Cormac McCarthy

Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West

Noah Syrkis

Thomas Ross

“The wrath of god lies sleeping. It was hid a million years before men were and only men have the power to wake it. Hell ain’t half full. Hear me. Ye carry war of a madman’s making onto a foreign land. Ye’ll wake more than the dogs.”

Alyssa C Smith

Dust starched the wet and naked heads of the scalped who with the fringe of hair below their wounds and tonsured to the bone now lay like maimed and naked monks in the bloodstained dust and everywhere the dying groaned and gibberish and horses lay screaming. 

If God meant to interfere in the degeneracy of mankind would he not have done so by now? Wolves cull themselves, man. What other creature could? And is the race of man not more predacious yet? The way of the world is to bloom and to flower and die but in the affairs of men there is no waning and the noon of his expression signals the onset of night… This you see here, these ruins wondered at by tribes of savages, do you not think that this will be again? Aye. And again. With other people, with other sons.

The trailing of the argonauts terminated in ashes and…the expriest asked if some might not see the hand of a cynical god conducting with what austerity and what mock surprise so lethal a congruence. The posting of witnesses by a third and other path altogether might also be called in evidence as appearing to beggar chance, yet the judge…said that in this was expressed the very nature of the witness and that his proximity was no third thing but rather the prime, for what could be said to occur unobserved?

You can find meanness in the least of creatures, but when God made man the devil was at his elbow. A creature that can do anything, make a machine. And a machine to make the machine. And evil that can run itself a thousand years, no need to tend it.

soochie

The truth about the world, he said, is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medicine show, a fevered dream, a trance bepopulate with chimeras having neither analogue nor precedent, an itinerant carnival, a migratory tentshow whose ultimate destination after many a pitch in many a mudded field is unspeakable and calamitous beyond reckoning. The universe is no narrow thing and the order within it is not constrained by any latitude in its conception to repeat what exists in one part in any other part. Even in this world more things exist without our knowledge than with it and the order in creation which you see is that which you have put there, like a string in a maze, so that you shall not lose your way. For existence has its own order and that no man's mind can compass, that mind itself being but a fact among others.

You can find meanness in the least of creatures, but when God made man the devil was at his elbow. A creature that can do anything. Make a machine. And a machine to make the machine. And evil that can run itself a thousand years, no need to tend it. You believe that?

Words are things. The words he is in possession of he cannot be deprived of. Their authority transcends his ignorance of their meaning. 

The man who believes that the secrets of the world are forever hidden lives in mystery and fear. Superstition will drag him down. The rain will erode the deeds of his life. But that man who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry will by the decision alone have taken charge of the world and it is only by such taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate. 

Zachary Roberts

“Whatever exists,” he said. “Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge, exists without my consent.” 

"The fulfilled renown of Moby-Dick and of As I Lay Dying is augmented by Blood Meridian, since Cormac McCarthy is the worthy disciple both of Melville and Faulkner," writes esteemed literary scholar Harold Bloom in his Introduction to the Modern Library edition. "I venture that no other living American novelist, not even Pynchon, has given us a book as strong and memorable." Cormac McCarthy's masterwork, Blood Meridian, chronicles the brutal world of the Texas-Mexico borderlands in the mid-nineteenth century. Its wounded hero, the teenage Kid, must confront the extraordinary violence of the Glanton gang, a murderous cadre on an official mission to scalp Indians and sell those scalps. Loosely based on fact, the novel represents a genius vision of the historical West, one so fiercely realized that since its initial publication in 1985 the canon of American literature has welcomed Blood Meridian to its shelf. "A classic American novel of regeneration through violence," declares Michael Herr. "McCarthy can only be compared to our greatest writers." From the Hardcover edition.

Or the Evening Redness in the West

Blood Meridian

McCarthy has a way with writing such vivid imagery that it transcends the book itself.

Max Nott

Set in the anarchic world opened up by America's westward expansion, Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy is an epic and potent account of the barbarous violence that man visits upon man.

Through the hostile landscape of the Texas-Mexico border wanders the Kid, a fourteen year-old Tennessean who is quickly swept-up in the relentless tide of blood. But the apparent chaos is not without its order: while Americans hunt Indians - collecting scalps as their bloody trophies - they too are stalked as prey.

Since its first publication in 1985, Blood Meridian has been read as both a brilliant subversion of the Western novel and a blazing example of that form. Powerful and savagely beautiful, it has emerged as one of the most important works in American fiction of the last century. A truly mesmerizing classic.

Saying "bivouacked" in the mirror three times until Cormac appears and shoots me in the head

Paige LeBook

bonnie

Bailee Strong

Luca Colaluce

What's going on is beyond fucked up, but it's so interesting to read about. 

Valeriia 

I found this infuriaying to read, because of its abstract, poetic style. Love listening to people talk about and discuss the book but can't bring myself to persevere through it.

Jack B Rosie

Had a hard time getting through this one. Felt myself losing focus and feeling lost a lot, but at the same time it’s an interesting read. Definitely one you gotta put down and take a break from often because wow lots of death and violence 

Emily Lucie

With an introduction by Philipp Meyer. The wrath of God lies sleeping. It was hid a million years before men were and only men have power to wake it. Hell aint half full. Set in the anarchic world opened up by America's westward expansion, Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy is an epic and potent account of the barbarous violence that man visits upon man. Through the hostile landscape of the Texas-Mexico border wanders the Kid, a fourteen year-old Tennessean who is quickly swept-up in the relentless tide of blood. But the apparent chaos is not without its order: while Americans hunt Indians – collecting scalps as their bloody trophies – they too are stalked as prey. Since its first publication in 1985, Blood Meridian has been read as both a brilliant subversion of the Western novel and a blazing example of that form. Powerful and savagely beautiful, it has emerged as one of the most important works in American fiction of the last century. A truly mesmerizing classic.

Picador Classic

Wow ok… Completely fascinating, impressive, and, at times, frustrating trying to understand what the author wanted to convey. 

Charley

Spectacular but hard work. Never read anything like it, but finishing with a sense of relief.

里森

Adam Scharf

One of the most darkly beautiful books I'll likely ever have the happy opportunity to find and read. Cormac McCarthy reaches both the highest of hilarities and the lowest of scummy capabilities, often on the same page. 

Rich, unique, and the most dense of prose, this book is riddled with descriptions of landscapes that never feel repetitious as each paints a picture in a style you've never known was possible. "Unique" is an understatement with what McCarthy does here.

I love this book and highly recommend it to everyone. In fact, as I have, I recommend you read it multiple times over as you will certainly miss something your first time. Despite this seeming like a mistake on your part (how could I have not seen this?), you will be thankful for it come your second or third journey as it feels like a book that keeps on giving.

Evan

One of the most darkly beautiful books I'll likely ever have the happy opportunity to find and read. Cormac McCarthy reaches both the highest of hilarities and the lowest of scummy capabilities, often on the same page. 

Rich, unique, and the most dense of prose, this book is riddled with descriptions of landscapes that never feel repetitious as each paints a picture in a style you've never known was possible. "Unique" is an understatement with what McCarthy does here.

I love this book and highly recommend it to everyone. In fact, as I have, I recommend you read it multiple times over as you will certainly miss something your first time. Despite this seeming like a mistake on your part (how could I have not seen this?), you will be thankful for it come your second or third journey as it feels like a book that keeps on giving.

Owen McGrath

McCarthy's prose is unparalleled at times and embodies an epic scale of storytelling. Truly a master of craft. Blood Meridian is an exhaustively violent tale that takes the spaghetti western and morphes it into a psychedelic-philosophical western epic. Reads like a fantasy at times. 

Derek Graf

bleak and painful, insanely beautiful prose

yasi

Much preferred this to No Country. Worth it for the irregular vocabulary and beautiful nature writing alone. Reads like an Old Testament for America. 

Luke Pearce

Jim Hagan

I toyed with giving this a 4 as I don't feel it is consistently excellent. However the really great parts are close to the best I've experienced in literature and it deserves 5 stars to reflect that.

Tobias V. Langhoff

The plot is loosely based on a true story. We follow an unnamed boy as he tags along with a real, historical gang of mercenaries led by John Joel Glanton as they roam the Mexican/American border in the 1850s, first hunting an equally dreadful band of Apache Indians who terrorizes Mexico, but later not distinguishing between the enemy and friendly Indians or even Mexicans to retrieve scalps and earn rewards.

Among Glanton’s men is Judge Holden, also supposedly a real person, but for some reason McCarthy must have been intrigued by this man in the only written record that exists of him, because he has elevated him to mythical status. Holden is the true main character of this book, the anonymous boy existing only as our grounded window to the Judge’s world. Judge Holden is a monstrosity, both physically and mentally. A hairless giant, he is a man who’s both an excellent artist and a ruthless killer, a philosopher and pedophile. He knows much there is to know about the world, and the nature of men, and he wants to destroy both. Insofar as he has any morals, he’s a nihilist.

Not unlike in McCarthy’s THE ROAD, the world here seems almost apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic. This book has a haunting, biblical prose, and Judge Holden is one of the horsemen of the apocalypse, if not the Devil himself. There are so many scenes of gruesome slaughter. The gang stalk through the desert of carnage, at one point encountering a tree clustered with dead babies. Darkness.

Like the barren desert it's set in, this story is incredibly bleak. But weirdly enough, there is beauty too. That said, I found Blood Meridian hard to read. Not because it’s so dark; I mean, I survived The Road. But because it's literally hard to read. McCarthy has a unique style, one that further adds to the pointless nature of the gang's endeavors. But struggling through the sentences kept me from enjoying this book even more. 

Frederik De Bosschere

mic shulman

Sean Goodwin

Enigmatic style amidst brutal themes. Genius

J. L. Askew

A stunning novel, written by a great American writer at the peak of his powers. The story follows a young runaway in the pre-Civil War 1800s on an odyssey from Tennessee to northern Mexico, and eventually through the bloodlands of the Southwest to the coast. 
In a town where people pack a revival tent to escape the rain he sees the “judge” for the first time, an enormous man of nearly seven feet who walks to the front, declaiming to the crowd that the preacher is a fraud and wanted for lewd conduct with a minor. While the preacher cries, “lies, lies”, the judge says the reverend also had had “congress with a goat.” As the crowd becomes riotous, the reverend cries, sobbing, “This is him. The devil. Here he stands.” The preacher escapes with his life as the tent collapses and the judge goes to a bar where he admits, “I never laid eyes on the man [reverend] before today. Never heard of him.” The kid observes from nearby, seeing the judge looking at him and smiling.
Later, after nearly killing a barman in a fight, the kid flees town but is sought by a recruiter and induced to join a band of soldiers under a Captain White who intends “to kill Mexicans.” Soon White’s company is on the plains where they are set upon by a large band of Indians who wipe out most of the Americans in a sanguinary orgy of killing and mutilation.
The kid and three other survivors are picked up by Mexicans, and placed in a Chihuahua jail where they observe through the bars “a procession of degenerates, like cannibals”, the judge riding at front with a man called Glanton, hired to wipe out Apaches. The kid and a cohort are sprung from jail by Glanton to join his band of scalp hunters.
Now that the kid and judge are together, the older man shows the youngster ostensible kindness, but the kid is wary, finding the judge strange and mysterious. While never trusting the judge, the kid comes under his sway. 
The company rides forth, indiscriminately killing men, women, and children. At an evening camp, the judge “stepped through the [camp] fire and the flames delivered him up as if he were in some way native to their element.” This is one of many signs the judge may have preternatural abilities.
The judge shows an affinity for young children. Of the many towns they pass through, he picks up both boys and girls, and many are later found dead.
The author is unsurpassed at setting scenes, depicting place, and creating atmosphere. The land is described as “purgatorial waste” where the scalp hunters go forth “like a patrol condemned to ride out some ancient curse”, passing “looms of smoke from the underground coal deposits burning there a thousand years”. The mercenaries are forever on the move, always hying to the west where the sky at dusk “was the color of blood.”
At length the marauders cash in their scalps and are paid in gold by the territorial governor, but after clashing with Mexican soldiers and killing them, the Americans are branded outlaws. Following a scorched earth offensive across the plains, the mercenaries are either shot or hung till only the kid remains and for years he wanders from California through the Rockies, drifting back to the Texas town of Griffin for the novel’s finale.
Here the author excels, capturing the mood perfectly, showing a barroom dancing bear, an old Bavarian showman, a little girl organ-grinder, revelers, drunks, and painted “ladies of the evening”.
Sitting at the bar, the kid suddenly sees the judge standing over him, starting to speak enigmatically of their joint destinies, that they were ordained to be there, but the kid resists his words and finally extricates himself from the man’s company. With that the story closes with an unexpected and shocking ending.
The intensity of McCarthy’s prose is gripping and powerful, striking hard at the reader’s senses. But the mayhem and violence are unrelenting, and the narrative is often profane and marred with blasphemy.
Noted author John Gardner writes that true art “seeks to improve life, not debase it.” But McCarthy’s work is a paean to darkness.

Pretty cool book, other than the lack of punctuation. Favourite part was when the Judge said “I’ll be the judge of that” and judged all over the place.

Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West

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