Cormac McCarthy, Author of ‘No Country for Old Men’ & ‘Blood Meridian’, Has Passed Away at 89
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humminbird
Veteran
RIP
Piffiztheanswer
L'immortale
Damn... some of them books are iconic... i personally read the road, no country and blood meridian. Supposedly he was helping with the script for meridian smh
Piff Perkins
Veteran
RIP. One of the greatest American authors, and the greatest of our lifetime.
In a world where Ralph Ellison and Richard Wright were alive (not to mention Roberto Bolaño, Vonnegut, Bradbury, et al), I’d have to disagree about the in our lifetime part. Still, many regards to that man. He was a powerhouse. The Road is a particularly awesome piece of literature.
Greatest American author of my lifetime.
I like the simpler shyt, the imagery and emotion he could create with short sentences was incredible. In The Road, the way he described the dying world of a man with only his son left to live for.
He lay listening to the water drip in the woods. Bedrock, this. The cold and the silence. The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void. Carried forth and scattered and carried forth again. Everything uncoupled from its shoring. Unsupported in the ashen air. Sustained by a breath, trembling and brief. If only my heart were stone.
They bore on south in the days and weeks to follow. Solitary and dogged. A raw hill country. Aluminum houses. At times they could see stretches of the interstate highway below them through the bare stands of secondgrowth timber. Cold and growing colder. Just beyond the high gap in the mountains they stood and looked out over the great gulf to the south where the country as far as they could see was burned away, the blackened shapes of rock standing out of the shoals of ash and billows of ash rising up and blowing downcountry through the waste. The track of the dull sun moving unseen beyond the murk.
I like the simpler shyt, the imagery and emotion he could create with short sentences was incredible. In The Road, the way he described the dying world of a man with only his son left to live for.
He lay listening to the water drip in the woods. Bedrock, this. The cold and the silence. The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void. Carried forth and scattered and carried forth again. Everything uncoupled from its shoring. Unsupported in the ashen air. Sustained by a breath, trembling and brief. If only my heart were stone.
They bore on south in the days and weeks to follow. Solitary and dogged. A raw hill country. Aluminum houses. At times they could see stretches of the interstate highway below them through the bare stands of secondgrowth timber. Cold and growing colder. Just beyond the high gap in the mountains they stood and looked out over the great gulf to the south where the country as far as they could see was burned away, the blackened shapes of rock standing out of the shoals of ash and billows of ash rising up and blowing downcountry through the waste. The track of the dull sun moving unseen beyond the murk.
Piff Perkins
Veteran
MoshpitMazi
Moshpit Gxng/ Anti Fash
Nooooooooooooooooooooo 
I've read that he hates spending time with other authors, hates talking about writing, hates award functions or literally anything to do with honoring writing, and pretty much gives answers exactly like that any time writing comes up.
Read an old profile that said he owned 7,000 books though and that was 30 years ago.
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Piff Perkins
Veteran
I've read that he hates other others, hates talking about writing, hates award functions or literally anything to do with honoring writing, and pretty much gives answers exactly like that any time writing comes up.
Read an old profile that said he owned 7,000 books though and that was 30 years ago.
It feels like such a foreign concept today, in an era where the intent of art is constantly challenged or dismissed, everything must be explained or torn down, and authors/writers rush out to defend themselves constantly. Refreshing. The point should be to examine art yourself, not for an author to tell you what it means.
I'm still surprised Oprah managed to smoke him out of his cave and get an interview.
