And now back to the daily grind, more crushing than McCarthy's bleakest moments (ok, maybe not that bad...)
November 5, 2007 (10:26 p.m.)
Just got back from vacation. We took about four days down at the beach, staying at this rustic inn that we found a few years back. It's a very laid-back place, with no TVs and where the use of cell phones is heavily discouraged. Plus, three meals a day of prime southern cooking.
Each day's routine goes something like: breakfast, read, nap, lunch, read, nap, supper, read, sleep. Repeat the next day.
This time was a little different, though. There was a wedding party there, composed of a dozen or so folks in their late '50s, early '60s. They seemed like nice enough folks, although we found out later they were very high maintenance. They also had some vegans, which brought on a whole new level of complications. The place features southern cooking, a style of cooking where a vegetarian can't even look at a bowl of green beans without suspicion, for fear a sliver of bacon will make its way to the top. So vegans were totally out of luck, since even the grits gave off the heavenly aroma of butter and cream.
We were the only non-wedding people there, which made for a few odd moments, such as eating at a separate time because they were going to have their rehearsal dinner in the dining room (although, oddly enough, no one thought it was strange to try sitting us beside the wedding cake during the actual reception dinner -- we declined that opportunity).
Still, for all the chaos they were bringing to a small beach town, we had our usual relaxed time. I even got to read two books, both by Cormac McCarthy: Blood Meridian and No Country for Old Men.
My first encounter with McCarthy was The Road, a post-apocalyptic tale that blew me away. I thought the subject matter, even though plenty of people have covered it before, was a perfect match for McCarthy's writing style. But I was unprepared for Blood Meridian, the tale of a group of very, very bad men rampaging across the Texas/Mexico border in search of scalps. Set before Texas's statehood, the book literally piles atrocity upon atrocity, but it's so beautifully written, in a Biblical style that's only been approached in my experience by HBO's Deadwood, where man's inhumanity to man also flourished. Phrases like "cauterized wasteland" just roll from McCarthy's pen in Blood Meridian and he perfectly conveys the harsh landscapes that bear witness to the characters' spiral into inhumanity.
And the judge. What to say of the character known as "the judge?" A seven-foot, bald, hairless child-killer who's prone to standing naked in thunderstorms, the judge comes across as nothing less than the devil walking the earth. The judge is the antithesis of everything that goes on in the head of a right-thinking, moral person, and yet its his voice and immorality that drives the entire story.
He's also responsible for my new favorite quote. When asked why he sketches plants, birds, and artifacts in his notebook, the judge replies, "Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent." That's just badass no matter what you think of the character. And then, if I remember correctly, he said something about how the flight of birds was a freedom that offended him.
As for No Country for Old Men, McCarthy's tale of hired killers hunting down lost drug money is harrowing for its sense that the world is going to Hell in as many handbaskets as it can find. The film version is about to come out courtesy of the Coen Brothers, and I really wanted to check the book out before the film. The language is much more spare, and the character of Anton Chigurh, a relentless psychopath, is just as unforgettable as the judge.
Reading the two back to back, it struck me that one reason the judge and Chigurh are so compelling is that, despite their evil, they're two of the few characters with any moral clarity, twisted and wrong though that clarity may be. Even the characters attempting to do good, such as the sheriff in No Country for Old Men, are conflicted and unsure of their roles in the world. Not so for the judge and Chigurh, who simply go about their business.
It was powerful stuff. While it might seem strange to read two thornily-written books full of absolute misanthropy on a relaxing vacation, it was vacation time well-spent. Otherwise, I would have had to dwell on watching the vegans mix their strange concoctions for breakfast every morning while I wallowed in bacon and eggs.