And they rode on and the bloody sunrise crept in over the flat plains and The Judge killed and murdered and raped...

What, you don't like Mccarthy's use of Polysindetons? Go read the bible you fucking faggot. He got it from that. He's using the voice of god to tell a mythical story of the American plains. It also adds a manly rhtyhm to the sentence that your low T pathetic body can't comprehend.

It’s not a real quote

Yeah, figured that out.

>the amount of Yuropoors coping ITT
Like pottery

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>“wait a second there’s no rape in Blood Meridian"
Retard

And dancing in and with their entrails.

This is a fucking awful sentence.

Wow you're such a pleb.

The fact that you even for a second believed that attests to how bad Mccarthy's prose is.

18 Year old plebs don't like one of the greatest book ever. yeap it's lit time

>and the kid ate his tortillas and the tacos and the beans and the indians attacked and they killed the indians The Judge thus set forth his wordeth: "I shall eat some more beans" and the Judge eats more beans and kills even more indians and spits on the ground and the kid watches as the Judge pulls out some more tacos and tortillas and ends the night eating more beans
Yeah, "greatest book" of all the time my ASS. Mccarthy is a pathetic hack and if you're above the age of 16 and you like him you're a literal retard and should kys yourself.

>After the attack, they gather up the remaining indians of the plains rounding them up and beheading each and everyone of them. When suddenly, a man no more older than 11 years old of brown complexion and short stature comes forth crying and yelling "¿papa onde tu estas?". He stumbles over the dead bodies and severed heads and falls between the legs of The Judge who watches him with the eyes of a god who comdemns humanity. The creature thus utters "ay ay papi muy caliente estas muy caliente no me matas por favor hombre". The Judge replies with a bullet to his chest. And proceeds to eat his tortillas.
- Blood Meridian Chapter 6 (Pg 132)
I really can't understand anyone who defends this shit. It's literally the worst thing i've read this year.

uh no

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>19 year old plebs think Blood Meridian is one of the greatest books ever

Is hating Blood Meridian meme here or are Yea Forumsizens really this dumb?

>mfw he fell for the mccarthy is a meme, meme

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i lost interest in this about a quarter of the way in... same with crying of lot 69. will probably come back to them to see what's what ykno lol

Epic!

>bother to defend senile scribblers on Yea Forums

Have some dignity.

Someone worked out that pointing to the obvious flaws Mccarthy has triggers the pseuds

I literally crave for tortillas whenever I read one of his books.

>The Road
>pretentious
that book is basically YA-tier depth and has no pretensions about being otherwise, you just outed yourself as a brainlet.

>quotation marks

T hey rode on into the mountains and their way took them through high pine forests, wind in the trees, lonely birdcalls. The shoeless mules slaloming through the dry grass and pine needles. In the blue coulees on the north slopes narrow tailings of old snow. They rode up switchbacks through a lonely aspen wood where the fallen leaves lay like golden disclets in the damp black trail. The leaves shifted in a million spangles down the pale corridors and Glanton took one and turned it like a tiny fan by its stem and held it and let it fall and its perfection was not lost on him.

An old woman knelt at the blackened stones before her door and poked brush into the coals and blew back a flame from the ashes and began to right the overturned pots. All about her the dead lay with their peeled skulls like polyps bluely wet or luminescent melons cooling on some mesa of the moon. In the days to come the frail black rebuses of blood in those sands would crack and break and drift away so that in the circuit of few suns all trace of the destruction of these people would be erased. The desert wind would salt their ruins and there would be nothing, nor ghost nor scribe, to tell to any pilgrim in his passing how it was that people had lived in this place and in this place died.

A legion of horribles, hundreds in number, half naked or clad in costumes attic or biblical or wardrobed out of a fevered dream with the skins of animals and silk finery and pieces of uniform still tracked with the blood of prior owners, coats of slain dragoons, frogged and braided cavalry jackets, one in a stovepipe hat and one with an umbrella and one in white stockings and a bloodstained weddingveil and some in headgear of cranefeathers or rawhide helmets that bore the horns of bull or buffalo and one in a pigeontailed coat worn backwards and otherwise naked and one in the armor of a spanish conquistador, the breastplate and pauldrons deeply dented with old blows of mace or saber done in another country by men whose very bones were dust and many with their braids spliced up with the hair of other beasts until they trailed upon the ground and their horses’ ears and tails worked with bits of brightly colored cloth and one whose horse’s whole head was painted crimson red and all the horsemen’s faces gaudy and grotesque with daubings like a company of mounted clowns, death hilarious, all howling in a barbarous tongue and riding down upon them like a horde from a hell more horrible yet than the brimstone land of christian reckoning, screeching and yammering and clothed in smoke like those vaporous beings in regions beyond right knowing where the eye wanders and the lip jerks and drools.

Cringe

He needs them to help us understand his elementary opinions.

brainlets or just bait?

How anyone reads this shit, let alone praises it as literary genius on a par with Hemingway's or Joyce's, beats me.
Most of you probably know this essay:

theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2001/07/a-readers-manifesto/302270/

It's nearly twenty years old now but truer today than in 2001. "Serious American prose writing" today is, not just in McCarthy's case but in the case of almost any writer praised to the skies by the "intelligentsia", the pumping for all its worth of some affected and artificial "schtick" that the author in question lodges a copyright on in his first few novels and just keeps milking.

And in fact, even though the OP's quotation is an invented one, it reminds me that these heirs to Hemingway and Joyce are not just dismally aesthetically lazy; the aesthetic laziness nearly always goes hand in hand with the even more dismal moral and political laziness of the new Consensus of the Enlightened:
"The Judge raped another Indian and spat on the ground"....wow, he really does epitomize this evil America built on the sweat and blood of the oppressed and the disenfranchised that is always on the point of becoming, openly, the huge Fascist death camp that it has, of course, always secretly been.
McCarthy's readers, like this faggot nigger, for example

youtube.com/watch?v=aZggEtq7MR4

really do believe they see this tired, tedious Alexandra Ocasio Cortez narrative in a book like "Blood Meridian". And the sad thing is, they are probably not wrong.

I wish it was

>itt: plebs with no aesthetic sensibilities

>itt: patricians with well developed aesthetic tastes, thus disregarding Mccarthy's pathetic wannabe epic as a failure and Mccarthy as a poor writer

Pa. Why are eggs breakfast?

What.

You can put bacon on lunch.

Ye.

But if you put eggs on stuff it becomes breakfast?

The man spat and said the eggs are not for this world or from this world they come from the chicken but the chicken knows it not.

He wiped his chin and spat.

to be honest if you havent spent actual time (years) in places like the ones described, you are missing out on a lot

oops wrong thread XD

>The crickets and the rust-beetles scuttled among the nettles of the sage thicket. "Vámonos, amigos," he whispered, and threw the busted leather flintcraw over the loose weave of the saddlecock. And they rode on in the friscalating dusklight.

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>glanton crouched down to the old indian man and pulled up his hair and swiftly passed his corn tortilla around the mans head and took off his scalp and his bloody head looked like a big bowl of beans in the red sunset choked with dust

BM is the antithesis of AOC narratives, wtf are you talking about?
Even the epilogue subtly implies that buliding wall/fence between civilization is the ultimate solution to avoid further bloodshed

>itt man who communicates in memes criticising someone else's writing

I get the Corncob, but what's funny about 'Yecarthy'?

I like it. I'd read a whole book of this.

It’s because in his Tennessee novels he has a habit of saying “Ye” instead of “You” in dialogue

They're pseuds who hate it for being too readable, and yes there are a lot of butthurt Europeans involved.

m8 there's quite a bit of rape in that book if you weren't aware

>Before dawn they broke camp and the Judge recited the names of the constellations and the names of their meanings in the temporal and sootblack sky like a bowl of spilled tortillas that had no origin. Then the party emerged onto an open scree of dead Mexicans and savages raping the universe and the Judge said that in that vista was contained each thing and pointing to a piece of tortilla bread that had fallen on the ground said that both were the same.

Who the fuck was the Judge? Was he a demon?

Ye

Or people who like books with a female character, and find his occasional purple prose a bit tiresome

Drugs are bad, m'kay.

>muh post-modern existentialist western
>violence is really violent because it doesn't mean anything which is a metaphor for existence

The prose itself is violent. It's not meant to be stylized or dressed up in any way.

I never said that the read was difficult at all, brainlet. Pretentious does not mean difficult.
Read this 2deepforyou quote, how isn't it pretentious?
>Query: How does the never to be differ from what never was?
Laughable.

Americans are so stupid, why didn't they just fly the indian scalps to mordor?

this made me laugh out loud

>really do believe they see this tired, tedious Alexandra Ocasio Cortez narrative in a book like "Blood Meridian".
You haven't read the book, we get it.

The most common theory is that he was the embodiment of War, or the personification of man's worst nature.