JasonKoivu

This western of new antiquity flows with a horse's grace and bursts into charges of furious power. McCarthy's pen grazes upon lush words. His verbs gallop, his adjectives whinny and snort. There is a subdued, wild loneliness. The populous within the pages wander like herds or rally in a tense, motionless pack ready to pounce, while mere boys -more man than most- wander through them ready for love, ready for death.

These characters breath and sweat and bleed. The reader comes to know the true color of their blood. It flows down their filthy boots into a landscape vivid with an encompassing spectrum not seen in The Road. Here, the travelers cross the land and the land touches their painfully real feet, and from there a current spreads out, electrifying the hardscrabble Mexican countryside.

Kick the dust and sand off these words. Dig in and glory in their life-giving beauty.