Absolutely stunning writing, and I have no idea what I just read. This novel rewards careful analytical reading.. which I didn’t do this time through. Probably reader error more than author error, but I’m baffled. ( )

I had hoped that McCarthy's penultimate work would help me reconcile with the writer. It might just be me, but apart from The Road, none of his previous books appealed to me. And here too it didn't work: the sometimes absurd dialogues, the tough talk among men (who the hell still writes about the Vietnam War?), the treatise-like passages about theoretical physics, the banal descriptive scenes of successive actions, ..., no I just don't like his style. And then the attempt at suspense about the missing passenger from the plane that crashed into the sea: it did not exceed the level of a cheap action movie. In short, too much fuss about too little substance. That pretty much sums up my McCarthy experience. ( )

Is there a better American city than New Orleans for a literary setting in which a character hangs about, feeling bereft, searching for meaning and the true nature of it all, having philosophical discussions with a cast of characters? Or is it just that Anne Rice and Walker Percy and personal history have primed me to feel that way.

This novel is best in my view when Bobby Western is doing just that, and weakens (with one notable exception, visiting family in rural Tennessee) when he leaves town and exists on his own and in his own head - in Idaho, or Florida, or somewhere in Europe. Meaning the novel is best when characters are in dialogue with one another, discussing the nature of reality or the possibility of an afterlife or living with grief. McCarthy's prose in contrast often left me unsatisfied when he's just treating Bobby out in isolation.

Forget a traditional narrative plot, whatever the blurbs might say about the mystery of a missing airplane passenger; when a private investigator tells Western, about 60% into the novel, that "your problem is that you dont have any information," that also goes for the reader, and the situation doesn't markedly change. This is a novel of philosophy and ideas and musings, surely, so your enjoyment of the novel more depends on how you enjoy passages like:

I dont know who God is or what he is. But I dont believe all this stuff got here by itself. Including me. Maybe everything evolves just like they say it does. But if you sound it to its source you have to come ultimately to an intention.

Sound it to its source?

You like that? Pascal.

Personally I do enjoy it, despite the odd exclusion of apostrophes throughout the book. What's up with that, Cormac?

Merged review:

Is there a better American city than New Orleans for a literary setting in which a character hangs about, feeling bereft, searching for meaning and the true nature of it all, having philosophical discussions with a cast of characters? Or is it just that Anne Rice and Walker Percy and personal history have primed me to feel that way.

This novel is best in my view when Bobby Western is doing just that, and weakens (with one notable exception, visiting family in rural Tennessee) when he leaves town and exists on his own and in his own head - in Idaho, or Florida, or somewhere in Europe. Meaning the novel is best when characters are in dialogue with one another, discussing the nature of reality or the possibility of an afterlife or living with grief. McCarthy's prose in contrast often left me unsatisfied when he's just treating Bobby out in isolation.

Forget a traditional narrative plot, whatever the blurbs might say about the mystery of a missing airplane passenger; when a private investigator tells Western, about 60% into the novel, that "your problem is that you dont have any information," that also goes for the reader, and the situation doesn't markedly change. This is a novel of philosophy and ideas and musings, surely, so your enjoyment of the novel more depends on how you enjoy passages like:

I dont know who God is or what he is. But I dont believe all this stuff got here by itself. Including me. Maybe everything evolves just like they say it does. But if you sound it to its source you have to come ultimately to an intention.

Sound it to its source?

You like that? Pascal.

Personally I do enjoy it, despite the odd exclusion of apostrophes throughout the book. What's up with that, Cormac?

Merged review:

Is there a better American city than New Orleans for a literary setting in which a character hangs about, feeling bereft, searching for meaning and the true nature of it all, having philosophical discussions with a cast of characters? Or is it just that Anne Rice and Walker Percy and personal history have primed me to feel that way.

This novel is best in my view when Bobby Western is doing just that, and weakens (with one notable exception, visiting family in rural Tennessee) when he leaves town and exists on his own and in his own head - in Idaho, or Florida, or somewhere in Europe. Meaning the novel is best when characters are in dialogue with one another, discussing the nature of reality or the possibility of an afterlife or living with grief. McCarthy's prose in contrast often left me unsatisfied when he's just treating Bobby out in isolation.

Forget a traditional narrative plot, whatever the blurbs might say about the mystery of a missing airplane passenger; when a private investigator tells Western, about 60% into the novel, that "your problem is that you dont have any information," that also goes for the reader, and the situation doesn't markedly change. This is a novel of philosophy and ideas and musings, surely, so your enjoyment of the novel more depends on how you enjoy passages like:

I dont know who God is or what he is. But I dont believe all this stuff got here by itself. Including me. Maybe everything evolves just like they say it does. But if you sound it to its source you have to come ultimately to an intention.

Sound it to its source?

You like that? Pascal.

Personally I do enjoy it, despite the odd exclusion of apostrophes throughout the book. What's up with that, Cormac? ( )

McCarthy's last novel (it should be paired with "Stella Maris"), "The Passenger" takes you on a ride through a quirky philosophical and scientific landscape that only Cormac McCarthy could envision.

Merged review:

McCarthy's last novel (it should be paired with "Stella Maris"), "The Passenger" takes you on a ride through a quirky philosophical and scientific landscape that only Cormac McCarthy could envision. ( )

Whew. A slog. I wearied of the no-punctuation/dialogue tags and was distinctly grumpy about it until I realized it was a masterful ploy to make the reader slow down, feel confused, add uncertainty. So so clever for this disturbing book.

That said, much of the book seemed to be rants about pet subjects- I particularly could have done without the lengthy section on the Kennedy assassination. It is never explained why the feds are following Western- and his road trip is written out in such detail with entire paragraphs given to opening a rucksack, for example, that I felt this was more of a self-aggrandizement project than a story.

I’m not a fan of his work in general- far too needlessly dark and violent for me- but there were things I quite loved in the book- phrases that grabbed at my heart, the undercurrent of grief, the descriptions of underwater salvage, etc. Too much time spent walking along beaches or sitting and contemplating man’s existence for me. Especially since the discussion was so unrelentingly grim.

People on this discussion seem to hurl abuse at people who don’t like the book… please don’t bother. We are all entitled to our opinions.



Merged review:

Whew. A slog. I wearied of the no-punctuation/dialogue tags and was distinctly grumpy about it until I realized it was a masterful ploy to make the reader slow down, feel confused, add uncertainty. So so clever for this disturbing book.

That said, much of the book seemed to be rants about pet subjects- I particularly could have done without the lengthy section on the Kennedy assassination. It is never explained why the feds are following Western- and his road trip is written out in such detail with entire paragraphs given to opening a rucksack, for example, that I felt this was more of a self-aggrandizement project than a story.

I’m not a fan of his work in general- far too needlessly dark and violent for me- but there were things I quite loved in the book- phrases that grabbed at my heart, the undercurrent of grief, the descriptions of underwater salvage, etc. Too much time spent walking along beaches or sitting and contemplating man’s existence for me. Especially since the discussion was so unrelentingly grim.

People on this discussion seem to hurl abuse at people who don’t like the book… please don’t bother. We are all entitled to our opinions. ( )