Wow. I really need to let this magnificent epic settle for a couple of days.

Wow.

The landscapes are splendid, the writing is spare yet intense, and the characters are memorable.

McCarthy indeed confirms himself as one of my all-time favorites.

This work truly leaves a deep impression on me. The vivid descriptions of the landscapes make me feel as if I am actually there, experiencing the beauty and harshness of the frontier. The spare yet intense writing style adds to the overall atmosphere and makes the story even more engaging. And those memorable characters, they are so well-developed that I can't help but be drawn into their lives and emotions.

McCarthy's talent in storytelling is simply remarkable. I can't wait to explore more of his works and continue to be amazed by his literary genius.

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I have this somewhat hazy notion of going back and penning reviews of some of my most cherished books, ones that I devoured long before I even knew about Goodreads. Strangely enough, though, it seems significantly more challenging to write reviews for the books I hold dearest. I'm not entirely certain why this is the case - perhaps it's because I have such intense emotions towards these books that are like old, beloved friends. Sifting through all of my profound feelings and associations with them to discover the appropriate words feels nearly insurmountable. So, here's my disclaimer that this will likely be a meandering, infatuated jumble of thoughts, rather than a true, well-structured review.

I hold an enormous amount of respect for Cormac McCarthy's talent, and I've been deeply impressed by everything I've ever read by him. Having said that, these three books are the only ones that I truly adore. I love almost every aspect of them, from the unique, magnificent poetry of McCarthy's syntax and the depth of his philosophy to the complexity of his main characters, whom I cherish dearly. I also appreciate how deeply he draws on numerous archetypes and myths that span nearly every era of World Literature. You can really dig deep with McCarthy, folks - as deep as any literature-loving English major or book nerd dares to venture. Personally, I composed a 30-page paper on the role of myth and legend in the trilogy for a graduate-level literature class, and it was my favorite paper that I wrote in college. There was just so much to sink my teeth into, and I've never enjoyed analyzing literature as much before or since.

The first book in the trilogy is the most renowned, having won the National Book Award and frequently appearing on AP Literature exams, among other things. (And also, unfortunately, serving as the inspiration for an abysmally bad film version starring Matt Damon.) All the Pretty Horses is the boyhood tale of John Grady Cole, a post-World War version of a questing knight. His journey into the wild, open land of Mexico, in search of a world that may no longer exist (if it ever did, outside of stories), is, at the simplest level, a brilliantly crafted coming-of-age story. However, instead of the cliched resolution (where the adolescent loses his innocence and idealism after confronting the harsh realities/darkness of life), John Grady, the true Quixotic hero, manages to find a path where the idealism and belief in beauty endure beyond the loss of innocence, and I think that's a truly magnificent thing.

The second book in the trilogy, The Crossing, is my absolute favorite of the three. I have an immense love for the two young brothers, Billy and Boyd, and McCarthy's writing is so raw and beautiful that it sometimes physically pains. I also love his masterful incorporation of the Corrido (Spanish ballads about oppression, history, and tragedy, and often Quixotic reform) and the social bandit/outlaw myth. But it's Billy's story above all else, how his deeply sensitive nature is both shaped by and shapes fate, and how he is fated to love and desperately attempt to save wild, doomed creatures - both human and animal. I really can't say much more about this one, as I'll either end up giving away copious spoilers or shedding tears, or perhaps both.

The third and final book, Cities of the Plain, covers a much longer time period and concludes the stories of the two protagonists from the other books, Billy and John Grady. While, in my opinion, this is the weakest in the trilogy, McCarthy's weakest is still superior to most contemporary novels I've read. And I love the relationship that develops between Billy and John Grady, and how seamless and authentic their characterization is throughout the trilogy.

While any of the three books can be read independently, in my view, they shouldn't be. The full impact of McCarthy's poignant story about these two young men, and all that they loved and lost, can only be felt by reading all three together.

I cry, I cry, I cry.

My tears flow freely, as if they have a life of their own. They trickle down my cheeks, leaving a wet trail in their wake. I don't know why I am crying, but the pain in my heart is so intense that I can't hold it back any longer.

Maybe it's because of the stress and pressure of life. Maybe it's because of a broken relationship or a lost opportunity. Or maybe it's just because I'm feeling so alone and helpless in this big, wide world.

Whatever the reason, I know that crying is a natural and healthy way to release my emotions. It helps me to feel better, even if only for a little while. So I let the tears fall, and I hope that they will wash away all the pain and sadness that is weighing me down.

I have an intense love for these books!

I first delved into All the Pretty Horses during my high school days, and was so captivated by it that I immediately embarked on reading his other works.

By far, these are my absolute favorites among his collection.

I am truly enamored with his writing style, and the southwest setting in his books always stirs within me a powerful sense of wanderlust.

It would be incredibly wonderful to have a lifestyle that is so devoid of possessions and responsibility.

However, on the other hand, I must admit that I do cherish the comforts that modern society has to offer.

Admittedly, these books are all rather violent, but if one can look beyond that aspect, they will come to appreciate one of the greatest authors of all time.

His works have the power to transport readers to another world, filled with vivid imagery and complex characters that leave a lasting impression.

I highly recommend these books to anyone who has a passion for literature and a desire to explore different cultures and lifestyles.

They are truly a gem in the world of literature and deserve to be read and cherished by all.

My favorite novelist has produced three more outstanding works that have withstood the test of time, as they still hold up really well even 15 years after I last read them. "All the Pretty Horses" is perhaps the most "entertaining" McCarthy novel I've read so far. It tells the story of two young people who fall in love against their better judgment, and although it ends badly, McCarthy presents it less as a tragic tale and more as a story of young people learning valuable lessons by pushing their own boundaries, a theme that recurs in all three books. However, being McCarthy's work, there is an abundance of violence, conflict, and hurt feelings. And, as always, the writing is superb. McCarthy's skills are most evident in two extended sequences that are truly breathtaking. The first is the incredibly violent attempt by a Mexican knifeman to kill the protagonist, John Grady Cole. The second is an extended twenty-page monologue by an old woman, who tells Cole about the hardships of her life and, in a masterful way, weaves in the history of Mexico's Civil War and the way women have been treated there throughout history.

The second novel, "The Crossing," focuses on another young man, Billy Parham, who loses his parents at a young age. Even before that, he experiences a series of misadventures that force him, sometimes against his will and sometimes to his liking, to cross the border into Mexico. He has a brother who also gets into an unwise relationship, and so on. Some of the best passages in this novel include Billy's mythical and very cautious "friendship" with a female wolf and, during his many travels, an encounter with a Yaqui Indian.

Finally, in "Cities of the Plain," among other things, John Grady Cole and Billy Parham unite. The former gets into another ill-conceived relationship. Although this novel starts out the slowest of the three, it still has many powerful passages, including another knife fight and lots of great descriptions of how Cole, a kind of horse whisperer, views horses as much wiser beings than most of the other characters.

Below is one of my favorite short passages, taken from "The Crossing": [The passage from the original text is repeated here]

America studies itself in the mirror of Mexico.

This is by far the best Cormac McCarthy book I’ve read. It is definitely the most entertaining one among them. With McCarthy, I have always struggled mightily to find the message hidden within his novels. However, it is not the case in this particular one. In this book, the message is at times more explicit, as seen in the ramblings of the characters, and at other times implicit, through the plot of the story itself. This makes it much easier for someone like me to understand.

The book is existentialist in nature, but McCarthy does not seem to be inclined to give a detailed answer to the questions he poses. This is precisely what makes the book, and indeed all of his works, so poignant. The central themes seem to be that God exists, yet we do not understand him, and the human tragedy continues unabated. It is truly a sad book that leaves a lasting impression on the reader.

I don't think I could truly review these books individually.

Nor do I suggest reading them with long intervals in between.

Rather, plowing straight through all three, in my opinion, is the optimal approach.

McCarthy's complexity as both a writer and a philosopher truly shines through in this trilogy.

I believe that some of the subtleties and a great deal of the enjoyment would be forfeited if one were not to read them consecutively.

Having read and adored The Road, I anticipated being immediately drawn in, but this was not the case with All the Pretty Horses.

In fact, I got a bit bored and had to really concentrate on what was happening to stay engaged.

However, I had faith in McCarthy and felt that the way he chose to tell this story would prove significant, as it indeed did.

It definitely has a slower pace compared to The Road.

Just relax and enjoy them.

At times, you'll be completely riveted, and at others, you'll be challenged, having to encounter numerous different philosophies as the protagonists progress on their journeys.

I appreciate that McCarthy challenges me as a reader.

I really dislike being "written down to."

There were occasions when I had to accept that I wasn't entirely sure what had just occurred, but it always became clear if I persevered intellectually.

One major drawback for me in reading these is that I don't speak Spanish.

Much of the dialogue remained a mystery to me.

Perhaps that was where some of the challenge lay in figuring certain things out.

I did feel that either my intuition and application of cognates was improving or McCarthy spelled out more of the dialogue by the third book.

I do plan to learn Spanish one day, and I think I'll reread these all over again.

Although the story will be familiar to me, the philosophies are such that as your life changes, they will hold different meanings for you.

One of those books you feel guilty for not liking.

It is very well written, and the countryside is beautifully described. The author has a great talent for painting a vivid picture of the rural setting, making you almost feel as if you are there.

However, I just didn't really "feel" this book. There was too much untranslated Spanish, which made it difficult for me to fully understand the story. I tried to look up the translations as I read, but then the story lost its flow.

By the end, I was exhausted from constantly stopping to look up words. It's a shame because I think the story had potential, but the language barrier really detracted from my enjoyment.

I'm sure there are many people who would love this book, but unfortunately, it just wasn't for me.

I am truly obliged to review this trilogy as a unified whole.

The prose within these three novels is simply remarkable. It flows with a unique cadence and beauty that draws the reader in and refuses to let go.

The themes explored are equally profound. McCarthy delves deep into the ideals that drive us, the regrets that haunt us, and the very essence of humanity.

The execution of these novels is flawless. Every word, every sentence, seems to be carefully chosen and placed to create a work of art.

For what Cormac McCarthy accomplishes with this trilogy, there is truly no one better. It is a body of work that demands to be read, studied, discussed, and reread.

It is a rewarding experience that will stay with the reader long after the final page has been turned.

These novels are not just books; they are a meditation on the human condition and a testament to the power of literature.

They are a must-read for anyone who loves great writing and wants to explore the deeper themes of life.

McCarthy's trilogy is a masterpiece that will be remembered and cherished for generations to come.

Effectively, this frontier trilogy has an epic breath that makes it a bit different from other McCarthy's books. There is much less violence, fewer descriptions, and well-defined characters who experience emotions. It almost seems that the two protagonists represent the heart and reason, set against each other. However, for me, there is a lack of the oxymoron of the beauty of nature with the cruelty of violence that I love so much about this author.

This trilogy takes the reader on a journey through the wild frontier, exploring themes of love, loss, and the human condition. The characters are complex and multi-dimensional, and their relationships are both heartwarming and heartbreaking.

While the absence of the typical McCarthy violence may disappoint some readers, it allows for a more in-depth exploration of the characters' inner lives. The author's writing style is as beautiful as ever, painting vivid pictures of the landscape and the people who inhabit it.

Overall, this trilogy is a worthy addition to McCarthy's body of work, offering a unique perspective on the American frontier.

Cowboy quest stories that are seasoned with a generous helping of existential despair, manifested by the seeping awareness that the way of life you know is disintegrating right before your eyes as you live it? Count me in for the ride!

I don't have the impression that McCarthy aimed to write a cowboy story (or stories) as much as pen a lengthy dissertation on why there's no longer a way to write a cowboy story. Or at least why he isn't going to write one. Many of the elements are there, men in hats, guns, the windswept scenery, bandits, wolves, and horses, but it's as if someone assembled them in the wrong sequence, resulting in something horribly dismal, a collection of ingredients left out for far too long and already showing signs of deterioration. It can make for immersive reading and at times even gripping reading, but it's not exactly feel-good material.

This compact hardcover combines three of his more renowned novels, one of which was adapted into a movie. They are not so much a trilogy as thematically connected, with the main characters of the first two books joining forces in the third to finally witness the idea of the Wild West as we know it meet its end, or at least assist it in realizing that it's been crippled and needs to be put out of its misery for its own good.

With that cheerful introduction, let's move on to the good times:

"All the Pretty Horses": This is the one I've heard of, mainly because they made it into an apparently not-so-great movie that I've never seen. On some level, this is probably the most accessible of the bunch, even though the prose style doesn't initially seem to lend itself to that. John Grady Cole, facing the possibility of his ranch being sold, heads to Mexico with his best friend to find work herding things, presumably cattle. Among other things, they encounter a potentially psychotic teenager, John falls in love, and they get a tour of the Mexican prison system in a way that doesn't require paying admission. None of it, aside from a stab at a tragic love story, could be considered pleasant or even life-affirming.

However. The prose in this novel struck me the most out of the three, even though the style isn't that significantly different. It might be the novelty factor, or perhaps McCarthy has a tighter grip on his looseness, if that makes any sense. His sentences come across as layered fever dreams, knotted and intertwined before suddenly unraveling into glorious descriptions of the scenery. The lack of punctuation elevates what could have been a story of routine melodrama into something a bit more epic and mythological, three young men traversing the crumbling ruins of an old way of life, attempting to find their place within it even as it tries to consume them. It's brutal in parts, and unforgiving in the way that cluster bombs are. McCarthy depicts all the degradations that the boys endure in prison with a jaundiced eye, but the summary execution of someone is handled off-screen with minimal fuss, as if the book was too preoccupied with other matters to even bother with someone being killed.

None of it would work at all if John Grady wasn't drawn so rigidly, defined in opposition to a system that constantly changes shape to suffocate him. Absolutely no one is on his side, and he basically survives by being unyielding, implacably refusing to bend no matter how sensible it might seem. He has poor judgment in women but an unwavering moral compass, and his conviction to not only do the right thing but ensure that the right thing is done drives the core of the novel. In that sense, he seems to be attempting to preserve the spirit of the plains and the old West through sheer will and gravitational pull alone.

But if there's a glimmer of romance in "All the Pretty Horses", "The Crossing" completely does away with all that to go cavorting with wolves. Actual wolves, not metaphorical ones. The description of the plot for the novel leads one to believe that the entire novel could be titled "A Boy and His Muzzled Wolf", when in reality it takes up only a very small part of it. Instead, it features a series of excursions into Mexico, first by young Billy Parham alone and later joined by his brother Boyd. The first part involves a wolf, the second part involves a journey for revenge, and the remainder deals with the aftermath of that revenge and an attempt to find some closure where the wound has already been cauterized. Nothing makes sense, and all he can do is cope. But even the act of coping could change him completely.

It's a more difficult book to get into. For one thing, the prose here seems scaled back to something more resembling normal, and while the descriptions are still vivid, the rhythm lacks the heady rush of the first novel. Where it does succeed is in transforming Mexico into a kind of alien fairyland, a place steeped in mystery and mythology, an aura that can be felt every time Billy and (later) Boyd cross into that other territory. It's not as simple as going to a place where people speak a different language but a place where all the rules are different, with an internal logic that has to be deciphered before any progress can be made. Since the book tends to focus more on Billy becoming a man (or "not a boy"), the plot is a bit more meandering than the first novel, with the story lurching from point to point like a series of short stories featuring the same people. In some portions, it speeds up to achieve a kind of power, an attack by bandits, a family revelation, a harrowing search, but it never builds momentum for very long, leading the less patient to probably wonder "where is he going with this?" The fact that large amounts of the dialogue are in Spanish doesn't help... it emphasizes the Otherness of Mexico since (at least for me, being monolingual) having large swaths of the book rendered incomprehensible except through context (which is possible) makes you feel as if you've stumbled into a place where you really don't belong.

But it's necessary as a bridge to get us to "Cities of the Plain", where all the themes come together just in time to come crashing down joyfully. John Grady and Billy are working on the same ranch where things seem to be winding down due to a drought. The specter of the US Army looms nearby, never seen but existing in sideways dialogue, ready to take over the lands at any moment. But everything seems to be going well, with John Grady furthering his skill at breaking horses ("All the Pretty Horses" revealed him to be a master horse whisperer, which probably looks better on your resume than "failed romantic", although "survived Mexican prison with only minor stab wounds" could be a useful life skill) and Billy rarely mentioning that he used to have a brother and a wolf, neither of which are necessary for anyone to know but might be nice conversation starters for those long nights out on the range.

Of course, a book about everyone having a good time on a ranch wouldn't be as much fun for the rest of us, and fortunately, while John Grady has learned many life lessons, making good choices in the world of romance clearly wasn't one of them as he falls in love with not just a prostitute, but one with a seizure disorder. And not just an epileptic lady of the streets, but one whose pimp might have fallen in love with her. Oh, and did I mention the pimp has a nasty violent streak? All the ingredients for a tragic ending are present, and this elevates the book considerably above the one before it, making the entire trilogy's tendency to suddenly veer into philosophical digressions more palatable when the aura of doom hovers over everything. The presence of John Grady helps as well, his steady intractability and sureness contrasting with the "live and let crumble" attitude of everyone else on the ranch. Once a plan takes hold for him to marry the young lady and get her away from the life she leads, we lurch into a plodding escalation that verges on the Biblical, everyone fairly certain that none of this will end well but unable to stop themselves from ensuring it ends even worse.

The literary idiosyncrasies that color McCarthy's work, the elevation of the mundane into the mythical, discussions of dreams that practically shout "This is full of meaning", the desperate circling of the characters in such a way that reminds you of nothing more than a drain over a garbage disposal, all of that comes into play here, but with the entire book focused on the idea of "This is the end of a way of life", it means that every stray line of dialogue becomes twisted towards that end, regardless of whether it wants to or not, adding weight to all these circumstances that can't be entirely ignored. It turns a story from a cautionary tale of why bringing a knife to a knife fight is more useful than you'd think into a meditation on what happens when no one bothers with knife fights anymore. Nobody ends up happy, but, as the song says, even if things had worked out, they probably wouldn't have been happy anyway because the life that sustains that happiness is disappearing.

That disintegration is heightened in the epilogue, picking up with one of the characters years later, in a world that he has no place in but may still have a place for him. "Elegiac" seems too simplistic a word to describe it, but after reading a significant portion of three novels that seem to be funerals for a body that hasn't died yet, it's considerably more optimistic than anything that came before it. The people who can't adapt are better off staying behind, it seems to be suggesting, because the new contours of the world would have left them no room to breathe anyway. The ones that survive are the people who allow their bones to be broken so they can fit inside and keep on living. It's a trade-off perhaps, and if the price of life is the sawing pain of the sharp edges of the shattered splinters inside that never quite goes away, well, they'll take that as a final reminder of the world they once had and consider it a fair trade.

Things that are detached from their stories lack significance.

The first two novels in The Border Trilogy have distinct protagonists and are set approximately a decade apart. Both John Grady Cole in ‘All the Pretty Horses’ and Billy Parham in ‘The Crossing’ are young cowboys who travel between the US southwest and northern Mexico. The third novel, ‘Cities of the Plains’, begins in the early 1950s with Cole and Parham together at a ranch in New Mexico, just north of El Paso.

‘It was vaquero country and other men’s troubles were alien to it and that was about all that could be said.’

Among the three novels, my favorite is ‘The Crossing’: Billy Parham’s ill-fated attempt to take a trapped female wolf ‘home’ to Mexico. Billy’s struggle to save this wolf is heroic, yet like much else in his life, it is unsuccessful. In ‘All the Pretty Horses’, John Grady Cole’s search to find the owner of Jimmy Blevins’s horse is also a doomed quest. Nevertheless, the story itself is a masterpiece and a tribute to a way of life – a culture – that is rapidly disappearing. In ‘Cities of the Plains’, the way of life that John Cole and Billy Parham are familiar with is coming to an end. The Army will be taking over the land. John has fought – and lost – his own battle to free his beloved from her life as a prostitute, and Billy Parham is alone again. Or perhaps still.

The fates of Billy Parham and John Grady Cole are inescapable. Their existence is merely a tiny part of an infinite whole: the journeyers are less significant than their journeys.

‘Our privileged view into this one night of this man’s history impresses upon us the realization that all knowledge is a borrowing and every fact a debt.’

I am haunted by these stories. There is a power in the writing that is quite distinct from the events being described, captivating me for hours. And yet, the prose is not neat and tidy, and the journey is not polished and complete. The people are, in most ways, far less important than the landscape they inhabit and the times they live in – at least in my reading.

‘The world was made new each day and it was only men’s clinging to its vanished husks that could make of that world one husk more.’

Jennifer Cameron-Smith