Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy (1985)
The term ‘enjoy’ should be used loosely when trying to surmise this book. Set in the mid 1800s, it follows the lead character, known only as ‘The Kid’, from his desolate upbringing in Tennessee to running the blood-soaked plains of the American/Mexican frontier west with a gang of scalp hunters whose deeds are surely among the worst in the history of modern storytelling. From the outset, the violence is unrelenting and, mostly, deeply unpleasant. It represents McCarthy at his absolute bleakest and makes ‘The Road’ look like ‘Happy Days’. However, such is the mastery of the English language on display by the author that somehow the violence becomes yet another brushstroke on McCarthy’s landscape.
At heart you could say this is a western, for it is mostly cowboys vs. Indians, but branding it as such is doing a great disservice. To quote the great Hunter S. Thompson, Blood Meridan is a strange and terrible saga. A journey into the heart of darkness that leaves it’s mark long after you finish the last word. It is a novel of such complexities and densely packed themes that it almost demands a second read just to begin to make sense of it all. On first read, however, there are constantly two narratives at play. Text and subtext have never been clearer and more elusive at the same time. One on the hand, there is the story of the kid and the linear narrative of his journey through life. What he sees is often quite clear. What he feels, or anyone feels for that matter, is more difficult to acertain. Then there is the spiritual aspect that underpins the entire story and you can’t escape the feeling throughout that a more profound meaning is continually forcing its way through.
On the Kid’s journey, he falls in with a memorable host of characters. From The Captain - who leads a small army to fight the Mexicans and Native Americans on their own turf, to Glanton – the leader of the scalp hunter gang and a ruthless and enigmatic man himself, to the expriest - a man seemingly struggling with the universe as he came to know it. All of these characters would make worthy protagonists in any other work but here they are all towered over by the looming, immensely unsettling, presence of Judge Holden. Affectionately known for the most part as simply the judge, here is a villain as complex as mysterious and, frankly, as terrifying as ever committed to page.
McCarthy is no stranger to such singular entities. He memorably also wrote the character of Anton Chigurh in No Country For Old Men. But what Chigurh lacked in verbosity and magnetism, the judge has in abundance. Described as a near 7ft, hairless, almost white-pale, incredibly powerful, renaissance man, he plays the fiddle and speaks a variety of exotic languages. The Judge is also a ruthless killer (among other things suggested, if never overtly stated) and a completely formidable presence to all who cross his path. What makes this character even more compelling is his ability to philosophize about the nature of mankind, destiny, and a host of other unfathomable concepts. His world view is, shall we say, a wee bit skewed. It is also endlessly fascinating and often delivered in naked sermons around the fireplace. You'll want to look away, but you can't. Imagine if Brando's Colonel Kurtz had a baby with Dr. Manhattan, his presence is simply that vast.
The writing style, once adapted to, is almost what the term ‘epic’ should have been created for. McCarthy’s ability to describe such darkness with such poetry is second to none. He uses different languages and makes no concession at all for the casual reader, but he is also someone who can paint a picture so vivid that it lingers in your conscience. You can almost touch, taste, smell what's being described. Which, in the case of this story, isn't always a pleasant thing, but an exhilarating one nonetheless. Pick a page almost anywhere in the book and you'll find prose more eloquent and profound than 99% of other things you may have read in your life. In particular, the last few chapters are nothing short of breathtaking. The ending, which you may or may not be familiar with, almost defies definition. It is executed in such a way that it makes you question not only what you’ve just read, but the entire book as a whole. If you are a fan of ambiguity, look no further.
On the back cover of my copy, one reviewer called it ‘a nightmare odyssey’. This is about as good a summation as you could ask for. It pulls you in, utterly immerses you in this hellscape, wraps you in it's 'immense and terrible flesh' and refuses to let go. There is somehow beauty in all of the brutality. There is somehow all of the answers to life’s bigger questions among the pillaging and slaughter. It is the kind of book that makes most others seem lightweight and lazy. In short, it is one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever read and rightly sits in high in the pantheon of fictional literature.
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