I haven't read the novel again for this month's book club but I did read it as recently as last summer. This was my third McCarthy novel after The Road and Child of God. McCarthy's writing somehow manages to be so simple on the page yet so rich and colourful and full of texture.
I will always remember reading the first few pages in the bookshop to see if the novel was what I was looking for that day. I could almost feel the floorboards creaking beneath my own feet as he described that sombre scene at the coffin. Outside, McCarthy does something for the first time in this book I consider him a master at. All is still and quiet in the night, and the prose on the page is made of short sentences, choppy, quiet. Then, as the distant quiet rumble of a train begins to build, so does the length of the prose - until the train is hammering through and the fence is shaking and everything is torn apart by the noise and it goes on and on and slowly starts to descend again. The rush of longer prose on the page leaves you slightly breathless and the effect is jut like a train crashing through and leaving you slightly shocked in its passing. Brilliant. To manipulate the reader's feelings not only with the words he is using but with sentence length and arrangement!


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