A review by taicantfly
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy

challenging dark emotional mysterious reflective sad slow-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Plot
  • Strong character development? No
  • Loveable characters? No
  • Diverse cast of characters? No
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? No

5.0

A heartbreaking book that chronicles the violence and colonial depravity that went into building the American empire. 

Structurally, it is brilliant. A narrative with the rhythm of its plot, self-similar, meandering, filled with neologisms and words so archaic I had to change dictionary app on my phone, almost hostile to its reader at points. Perfectly isomorphic to a drunken odyssey of carnage through the desert, going nowhere, collecting scalps along the way. The descriptions are vivid and inimitable, leaving me open-mouthed in awe when directed at desert still life and open-mouthed in horror when directed at the intricacies of the corpses of innocents.

It is told from the perspective of The Kid, in my view a representation of the American people. At the start of the book, before the colonial violence begins en masse, these people are nothing more than starving and disposable serfs, isolated from their metropole (the Kid's mother dead) and surrounded by a pre-existing and justifiably hostile ecosystem of Indigenous peoples ("Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbor yet a few last wolves.") The Kid soon finds the simplicity of violence, a seemingly omnipresent phenomenon and often a means of achieving if not a living wage (hence his stint in the army) substantial riches. Likewise, American civilians soon find they can subsist and blossom off of the violence of slavery and the genocide of natives. Before long violence becomes the Kid's default state, never questioning. He is intrinsically inseparable from the events of the book as both witness and participant, but there will be chapters where his name appears only twice or thrice. Always present, always entangled in immeasurable violence, always detached from the situation at hand. This dichotomy of invisibility and obviousness is one of the most delicious nuances of the book.

As a demonic figure in symbiosis with the manpower the Kid and those like him provide, there is the Judge, inhuman, polite, sadistic, polymathic. He represents the ideological side of American colonial violence, one that is not nihilistically living a cycle of violence he has become too accustomed to to abandon, but a visionary whose motives for violence are wholly expansionist. Seeking genuinely complete control over the physical and mental spheres, as did American expansionism with its murderous westward pilgrimage, he (and by extension the colonial status quo) cannot tolerate threats to his (and its) authority. For this reason he massacres tribes, scapples away ancient paintings. Hell, he says it best himself:

"Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent. He looked about at the dark forest in which they were bivouacked. He nodded toward the specimens he'd collected. These anonymous creatures, he said, may seem little or nothing in the world. Yet the smallest crumb can devour us. Any smallest thing beneath yon rock out of men's knowing. Only nature can enslave man and only when the existence of each last entity is routed out and made to stand naked before him will he be properly suzerain of the earth."

A genocidal fervour like this will only feed off of anything it is given - the Judge, as the violence in the book intensifies, seems to be less and less human, almost immortal, almost omnipresent. Thus is the American colonial-turned-imperialist mentality, in McCarthy's depressed candour, similarly immortal. At the end of the book, the Judge rapes(?) and kills the Kid, the colonial drive turned inwards towards the American populace, a grim prediction of an empire's violence leading to its own downfall. I've rarely seen a metaphor so consistent and incisive as that of the interplay between Kid and Judge and it speaks volumes to McCarthy's writing.

This was the first McCarthy book I read and I was by no means disappointed. A flawless, soul-crushing and very difficult read which I would not recommend to anyone struggling with misanthropic thoughts. This is the kind of book that has no replacement, and if not for its deeply traumatising contents, I'd make it mandatory reading in schools.
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