bloodshed, with all parties killing all parties for any (or no) reason throughout the book. Thus, it is only a matter of time before this little army starts killing pretty much anyone they run across.

McCarthy's West is also a land of almost supernatural beauty, of dense primeval forests and high mountain passes, of volcanoes where the prints of cloven hoofs can be seen in dried lava, of deserts where lonely trees are decorated by the dead, or burn for no reason, where blue fire and lightning dance around horses and riders. The petty, pointless brutality of The Kid and his companions stands out even more starkly against this backdrop of lovingly-described natural grandeur. The humans are like cockroaches scuttling through the walls of Versailles.

His writing is, for the most part, very minimal. The thoughts and emotions of his characters are almost never revealed, and dialogue is pared down to almost nothing (FUN LITERARY DRINKING GAME FOR BLOOD MERIDIAN: every time a character spits instead of talking, chug a beer! Also: anytime anyone dies, in any way or for any reason, take a shot. . .no wait, that would kill you) There are only two things Cormac McCarthy seems to really enjoy describing: landscapes and gore. His writings about death and dying, and all the many, many wonderful ways in which they can be brought about, are almost erotic. He loves to talk about blood, how it squirts and flows and arcs from wounds (skeet skeet), and how it congeals on stone floors and soaks into one's hair and clothing. There are corpses of all kinds, minutely described, in varying states of freshness, littering his landscape. I enjoyed the dead baby tree particularly. There's also plenty of fun for animals: donkeys falling off cliffs, snake-bit horses with hugely swollen heads, and let's not forget when the Judge buys, and immediately shoots, some puppies. Mr. McCarthy likes some death. I've heard some of his other books flirt with Necrophilia. Hmmm. . . I wonder.

But...did I like it? Yes, I'd have to say I did. It was weird, it disturbed me, but at least it was different. One of the book's saving graces is the character of Judge Holden (the above-mentioned puppy-shooter), who is perhaps the best villain in American literature. He is colossal, obese, pale, hairless and gleefully, insanely amoral. And there is also some strong evidence that he's not entirely human. First of all, he's omnipresent, appearing as if by magic whenever there's some good quality killing to be done. He never ages, he apparently knows everything, and whenever he opens his mouth you can count receiving a first-class mindfuck.
I'm not sure what the hell the Judge is, other than scary. So I consulted my brain trust (folks I know who are just as nerdy as I am) and asked them what they thought. Among those who've read Blood Meridian the answers were diverse; one guy though he was god, another thought he was the spirit of war, most thought he was the Devil. I'm nursing a theory that the Judge is the spirit of the modern age, but I'll need to make some notes before I defend my case.


In other news: I WON FIVE GRAND!
I'm not really sure how this happened. All I know is that my school, the University of Memphis, has elected to give me something called the Graduate Research Award. I don't really know what it is, I've never heard of it, and I didn't apply for it, but I'm gonna ride that $5,000 into the damn sunset. I may have to reconsider that whole "worst student in my program's history" thing, though. It's a shame, I kinda liked the distinction.

The most positive thing about the money is that it will give me the financial ability to not work this summer, so I can focus on My Book. This entry is running long, so I'll tell you about it next time.