Right off the bat I have to say this is a book that I'm not so sure I can do enough justice to in my review. There are so many themes and subtleties here (this is another book as much about what isn't said/done as what is), and I'm not sure that I've entirely digested all of them. A lot of the "professional" reviews tie some of the themes to the Bible, and having little knowledge of the Bible, there's a chance I'm missing out on some things. That said, even without that knowledge, this book still has a lot to say, and I have no qualms interpreting it without the Bible tie-in. I just wanted to mention this. Now, on with it.I actually went into this book anticipating not to like it. Most of what I'd heard about this book and/or McCarthy in general (this is the first of his I've read) is that he's very violent - which doesn't necessarily turn me off, but doesn't especially attract me, either - and that his writing style is very bleak and generally depressing. While I don't mind depressing (within reason/some situations), bleak is another matter. Bleak writing styles are, more often than not, entirely not my thing. A bleak writing style tends to be what I cannot tolerate most (see: Heart of Darkness).Much to my delight, this book takes up one of my favorite debates in modern pop culture (and beyond, but especially recent works): good vs. bad/evil, in particular how anachronistic/ambiguous these terms are, particularly in modern times. A lot of my favorite artistic output within the last 5 years touches on this in some way ("Nip/Tuck" comes to mind, as does HBO's ROME, which doesn't take up the modern times bit so much, obviously, but I digress), so I have to cop to a lot of personal interest in this theme in particular, which obviously has a lot to do with my affinity for this book. (But, honestly, it's a theme that everyone should ruminate on, which is why I like work that addresses it.)The plot is basically set up in the first few pages. While out hunting, Llelwyn Moss stumbles across the scene of a botched drug deal: three trucks, several dead dudes, one alive (but injured) one, a ton of drugs, and a leather case filled with 2.4 million dollars. He takes the money, but being as 2.4 million dollars is a lot of money - particularly as this is set in the '80s, so allow for inflation - Moss becomes the hunted, on the run from the assorted people who'd like that money, in particular Anton Chigurh, a hired hit man who's frighteningly good at his job. The botched drug deal takes place in the county under the supervision of Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, who prides himself on having no unsolved homocides. He wants to continue his streak - and, as we later find, wants to atone for sins he felt he committed in Vietnam. After it's set up, it whizzes by, and is therefore incredibly suspenseful and hard to put down.Instead of taking the approach that a lot of works do when addressing this theme - where none of the characters are inherently good or bad - McCarthy has people who represent standard views of "good" and "bad." Sheriff Ed Tom Bell is clearly representative of "good." He's constantly bemoaning the downfall of culture, sounding like an angry grandfather when he rants about kids with green hair, how things went to hell when manners left day-to-day interaction, generally espousing what I imagine are the average right wing voter's morals/standards/views on life. He struggles with his place in a world mere steps from Hell as he sees it, a world with crooked cops and vicious, seemingly unstoppable killers like Mr. Chigurh. Chigurh, naturally, represents a standard view of "bad." He's a ruthless killer, generally referred to as a sociopath, seemingly robotic and without much care or concern for those he kills outside of how they fit into his plan. Moss seems to represent the in-between, a generally "good" person who makes a few bad/stupid mistakes.Ultimately, Bell "fails" (I'm not going to say how/why/in reference to what), and he makes for an interesting case of the subjectiveness of good/bad, when he finally details what happened in Vietnam, which he alludes to throughout the book. He tells the story to his Uncle - the only person he tells, he doesn't even tell his wife, who he constantly praises as though she's God herself - and his Uncle basically says that he doesn't think it's so bad and that Bell is giving himself too much flak for it. Bell makes it clear that he's judging his own actions and how he feels about them in relation to his father, who he thinks would've done the "right" thing.Chigurh, on the other hand, when abstracted from the standard "good/bad" particulars of his career/job/morals, is a man who is completely devoted to those things. Yes, he kills a lot of people - but it's his job and his morals, and he never deviates from them. He's always working (partly because he kind of has to be, but I'd imagine that even if he didn't, he would be). Change his career from a hit man to a lawyer and his method of killing people from a cattlegun/shot gun to an electric chair, and he'd be revered. He upholds promises to other people, even the dead, and to himself, and again, if you remove the particulars of those things, they'd be considered "good" qualities. The only time he allows for a possible deviation is when prompted by a coin toss (Two-Face, anyone??), which he feels is an instrument of justice, hope, power - all sorts of things. (Note: the coin tosses are, without a doubt, my favorite parts in this book, both in relation to its themes, the plot, and the writing.)While Moss is the most ambiguous character in conventional "good/bad" terms, the interesting thing is that what sets him on a difficult path are actions that are stereotypically "good." First example: while stealing the money wasn't smart, what really, truly sets him off on the hunt is the fact that he leaves the injured Mexican alive. Discounting the Mexican, no one is around when he takes the money, so had he killed him (a "bad" thing to do, but in this case, smarter and a better move for Moss personally), it's likely he would've had stronger odds initially. But, because he not only leaves the Mexican alive, but then makes the self-acknowledged idiotic mistake of going back to bring him water (the Mexican guy can't speak English and only mutters for "agua") hours later, the chase begins immediately: while he's down at the scene of the crime, where he discovers (surprise! not!) that the Mexican man has been shot, his truck is stolen by his pursuers and they use it to chase him down and find out his particulars. (Chigurh - and later, another hitman, Wells - finds people very easily and probably would have figured Moss out eventually, but it's this moment/action that technically starts the chase.) Second example: when Moss sees the pictures Wells gives him of an old woman who died when hit by a stray bullet from a shoot-out that Moss was involved in, that's what ultimately prompts Moss - likely out of guilt - to call Wells, which ends up being the first and last time he talks to Chigurh. During this phone call, something that's bad on a personal level for Moss happens, and it could've possibly been avoided had he not made the call. Third example: Moss picks up a young hitch-hiker. I can't say much on this without giving anything away, but he makes himself more vulnerable by doing so.The only reason I'm giving this four starts instead of five is the ending. I honestly don't know what would have made the ending better, but I was a little let down by it. It feels over-written, only because his writing is so sparse for the rest of the book. Perhaps if he had ended it more succinctly, although I suppose most of the information is relevant and important to consider. The more I think about it, the more I'm okay with it, only because I can't think of a "better" ending myself, but it just felt off to me.There's so much more I want to say on this, but I'm mentally exhausted just from writing this much, so I'll finish this up by simply saying: read this! (Fair warning: I may have more to add later, or when I see the movie.)Edit: In the next couple days, I'd also like to read the poem the title is from and ruminate on its possible connection to the book, when I have some time of focus on it some more.Edit: After seeing the movie, I realize how strong the book is. I gets bumped up from 4 to 5. (I'm still not sold on the ending, so if I could I'd give it 4.5, but for how much I've been thinking about it, it gets rounded up.) The movie was really good - but the book is just so, SO good.
My first contact with this work of fiction was listening to a 'Partially Examined Life' podcast with 3 young philosophers and Eric Petrie, a university professor who has made a study of Cormac McCarthy's dark novel set in Texas in 1980. This fascinating discussion motivated me not only to read the book but listen to the audiobook read by Tom Stechschulte. I'm glad I did. Stechschute's reading is spot-on, particularly his portrayal of one of the main characters, a good old boy by the name of Sherriff Bell.Since there are many reviews posted, in the spirit of freshness, I'd like to share a few reflections of a philosophical nature. My observations are in light of what contemporary British philosopher Simon May has to say about the nature of love. According to May, love isn't what philosophers like Plato say it is, that is, love being a longing for the Good and Beautiful; rather, May argues love has a wider range: we fall in love inspired by an anchoring for our life, an anchoring giving us a home in the world. Such a love is worth dying for, since we want so much to be rooted in the world with a feeling of being fully alive.So, keeping Simon May's idea of love in mind, let's take a look at McCarthy's novel. An entire essay could be written for each main character, but, in the interest of concision, I'll limit my remarks to a few sentences on each man's way of living and loving:Llewelyn Moss is a 37 year old welder who served as a army sniper in Viet Nam. Moss is out in the desert with his sniper rifle hunting game when he sees something unusual off in the distance--- a bunch of cars and trucks appearing to have been abandoned. He walks down to have a closer look and finds the aftermath of a drug deal gone bad - men and even dogs filled with bullets and covered with blood. Moss then comes across a briefcase filled with $100 bills. He takes the money and knows this is the moment his life will be changed forever. Why would he do such a thing? I see one big reason Moss would take the money: by so doing he will be skyrocketed into a world where the intensity of being alive is a thousand times greater than being a welder. Having had an experience of life-and-death intensity in Viet Nam, Moss knows the feeling well.Anton Chigurh, also a Viet Nam veteran, is the man from the drug world who comes after Moss. As we follow Chigurh in the story, it quickly becomes clear he sees himself as a grim-reaper -- anybody who stands before him, if he so chooses, has come face-to-face with their own death. Well, not exactly his choice alone. Chigurh will occasionally flip a coin and ask the person to call it. If anybody shows the least hesitation to face their own choices in life or the reality of their own death, then, well, by Chigurh's standards, they might as well be dead. We would have to go a long way to find a character in literature, perhaps Richard III, who is equally the embodiment of pure evil. Love? Chigurh loves death; he is a true necrophilia, and he shares his love whenever the occasion presents itself. In the course of this McCarthy novel, Chigurh kills men and women left and right.Sheriff Bell is a World War II veteran who sees his county losing its moral glue. And moral glue anchors Sherriff Bell's life and gives him a home in the world. He reflects toward the end of the story, "These old people I talk to, if you could of told em that there would be people on the streets of our Texas towns with green hair and bones in their noses speakin a language they couldnt even understand, well, they just flat out wouldnt of believed you. But what if you'd of told em it was their own grandchildren?" We also learn what especially anchors Bell's life (what Bell loves) is a prime military virtue: loyalty to your men. And Bell tells his old uncle about the major regret of his life -- when a Sergeant in the war he faced a choice: stick with his men or save his own life. Since at one point in a battle the overwhelming odds were that all of his men were dead, he made the choice to save himself by leaving. Bell says he has been reflecting on this event over the years and concludes he violated the code of loyalty. He goes on to say that if he had to do it over again, he would have died with his men rather than leaving.These observations about the nature of love are made as a kind of invitation to read McCarthy's novel and see where you stand philosophically. Is love only love for the Beautiful and Good, or can love have, as Simon May puts forth (and illustrated by the respective objects of love of these 3 men), a more expansive and darker range?
What do You think about No Country For Old Men (2006)?
Cormac McCarthy is a goddamned poet with some mad, kick-ass storytelling skills. Speechless for the moment. Brain is goo. Please stand by.This book broke my brain. On the surface, McCarthy is weaving a modern day western aptly soaked in blood and ruthlessness, where the line between hero and villain is sharply drawn. On that same surface, what we have is a cast of archetypes – the weary sheriff who has stayed too long and seen too much; the everyday man living right until he is undone by greed; the young and dutiful wife committed to “standing by her man” no matter what; and finally, the relentless villain who will cut down any and all who cross his path. That’s on the surface.Even if you only read the book for that tale it is an awesome and rewarding one – tense, violent, dark, oppressive. Who will live? Who will die? But as you read, your brain is going to want to do a lot more thinking about the story; in fact, the story will demand it. Those archetypical characters will demand it too. Like a hologram, just shift them a few degrees to the right or left and they become much more nuanced than you first thought, showing other angles and deeper reflections.Who is Anton Chigurh? A blood-thirsty villain? an amoral badass? a demented sociopath? ... yes, yes and yes. But he also walks through the story doling out justice Old Testament style. There is that Biblical quality to him. You’ve committed your sins, and now the reaper has come a-calling. Not for vengeance, not for his pleasure, but for justice. There is a debt to pay that is non-negotiable. Chigurh does not like loose ends. There are “rules” to death and dying. But that is part of his mad psychology (and his hubris).Chigurh's character made me think about free will versus destiny. What are the choices any man or woman makes to get them to the exact moment he or she is now? Is it all random or has it been predestined all along? I’m not sure what Chigurh believes; he is definitely an enigma on this point. (view spoiler)[Certainly if Carla Jean had called the coin correctly, Chigurh would have let her live. He seems to deeply respect the other “laws” at work around him. The moment that Llewellyn takes the money, his fate is sealed. There is nothing from that moment on that will ever deter Chigurh from collecting on Llewellyn’s death. That debt must be paid. It is non-negotiable. What is negotiable is Carla Jean’s life: if Llewellyn had returned the money as requested, Chigurh would have let her live. (hide spoiler)]
—Trudi
This is my least favorite McCarthy that I have ever, ever read. And you know what that tells you? Not shit, except that the man can basically do no wrong in my eyes. I can and will nitpick, but just know that I don't really mean it and it's only because I love you, baby.First thing's first: I saw this movie about a zillion times before I read the book, though I wish, I wish, I wish that I hadn't. When an author bases a novel's emotional heft largely on the momentum of its action, suspense, and general thrills!, verily it doth suck when you know exactly where all that bing-bang-boom is headed. I am willing to acknowledge that it is unfair of me to judge the book based on this external factor. However, The Road was unaffected by my pre-read film viewing, and so I cast one stone. Okay, so No Country is not as excellent as The Road. Again, not saying much.Second thaaang: Unlike in that one book I just mentioned, the staccato style did occasionally get to me. I like to think of it as a warm-up exercise (since practice makes perfect and all), but still I found it to be excessively clipped and jarring in some places. Here and there, it was basically like this: "Moss needed to piss. He found a wall. He unzipped his Wranglers. He pulled out his penis. Moss urinated. The wall got wet. Moss felt relieved. So long, penis." Still, it's Cormac McCarthy; the bulk of the novel is putrid elegance. Expect no less.Third: McCarthy is a craftmaster at evoking vivid landscapes. Added to his skill at articulating scenic minutia, I was actually (just like Moss and his buddy, Chigurh) traveling by car, train, and foot in Texas as I read, completed, and proceeded to mull over this book. I felt the oppressive heat, witnessed the sprawling golden fields, and raced past the rotting roadside dives as McCarthy tromped through them in text. It is eerie-cool to feel double-whammied by a book like that, and so I think I will make a point of being similarly literal again some time in the near future. I'll try not to take it so far that I'm like some asshole who reads Under the Tuscan Sun on vacation in Italy right after a breakup, but ya know...something like that. I wonder if astronauts read sci-fi novels in space?Fourth and final point: I much prefer the fiery britches Carla Jean. That woman didn't actually quite take things lying down like a frightened and battered puppy. Her extended scene with Chigurh was quite telling, as was her Bonnie and Clyde-like resistance to Sheriff Bell's interrogation concerning Moss's whereabouts. I don't want to spoil anything, but I will say that despite the script's relative accuracy, there are some surprises yet as far as she, Chigurh, and Moss are concerned (to summarize, the latter has a long scene with a character who didn't make the cut for the screenplay, but who reveals a lot about Moss through her interactions with him). The book still has some stories to tell. It isn't all an echo.Anyway, read this book. Why? It's McCarthy, dude. C'mon.
—Paquita Maria Sanchez
"I had no say in the matter. Every moment in your life is a turning and every one a choosing. Somewhere you made a choice. All followed to this. The accounting is scrupulous. The shape drawn. No line can be erased. I had no belief in your ability to move a coin to your bidding." I've previously read Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West and found it to be rather disappointing. McCarthy's style didn't really 'click' with me. I read The Road a few days after that and found that it clicked much more. McCarthy's style is certainly eccentric: there are no quotation marks to indicate that someone is talking, and he almost randomly uses the apostrophe for contractions. But somehow it really clicked with me in No Country for Old Men. A remarkably intense read: relatively short but thick with meaning. How people can be cruel and how it sometimes seems we care so little about one another. How choices affect your life and how some things cannot be undone, no matter how much you wish for it. About growing old, and to slowly become disillusioned with the world.At the same time it's about not having control over your life. A flip of a coin, in the book, is enough to decide if you die... or live. And Sheriff Ed Tom Bell points out: People complain about the bad things that happen to em that they don't deserve but they seldom mention the good. About what they done to deserve them things. I dont recall that I ever give the good Lord all that much cause to smile on me. But he did. Ed Tom's musings at every chapter are beautiful. About growing old and having realized you live in a world where you don't have much control, but you still have to make choices, and often difficult ones. Ed Tom's attitude is almost one of resignation. He's lived a long life and there are things he regrets, but he at least tries to go with it: to be happy with what he has to be happy with. When Ed Tom muses on a choice he made that he regrets when he was at war, he says: [....]you go into battle it’s a blood oath to look after the men with you and I dont know why I didnt. I wanted to. When you’re called on like that you have to make up your mind that you’ll live with the consequences. But you dont know what the consequences will be. You end up layin a lot of things at your door that you didnt plan on. Ed Tom is continually begging the question, what are we supposed to do in this life? There is so much chance, and yet the choices we make have such enormous impacts on us and everyone around us. How to deal with this? One way is to go with it: make choices and try to tackle the consequences, like Llewelyn. But how is Carla Jean supposed to deal with what happens? Another way is the way of Sheriff Ed Tom: a sort of stoic resignation and just trying to avoid making too many choices. Whatever happens, happens. Then there is Anton Chigurh, who is some sort of embodiment of evil, or maybe death, or maybe even cause and effect itself. He does not care for the morality behind the choices he makes: it is all calculated and cold, and can perhaps be described as "chaotic evil", similar to The Joker or Alex from A Clockwork Orange. Altogether, this book is fantastic, with some of the most interesting characters I've ever read, and it's packed with meaning. And how have things gotten so crappy on this planet anyway? Damned if I know. [...]they asked me if I believed in Satan. I said Well that aint the point. And they said I know but do you? I had to think about that. I guess as a boy I did. Come the middle years my belief I reckon had waned somewhat. Now I'm startin to lean back the other way. He explains a lot of things that otherwise dont have no explanation. Or not to me they don't. I wake up sometimes way in the night and I know as certain as death that there aint nothing short of the second comin of Christ that can slow this train.
—Stian
