'BLOOD MERIDIAN' - TOO TRUE, TOO VIOLENT

I recently finished reading Cormac McCarthy's "Blood Meridian" for the third or fourth time, and it was completely different this time.

I had always assumed that it was totally fiction, a fantasy of violence, bloodshed and depravity that showed what lies deeply buried in our psyche, in our unconscious mind.

It never occurred to me that it might be true, heaven forbid, but it is. As I read through the book itself, I also read "Notes On 'Blood Meridian'."

My God. Glanton and his gang really did most of these horrible things. Endless depravity and cruelty for no reason. In one scene, to take a small example, a man is trying to sell two puppies, and the Judge buys them, then throws into a violent, swirling river.

As the puppies surface in a calm pool below a dam, another member of Glanton's gang pulls out his pistol and shoots them, for no other reason than sport.

Children get murdered, for no reason. The buffalo get slaughtered, by the millions, and the meat left to rot on the plains.

How inhuman it all is. Disgusting.

It's one thing to assume this is all fantasy, and another to realize that most of this stuff really happened.

There is a grim kind of gallows humor to much of it, but finally it sinks into a cauldron of bloodshed.

I don't think I'll ever be able to read it again.

And I take back my recommendation.

Don't read it, unless you have a very strong stomach.

Or read it as a fantasy. I wish it wasn't true.

-- Roger

Copyright © 2012, Roger R. Angle

'BLOOD MERIDIAN' AGAIN AND AGAIN

I am reading Cormac McCarthy's "Blood Meridian" again, for the third or fourth time. It is an amazing experience.

On one level, the novel is a wild hairy adventure story like no other. I reminds me of "Moby Dick" by Herman Melville, in scope, in effect, and in its multiple layers.

On another level, it is a journey into the unconscious, and it reminds me of paintings by Hieronymus Bosch, the German painter. "Blood Meridian" is a phantasmagoria of violence. I doubt if anyone has nightmares as vivid or as horrific.

At one point, one of the characters describes this band of killers as men of good heart. My God, how bloodthirsty they are. How could they be of good heart?

Their leader, John Glanton, is a brave man, a decisive and competent leader, admirable in some ways. Yet you've never met a more enthusiastic butcher of men. And women. In some ways, he is heroic, in others a devil revelling in hell.

Michael Herr, in a cover blurb, says the novel is about "regeneration through violence." I don't know if I'd put it that way. But there is a sense of redemption about all this, and I don't quite know why or how that works.

The novel is Biblical in scope, in tone, and in its use of language. It is a hot steamy cauldron of meaning and image and language, horrid and profound and wonderful.

Its technique is almost all narrative. That is, we are told the story, and the events are related mostly rather than rendered. It is an unusual mode. But it works well. We are lulled to sleep in this dream. It won't remind you of any crappy bestseller I have ever tried to read.

There is tremendous energy and invention in the language and seemingly in the events, although "Notes On 'Blood Meridian'" by John Sepich claims that "Blood Meridian" is an historical novel, taken largely from "My Confessions" by the decorated Union Army General Samuel Chamberlain, and from other historical sources.

Sepich says that the exploits of Glanton and his band are presented "with remarkable fidelity." In other words, Cormac McCarthy seems to have used history as a template or an outline, a basis for his creation. Perhaps in much the same way Melville used his experiences on whaling ships as a basis for his novel.

"Blood Meridian" is, in my opinion and that of others, the greatest American novel written by a living writer. It ranks right up there with Faulkner and Melville. Perhaps even Shakespeare.

I recommend it highly.

-- Roger

Copyright © 2012, Roger R. Angle

CURSED NO MORE

I made a big deal in December about not finding motivation for my work.

Well, that is over now. Recently, I have been not only highly motivated but almost obsessed. That is how you have to be to get any real writing done, at least for me.

I've been working like a fiend on my current novel, "The Prince of Newport," and on a long short story, "Alien Love," and on a memoir, which I am writing under a pen name, for legal reasons. More on all those later. I have five current projects and almost a dozen others in the works. Wish me luck.

Anyway, I made a big stink about not wanting to do it. Now I don't want to do anything else.

And that, for a writer, is a good problem to have.

-- Roger

Copyright © 2012, Roger R. Angle

LIT CRIT: BLOOM OR BUST

The other day, I had a hankering to read some intelligent literary criticism. Maybe gain some insight into my favorite writers, to enhance the quality of my favorite pastime, reading.

So I got from the L.A. Public Library a book by the noted and widely published critic Harold Bloom: "How To Read And Why." OK, sounds instructive. Perhaps a bit arrogant. But we can forgive that, can't we?

So I waded through as much of it as I could. Turns out, it's mostly bloviating, the over-done expansion of one's own opinions.

Let me give you one example: He says that "Crime And Punishment" by Dostoevsky, "remains the best of all murder stories...."

Yeah, right. That might be true if it wasn't so damn BORING.

I got about 90 pages into this famous Russian novel, as I recall from many years ago, and, after the killing of the old lady, a distant cousin of Raskolnikov comes riding into town on a train. What possible relevance could this have? None that I could see. The story comes to a screeching halt.

The book is a chore and a snooze, in my opinion. Reminds me of "Lolita," the book that made Vladimir Nabokov famous and rich, not a bad thing for a writer. Trouble is, most of it is boring, too. There is a long travelog that is soporific at best. And the seduction scene has the wind taken out of it by the way the girl actually seduces the old lecher. He wants her and he wants her, and she was easy all along. What a let-down.

Oh, but far be it from me to even have opinions here, since I am not a famous literary critic. Of course, my lowly status means nothing to me, as it probably means little or nothing to others who feel they have a right to their own opinions.

I do agree with Harold Bloom that "As I Lay Dying" is Faulkner's greatest novel and that "Blood Meridian," by Cormac McCarthy, is the best novel published in America since WWII.

I also agree with him that the main characteristic of great literature is originality. That is what is so bad about modern thriller and mystery novels: There are two or three hundred talentless hacks writing and rewriting the same two or three books, over and over again, ad nauseam.

At least the big Bloomer and I have some agreements. But I have to keep looking to find a literary critic to enjoy. Next on my list: Philip Stevick, with whom I used to correspond. I loved his work and found it enriching. We'll see how he holds up after all these years. More on that TK (to come, in news jargon). Note: Well, I did find a couple of his books at the library, and they were a snooze, too, sorry to say. Too academic for me.

-- Roger

Copyright © 2012, Roger R. Angle

SERMON AS ART?

Today, I had the most amazing experience. I tried to appreciate a widely praised writer whose work I thought was boring, tedious and a waste of time.

Of course, this is not the first time this has happened.

The writer's name is Nathan Englander. He is widely praised in the NY Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/19/books/review/nathan-englanders-new-collection.html?nl=books&emc=booksupdateema2

And he has his own page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=sr_tc_2_0?rh=i%3Astripbooks%2Ck%3ANathan+Englander&keywords=Nathan+Englander&ie=UTF8&qid=1329527210&sr=1-2-ent&field-contributor_id=B001IGFL5O

I managed to struggle through one story, "The Twenty-seventh Man," the first one in a collection called "For the Relief of Unbearable Urges."

This story is about 27 Jewish writers who are rounded up by Stalin in the 1940s and taken to a prison to be held overnight and then shot to death the next morning. The story is tedious and long and predictable and drawn out and boring. Basically, it's a shaggy-dog story. There are no suprises here, no insights into human nature.

The only thing I can figure out is that those critics who rave about Englander's work are responding to the theme, the message, rather than the experience of reading. They are applauding a sermon.

Yes, it is terrible that these Jews are rounded up to be killed. But we know this already. We know there have been atrocities against the Jews, among many other peoples, over the centuries. We don't have to be told, again, that these atrocities are bad.

There is an old rule about writing: Tell them something new, that they don't already know, or tell them something old in a new way.

This story is neither one. It's something old, that we already know, told in an old way.

I don't think this is a matter of taste. I think it's a matter of applauding the sermon. But a work of art should be more than a sermon. It should be better than that. It should be more complex, more aesthetic in nature, more ambiguous, not just a message. It should have elements of poetry, meanings that are not easy to define.

This story is overwhelmed by its meaning. The message outweighs the art. It is too ponderous and heavy and dull to be a work of art.

-- Roger

Copyright © 2012, Roger R. Angle

ETERNAL ZEN MASTER

I saw that Ron Artest, a rough-and-tumble professional basketball player, has changed his name to Metta World Peace.

A year or two ago, Ron Artest got into a hell of fight during a game and the fight went up into the stands. It was something to see:
http://www.myspace.com/video/macy/ron-artest-nba-fight/1168175

Now he has a new name, Metta World Peace. And that is--if you can believe this--what the announcers call him on TV these days (he plays for the Lakers): "Metta World Peace takes the rebound ... Metta World Peace makes the shot ... Metta World Peace sets the pick ..." Etc., etc.

OK, OK, OK. I don't know if Ron Artest is trying to change his image or his nature. Or both. I guess he is trying not to be a thug any more. Change your name and your image. Why not?

I think I will change my name to Eternal Zen Master. That is on top of numerous joke aliases I have with my friends.

From now on, just call me Zen for short. Peace be with you, ya'll.

-- Roger, Eternal Zen Master

Copyright © 2012, Roger R. Angle

THE SUPER BOWL

I watched the Super Bowl today -- the whole game -- and it was a blast.

I take back all the bad things I said about it being boring.

And my team won. Hurray! I ended up rooting for the Giants, and it was a real cliffhanger.

It is weird how the game usually comes down to a few key plays. A dropped pass, a near-interception. I guess that is what makes it so exciting. You never know what is going to happen.

-- Roger

Copyright © 2012, Roger R. Angle