Ah, the McCarthy is proving just the ticket for halting, at least temporarily, what might become a slide into a bona fide reading slump. I’ve been in a bit of one since the onset of winter. Something about the combination of too many hours indoors and not enough light leave me with classic winter blah. So many people experience this, but I think many of them don’t recognize it and are whipped about by it every winter. Anyway, No Country For Old Men is an energizing read, thanks to Sheriff Bell’s plainspoken, minimalist decency.
This is my second McCarthy, and I’m finding it quite similar to The Road in that so much of the story lies just beyond what isn’t said or described. His style of economical expression seems to give me just enough room to wander and create my own images. While I love classical descriptive style, when I’m in a funk, less is more, lighter, and packs more wallop. Halfway through this already and, while I want to find out what happens and who survives, I’m enjoying this lighter read as much as seeing my peonys sprout through the dead leaves, something I always go looking for in mid-February, and hoping that the excitement of the side journey into No Country will sustain me until Spring.