Grape Ripple Wrote:
saint Wrote:
Senator LOMIT LooGAR Wrote:
I read this in a single sitting on 4th of July. And I pretty much can't fucking shake it.
I wake up in the middle of the night and certain parts of it are in my head.
And, we had a power outage and it really fucking freaked me out (those that have read it know why.)
Trying to figure out if I really want to read anything else by the guy.
All that said - this had the potential to be an even BETTER movie, if it's done right.
I'm reading Blood Meridian right now, and it's brilliant. Highly recommended and not as soul shattering as the Road. More historical. Set in the Mexico/Texas west of the 1840s.
As much as I love The Road, Blood Meridian is probably the better novel. It's a whole lot more demanding though. The language is so dense it demands your absolute attention. And a dictionary. The Judge is probably in my top three of all time favorite literary characters. Word is that Ridley Scott is turning BM into a move as well. Not sure who they could possibly cast as The Judge though. You would have to have someone whose physical presence was overwhelming. I always though De Nero could do it but you'd have to put him on stilts.
Correction. Looks like Todd Field is now set to direct. That's a much better choice than Ridley Scott.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0983189/this part of the blood meridian chilled me to the bone:
***
He pressed the leaves of trees and plants into his book and he stalked tiptoe the mountain butterflies with his shirt outheld in both hands, speaking to them in a low whisper, no curious study himself. Toadvine sat watching him as he made his notations in the ledger, holding the book toward the fire for the light, and he asked him what was his purpose in all this.
The judge's quill ceased its scratching. He looked at Toadvine. Then he continued to write again.
Toadvine spat into the fire.
The judge wrote on and then he folded the ledger shut and laid it to one side and pressed his hands together and passed them down over his nose and mouth and placed them palm down on his knees.
Whatever exists, he said. Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent.
He looked about at the dark forest in which they were bivouacked. He nodded toward the specimens he'd collected. These anonymous creatures, he said, may seem little or nothing in the world. Yet the smallest crumb can devour us. Any smallest thing beneath yon rock out of men's knowing. Only nature can enslave man and only when the existence of each last entity is routed out and made to stand naked before him will he be properly suzerain of the earth.
What's a suzerain?
A keeper. A keeper or overlord.
Why not say keeper then?
Because he is a special kind of keeper. A suzerain rules even where there are other rulers. His authority countermands local judgements.
Toadvine spat.
The judge placed his hands on the ground. He looked at his inquisitor. This is my claim, he said. And yet everywhere upon it are pockets of autonomous life. Autonomous. In order for it to be mine nothing must be permitted to occur upon it save by my dispensation.
Toadvine sat with his boots crossed before the fire. No man can aquaint himself with everything on this earth, he said.
The judge tilted his great head. The man who believes that the secrets of the world are forever hidden lives in mystery and fear. Superstition will drag him down. The rain will erode the deeds of his life. But that man who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry will by the decision alone have taken charge of the world and it is only by such taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate.
I don't see what that has to do with catchin birds.
The freedom of birds is an insult to me. I'd have them all in zoos.
That would be a hell of a zoo.
The judge smiled. Yes, he said. Even so.
