Blood Meridian is the only CM story I’ve ever returned to, about 4 readings in four decades. Long enough to remember pulpit speeches (moving away from “biblical”), although saturation may have passed when tracts sit in your memory bank from the moment they were tattooed on. Seen too much violence on earth and it’s this factor which pushes the book past the threshold of trite rendering. The iron smell of blood. The sound and sickness of full velocity impacts from metal objects against limbs, maiming, killings, cyclical rounds of Control sadism. Enough to make you probe gnosticism as ontologically coherent
It cropped up in the book thread recently and had not long finished In Parenthesis, which seems its antithesis. Judge Holden vs The Queen of the Woods? Early to mid 80’s were grim for Cold War trash. Lost track of the film count. Burroughs still piercing through and Blood Meridian filtering out of so much clutter and disposable wank - Breakfast Club Ferris Bueller Red Dawn worlds of Weird Science and Ghostbusters (sorry, as traumatic as Ghostbusters is emblematic of innocence for some) - seems like a gift from this perspective, wisdom lurking in accelerating colonial madness. Cities of the Red Night has a wider spread and weirder touch but it hovers in similar worlds
It’s pulpy in a similar vein to The Sopranos, enculturation of violence etc far more stark and unsparing by withholding any humour, just plied with equally framed seams of restlessness and the mundane. Landscapes is a shit word, more juicy vistas brimming with shaded ochres contrasting with a clear authorial love of micro fauna and regional vastness. Season with characters smelling of unholy chutzpah?
First reading was a few days at every opportunity. Compared to DeLillo‘s interminable inanity it has pacing beyond the boring tag that’s far more subtle and crafted than a qliphothic dead baby tree. This seems like the same argument you could have about Le Cercle Rouge. It is undoubtedly pulp but my god, heaven in familiar yet foreign worlds