Blood Meridian

Blood Meridian, or, The Evening Redness in the West by Cormac McCarthy (1985) I’ll leave any kind of outline or summary to the internet—it’s right there—since this is a completely insane novel, and any kind of basic rundown just fails. I’m not really interested in where it sits—it’s certainly loved and respected. I’m more interested in what it made me think and how it made me feel. I didn’t imagine I’d get through it, but I did. What does that say about me? I have sometimes wondered if there’s a barely maintained side to me that is horrible and evil—but I’m able to avoid that by working hard at some kind of fragile sanity. But there’s no guarantee that any of us are going to avoid succumbing to despair, depravity, violence, and behaving in a way that’s commonly considered “evil.” I really like Cormac McCarthy’s writing—his style and approach—and a lot of people consider this his best novel, but also hardest to take. I tried reading The Road, but I couldn’t tolerate that—too depressing, or frightening? I found this book in equal parts sickening and exhilarating—I wonder if the horrific behavior of the people in the novel—violent, stupid, hateful—matter-of-factly illustrated—makes the beautiful parts more vivid? But doesn’t that amount to a cheap trick? I know I can’t tolerate many movies and TV series’ that are about the most horrible human behavior imaginable, so why could I get through this? Part of me is suspicious of it—but then much of the book is undeniable. I mean, the writing is both clear and beautiful—as well as convoluted, confusing, and mysterious—all at once. I realize that some of the appeal of this book is as a counterpoint to the false and insipid side of the mythology of the American West—all those movies and books that in their total phoniness are boring, at best, but certainly destructive, too. The mythology of this book strikes me as more truthful, but in its own way destructive. That’s just one argument. It would have been interesting to read this for a college class!

2.13.25