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drjreads 's review for:
The Crossing
by Cormac McCarthy
Perhaps one life lesson I need to start learning is that it should be okay to give up on a book once I've started reading it. I have yet to figure out how to do it, so even why I hate something, I read the entire thing and suffer and complain and yet I also read every single word... This is one of those books.
I hated this. A lot. Divided in three parts, it follows the same New Mexico teenage boy as a crosses over into Mexico on three separate journeys: the first is to inexplicably take a pregnant wolf that was targeting the animals on his family farm into what he believes to be her native homeland, the second is with his younger brother as the two hunt down the men who stole some of their family's horses, and the third time is to try to find out what happened to his now estranged brother.
Cormac McCarthy, in this book, is the epitome of tell but never show. We are constantly told what someone is thinking and feeling, every introduced meaningless character stops all they are doing to wax poetic for a philosophical monologue only to then go about their way and never reappear in the narrative, but at no point did I actually find myself believing a single word of this over 400 page book. It's a book obsessed with masculinity and with reticence, with violence and meaninglessness, and I did not care for a single sentence about anything I was reading. I hated this.
I hated this. A lot. Divided in three parts, it follows the same New Mexico teenage boy as a crosses over into Mexico on three separate journeys: the first is to inexplicably take a pregnant wolf that was targeting the animals on his family farm into what he believes to be her native homeland, the second is with his younger brother as the two hunt down the men who stole some of their family's horses, and the third time is to try to find out what happened to his now estranged brother.
Cormac McCarthy, in this book, is the epitome of tell but never show. We are constantly told what someone is thinking and feeling, every introduced meaningless character stops all they are doing to wax poetic for a philosophical monologue only to then go about their way and never reappear in the narrative, but at no point did I actually find myself believing a single word of this over 400 page book. It's a book obsessed with masculinity and with reticence, with violence and meaninglessness, and I did not care for a single sentence about anything I was reading. I hated this.