Cormac McCarthy, often accused of being a misogynist.
![[Image: Screen-Shot-2016-06-29-at-3.44.23-PM.png]](https://cdn2.mhpbooks.com/2016/06/Screen-Shot-2016-06-29-at-3.44.23-PM.png)
His novel Blood Meridian is like Peckinpahs The Wild Bunch, but 10x grimmer and more brutal. The books characters are mostly men, and the ones that are women are either saloon whores that the gang visits between onslaughts, or innocent villagers they kill for getting in their way or just sheer boredom. The novels main character is a kid in the beginning and a man by the end, but it's really fascinating to see him thrusted into this nightmarish violent world where he fends for himself and hardly a moment of levity is granted to him. There's also a disquieting character named 'The Judge' who gives these lengthy sermons on the nature of war and existence and you get the idea he's possesses some inhumane trait that differentiates him from the rest of the gang, as if he's some sort of Gnostic figure who's been around for time immemorial.
It's a great book, but not particularly uplifiing. But the prose is beautiful and it truly is gritty mans man shit. There's hardly any sediment to be found. Just hard barbarous cruelty and toughness from page 1 to end. The only thing "pretty" about the book is Mccarthys skill as describing these vast landscapes. Seriously, book is landscape porn.
Beware of Cormac. He's a little black-pilled.
His novel Blood Meridian is like Peckinpahs The Wild Bunch, but 10x grimmer and more brutal. The books characters are mostly men, and the ones that are women are either saloon whores that the gang visits between onslaughts, or innocent villagers they kill for getting in their way or just sheer boredom. The novels main character is a kid in the beginning and a man by the end, but it's really fascinating to see him thrusted into this nightmarish violent world where he fends for himself and hardly a moment of levity is granted to him. There's also a disquieting character named 'The Judge' who gives these lengthy sermons on the nature of war and existence and you get the idea he's possesses some inhumane trait that differentiates him from the rest of the gang, as if he's some sort of Gnostic figure who's been around for time immemorial.
It's a great book, but not particularly uplifiing. But the prose is beautiful and it truly is gritty mans man shit. There's hardly any sediment to be found. Just hard barbarous cruelty and toughness from page 1 to end. The only thing "pretty" about the book is Mccarthys skill as describing these vast landscapes. Seriously, book is landscape porn.
Beware of Cormac. He's a little black-pilled.