Did you think No Country For Old Men was terrifyingly and completely impassively violent?
Did you think The Road was a dystopia like no other?
Well, you have experienced nothing until you enter the depraved world of Lester Ballard. A Cormac McCarthy character that makes Hannibal Lector seem like Micky Mouse.
Except, the point is, this horror of a being could only get away with it, as a piece of ‘entertainment’ by being created by Cormac McCarthy. A man whose dexterity with the written word has no peer.
I assumed I’d missed the recent publication of this short novel, so vibrant is its prose (its poetry), because it is so adept, so crafted, so gifted, so mature; but in fact, it turns out it was published (once banned) in 1973.
It’s early work FFS.
It’s a man learning his craft.
The quality of his writing is colossal. Seriously, when you read about a man this depraved going about his depravity, yet you marvel at its beauty, it’s hard to reconcile.
I won’t spoil the plot for you, but approach with caution because a teacher was once fired for approving this as A-level (well the American equivalent) study material.
It’s that bad, yet it’s that great.