Paperback, 320 pages
Nederlands language
Published Aug. 25, 2015 by De Arbeiderspers.
‘De grootste prestatie van welke levende Amerikaanse auteur ook.’ – Harold Bloom, The New York Times
Aan de ene kant heb je de historische feiten. Het veroveren van het Amerikaanse westen in de negentiende eeuw ging gepaard met genocide en gruwelijke wreedheid, exploitatie en onrechtvaardigheid. Aan de andere kant is er de mythe: blokhutten en klapdeuren in de saloons, huifkarren en ongeschoren vogelvrijen; de held met zijn witte hoed die het avontuur tegemoet rijdt. Cormac McCarthy laat geen spaan heel van het geromantiseerde beeld dat wij koesteren van het ‘Wilde Westen’. Meridiaan van bloed is een fenomenale, gruwelijke roman, die door de bloeddorst, wraakzucht en epische slagvelden doet denken aan het Oude Testament en het werk van Homerus.
Een vrij bloederig en gewelddadig verhaal, en het plot is ook niet heel erg sterk, maar toch bevat het boek genoeg scherpe observaties en zelfs wat humor om het ruim voldoende te recenseren. Eentje om ondanks alles toch nog eens te herlezen.
I struggled with this book. I loved The Road but many words were difficult maybe because English is not my first language. So much violence... Maybe human nature but ... definitely some description of landscape are beautiful!
and just pick a sentence. You'll find something you can spend an hour with:
"There is hardly in the world a waste so barren but some creature will not cry out at night, yet here one was and they listened to their breathing in the dark and the cold and they listened to the systole of the rubymeated hearts that hung within them." (293)
This book like listening to an Albert Ayler album or staring at a Jackson Pollock painting. The genius is there to appreciate, it's just not enjoyable. There are some brilliant passages in this book and the fortitude required to write this book is palpable—but so is the endurance to read it.
There are no speech marks to denote dialogue. I hate this literary device. It's cheap and pretentious. Single sentences of questionable merit can drag on for half a page.
There is no protagonist, even though "the kid" is claimed to be so.
There is no story. It is a montage of sun-bleached bones, mutilated corpses, visceral killings, and racist slurs. Anyone born after 1990 will likely need a year in therapy to get over this book. There may as well be a Trigger Warning at the top of every page.
The writing is genius in parts but …
This book like listening to an Albert Ayler album or staring at a Jackson Pollock painting. The genius is there to appreciate, it's just not enjoyable. There are some brilliant passages in this book and the fortitude required to write this book is palpable—but so is the endurance to read it.
There are no speech marks to denote dialogue. I hate this literary device. It's cheap and pretentious. Single sentences of questionable merit can drag on for half a page.
There is no protagonist, even though "the kid" is claimed to be so.
There is no story. It is a montage of sun-bleached bones, mutilated corpses, visceral killings, and racist slurs. Anyone born after 1990 will likely need a year in therapy to get over this book. There may as well be a Trigger Warning at the top of every page.
The writing is genius in parts but it's one of the most overrated novels in American fiction.
First rate. So much beauty amidst so much horror and death. I don't think I've ever read such a violent, unsparing story. But the descriptions of the desert, of nature, were somehow both eloquently simple and at the same time as grand as the western landscape. Not an easy read, no doubt. Not an easy story to understand ultimately. But so rewarding nonetheless. Loved this book.
Read this again, June 2021. Rather, listened to it, which is something I never do. In fact, this is the first book I have ever listened to, which took some getting used to. It would have helped to have the physical copy on hand to refer back to but alas, no. I enjoyed the experience, the reader had the perfect voice for this book, deep and resonating and ominous-sounding. He used the perfect inflections to capture the characters' voices. It was somewhat marred by …
First rate. So much beauty amidst so much horror and death. I don't think I've ever read such a violent, unsparing story. But the descriptions of the desert, of nature, were somehow both eloquently simple and at the same time as grand as the western landscape. Not an easy read, no doubt. Not an easy story to understand ultimately. But so rewarding nonetheless. Loved this book.
Read this again, June 2021. Rather, listened to it, which is something I never do. In fact, this is the first book I have ever listened to, which took some getting used to. It would have helped to have the physical copy on hand to refer back to but alas, no. I enjoyed the experience, the reader had the perfect voice for this book, deep and resonating and ominous-sounding. He used the perfect inflections to capture the characters' voices. It was somewhat marred by the mispronunciation of some words which somewhat jerked me out of the story at times. But as it was a youtube thingy and amateur, all things considered, it was a positive experience.
I have lived in Arizona for half of the year for 8 consecutive years. Being a Great Lakes born individual the desert landscape is a source of unending fascination, curiosity, horror. It is so alien to my frame of reference; so stark and simple in its beauty. So lethal. Whenever I'm a passenger in the car, even just driving to a neighboring city idly looking out at the desert landscape, it doesn't take much imagination to realize how tenuously the desert is held back by man... just biding time to a few years of no rain, of 100 plus days of 100 plus degree temperatures year after year after year. Even a brief walk through a parking lot can make this tender and pale skinned old lady feel shriveled up and parched, beat down by that oppressive sun in minutes. I can feel the "Cowboys and Indians" history. I see the wild horses and javelinas, coyotes and the roadrunners. I see the soft cottontail bunnies quaking in the underbrush, watch the vultures circling high above the palm trees and multi-million dollar homes.
Just recently, after a whole lifetime of believing mankind essentially "good" and "generous" and "kind" and "understanding" I've come to see a dark shadow within the soul of man. I've come to recognize the selfish, stubborn, ignorant, alas, violent life-force that is held back as tenuously as the western landscape in Arizona. I am the passenger seeing beyond the manicured lawns, the inground pools, the high-end shopping malls. I see the dry washes and dry riverbeds. I see scorched and dead chollas and ocotillos, see the mighty saguaros dusty and thirsty. I see the grit blown across the roadway, watch dust-devils whirl through empty lots. I see the blue cloudless sky, the furnace sun and I know it's just a matter of time.
