No Country for Old Men was no Blood Meridian, which many will recognize as one of my favorite books. Which is not to say that I could put it down -- I couldn't -- but once I did put it down I wasn't compelled to pick it back up again and go back to the first page.

I hate books where women are portrayed as The Angel in the House. God do I hate that.

No Country for Old Men reminded me a bit of the arc of de Kooning's career. He did those incredible, raging women and all those brutal brushstrokes, then in his later years modulated into a kind of limp decorative style. The interstitial italicized musings of the impotent cop in this book were treacly and sentimental, the opening scene too made-for-Hollywood for my taste, the villain, Anton Chiurgh, was no Judge.

LINK | 10:21 PM | TB

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