18 March 2012
Some Place Other Than Reno
Have not been doing much book reading for a while now. Most all the writers I like: Kerouac, Burroughs, Thompson, Bukowski, Hemingway - those fuckers are all dead. The dead do not write so good.
A man has to read however. Especially a sawmill man like me. Go motherfucking crazy without a book buzzing through your skull like a stone loosed carbide tip every so often.
So I picked up a few old Cormac McCarthy novels. I liked "The Road" and "No Country For Old Men." Read them a summer or two back. Could be I can relate to survivors of the fucking apocalypse and those torn up or felled by the sick fucking endless bullshit we know as the Lost War On Drugs.
Just finished the first one. Called "All the Pretty Horses." Fine piece of writing. American writing. Guess you would want to get yourself a copy if you like that sort of thing, have an interest in Mexico, horses or how it feels to kill a man some place other than Reno.
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4 comments:
Read "All The Pretty Horses" first. Could open that up right now, pick a paragraph-read, and be blown away.
Like that, isn't it?
I highly recommend trying out Ken Bruen, a desperately bleak, honest, terse Irish crime writer.
When I am next in a book shop I will buy or order something from Bruen. A little desperate bleakness might just brighten up yet another soggy day.
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