If you wanted to make a case for the most violent novel of the twentieth century, Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian might be a good place to start. But it's compelling because it's not violence for the sake of violence; there's a beautiful, biblical aspect to the imagery, as if it all leads to salvation. McCarthy completely subverts the western novel, portraying his characters not as heroic cowboys, but as depraved, testosterone-fueled scumbags who operate on an entirely different moral plane than most. Witness the end of chapter four, where a ragtag band of soldiers is slaughtered, in graphic detail, by Comanches, and you have the sense that this is only to tip of the iceberg, that McCarthy is going to lead you to a hell worse than any you can imagine. Worse than The Road? Possibly. I've yet to talk with a reader who came away from The Road without being fucked up in some fashion--I loaned my copy to Nicole, and I'd love to find out how much it fucked with her--and Blood Meridian, after fifty pages, is making that book look like a walk in the park on a beautiful spring day.

Comments

[Stephen]

You're right. The Road is a breeze compared to his other novels. I'm only part way through the Border Trilogy and I'm already fucked up.

[Laryssa]

Thanks for the info! I think I'm still going to have to spend some more time recovering from The Road before I can move to this one. Boy, is that book devastating. I had to give a presentation on it for a forms of fiction course last spring, and trying to get people to talk about the work was like pulling teeth.