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Leonardo Konndeplus konndeplus — Blood Meridian is just about the perfect example of what literature can do that other art-forms cannot. Cormac McCarthy wrings every last drop of power and beauty from the English language - his descriptive ability is second to none, and his evocation of the North American landscape is rapturous, though he is as adept at describing the monstrous as he is the gorgeous. His characters are deftly sketched against this potent backdrop, insignificant in scale but remarkable in deed. The violence perpetrated by his characters is harrowing - the aforementioned landscape beautifully carved by McCarthy's divine prose is drenched with a river of blood, stained by the depraved human souls who tread arrogantly across it. It is not just McCarthy's peerless descriptive powers which raise the book to greatness, though, but his explorations of the human spirit and its struggle with mortality and(in)significance. There are passages which seem to scour the very edges of human contemplation and beyond that into the infinite - McCarthy's juxtaposition of the universal and the intimate can be deeply unsettling and therefore deeply satisfying. There is no levity to be found in this book, no safety net, no escape route - it is relentlessly and uncompromisingly bleak which, for me, is a great strength. Blood Meridian is a sustained death-stare into the eye of humanity, God/god and existence itself, and as such i'm immensely grateful to Cormac McCarthy for his ambition and fearlessness, as well as his profound literary gifts.