Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West by Corman McCarthy

Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West, is Cormac McCarthy's 1985 novel set in the American West in mid-1800's. If you love your romantic myths of the settling of the West, don't read this book. It knocks the wind out of all the glorious tales of Texas Rangers, pony express riders, Kit Carson types, buffalo hunters, gold diggers, Indian raids, cattle drives, stage coaches and every other delusion you've held about early American life in the West. Possibly McCarthy's novel is just as mythical, but his genius is substituting his myth for yours.

A homeless, fourteen year old, called the kid throughout the book, hooks up with a gang of men who contract with the local government in Chihuahua to drive the Indians out of their territory. The gang menaces Indians on both side of the Rio Grande, collecting scalps as proof for payment. As the hunt progresses, it seems any scalp will do, and the mercenaries kill anyone they come across. The gang is led by two men, Glanton and the judge. Glanton is the captain of the gang and a merciless, conscienceless killer. The judge is the devil incarnate.

Absolutely everything about this novel is remarkable. The writing style is rich, yet sparse. McCarthy details the country as the gang rides through, but keeps details of the ride itself to a minimum, hinting at the action then hitting the reader with it. McCarthy has a vocabulary for the setting which is extraordinary. As I read, I continuously wondered how one person could amass all the words he has to describe the land. Is he a botantist, a geologist, a zoologist, an astronomer, a geographer as well as a writer? Chosen randomly from the text, here's an example of his style:

All to the north the rain had dragged black tendrils down from the thunderclouds like tracings of lampblack fallen in a beaker and in the night they could hear the drum of rain miles away on the prairie. They ascended through a rocky pass and lightning shaped out the distant shivering mountains and lightning rang the stones about and tufts of blue fire clung to the horses like incandescent elementals that would not be driven off. Soft smelterlight advanced upon the metal of the harness, light ran blue and liquid on the barrels of the guns. Mad jackhares started and checked in the blue glare and high among those clanging crags joking roehawks crouched in their feathers or cracked a yellow eye at the thunder underfoot.

In summary, Cormac McCarthy has written a violent lyric masterpiece, a must-read book of American literature.