Debt to Society

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been reading books for other people. Previously, I read Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael so that I’d understand some family a little better. That link will take you to my review on the afore mentioned Good Reads.

Next, I just finished Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian for a guy at work. He wanted to talk about it (and we will). He hoped to see it mentioned on this site. Well, here’s my review from the other site, take it or leave it.

“There are two ways to evaluate a book, as far as my unlearned mind can concoct at the moment. Stylish literary flourishes sometimes cloud our judgment when it comes to evaluating the plot itself, which is, after all, the reason why the book exists.

This book is well written. If I’m a 11th grader, and I need to do a book report, I’m drooling over the blatant symbolism dripping from each page. The scene is set admirably, though the repetitive nature of our brave hero’s wanderings (at least it’s with symbolic reason) lead to a paucity in novel adjectives by the 13th desert crossing. There are only so many ways one can say that it’s hot, dry and and empty. And dry. Boy, that sun sure is strong. I’m there, I’m with you, all right, it sucks around here, phew, the sun’s really beating down today. And there are a lot of bones. Dead things abound, OK, I get it.

Then there’s the story line. Explain to me again why I’m interested in the wanton marauding of a band of depraved demons? So, we enjoy the dashing of infants into rocks because of the supposed literary merits of the work? We can bash/splatter/expose brains of whatever, happen upon crucified corpses, and ignore any modicum of human decency because the book is about something deeper? But, you say (and without quotes you say it), that’s what it was like. Oh yeah? It was like that? Says who? Why do you want to believe that it was like that? As bad as humankind is, our reality is not that despicable, though our souls may be. Why do we have to play follow the leader behind our impish pied piper, pretending an enlightened understanding of some grandiose truth, while all we really do is sate our own personal blood lusts? I wonder.

By the way, if neglecting quotation marks somehow makes the book classier, why not just go all out and remove spaces between words. You better believe I won’t be speed reading the repetitive descriptions of how tired everyone is if there aren’t any spaces. Why stop there, periods are for two bit hacks too. You’re not a real author until you slaughter a few hundred non-innocents (nay, no one is innocent) while neglecting a basic courtesy to the reader.

Who knows, I don’t speak Spanish, maybe I’m just missing the point entirely. How do you say “flayed skin” in Spanish?”

Have you ever noticed that your mind drifts toward whatever state of being you consistently expose it to? You read about evil, your thoughts focus on evil. You drench yourself in pseudo-philosophical jibber jabber, and all the sudden your mind floats in that trough of useless thought. I’m cynical by nature, I’m skeptical by nature, and I’m disturbed enough already, I don’t need anyone else’s help. The question is, what attitudes do I need to reinforce in my life? The answer? Not those.

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