Something clicked as I realized I’m at the halfway point in this book. The sparseness of words, the white space, the dialogue, the emptiness of the visual text that matches the landscape of McCarthy’s world.
No Country for Old Men wasn’t up to Suttree or Blood Meridian, and I even photographed the book during my reading and postings. It was untraditional McCarthy, I felt. Seen just in the arrangement of words into narrative structure. Maybe it was a hint of what was to come in The Road. But in this book, it’s vital to the setting, matching the story in its expanse of space. Something’s missing from the pages just as it’s missing in a desolate world.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Interrupting briefly to wish you well, Susan. “Well” and fresh raspberries. Have both.
Uh-oh, for a moment there I thought you were giving me the ‘ol raspberry.
But yes, well is but a state of mind. And worth as much as jewels of raspberries.