All the Pretty Horses is the first novel in McCarthy’s remarkable The Border Trilogy. It chronicles the plight of sixteen-year-old John Grady Cole. He is a young man with an extraordinary love for the land and an equally unique devotion for the rearing of horses. When his grandfather dies and his parents separate, his mother plans to sell the ranch John grew up on in southern Texas. To escape the turmoil in his life, John sets out on horseback with his friend to explore the desert wilderness beyond the border in Mexico. John Grady’s quest for solace becomes a trial of survival and a search for decency in the face of madness. In examining the cruelty of the human condition, McCarthy locates through John Grady a redemptive quality that resonates with the harshest of lessons for the young man. No one creates mood and atmosphere in quite the same vivid and breathtaking fashion as does McCarthy. The beauty and precision of his prose wields a biblical-like power as he captures the merciless borderland and the depths of one’s fortitude and resilience. On its own, All the Pretty Horses is a masterpiece of contemporary American literature.

The Crossing is the second novel in McCarthy’s The Border Trilogy. It charts the life-altering experiences of two brothers, Billy and Boyd Parham. After the older brother Billy traps a marauding she-wolf, instead of killing the animal, he seeks to restore it to its home in the remote Mexican mountains. Upon his return to his family’s ranch, Billy discovers an unspeakable tragedy has occurred. He reunites with Boyd, and the brothers head back across the border in search of answers to what happened. Their journey puts them in the path of wanderers, philosophers, bandits, and entertainers. Against the backdrop of America’s entrance into the Second World War, the story both drains and fills the heart. McCarthy’s remarkable language skills and his incredible narrative abilities explore the profoundest questions of human existence and the keenest of lessons regarding the human condition. In chronicling the plight of his young heroes, he brings great compassion and understanding to the notions of loss and redemption. The Crossing is a major achievement and one of McCarthy’s most impressive books. It can be read separately from All the Pretty Horses.

Cities of the Plain is the third novel in McCarthy’s The Border Trilogy. It brings together the protagonists from each of the previous two volumes. John Grady Cole from All the Pretty Horses is now nineteen years old and nine years the junior of Billy Parham from The Crossing. Regardless of the disparity in their ages, the men share an inseparable friendship and a deep passion for riding horses and living off the land. They work as ranch hands for a respected landowner on his farm not far from the Mexican border. When John Grady tumbles helplessly in love with a sixteen-year-old Mexican prostitute from across the border, he provokes the ire of the girl’s pimp. John’s relentless desire to marry the girl leads him down a dangerous and fateful path. Billy’s attempts to protect his friend draw him into the violent turmoil where there is no turning back. As McCarthy does throughout volumes one and two of the trilogy, he makes the landscape and the characters who endure the rugged terrain as important an aspect of his writing as the story. The narrative stretches in many directions with keen insight about life on the ranch, but in the scenes that brim with action and tension, no writer is more adept at description and nuance than McCarthy. This is an admirable conclusion to an amazing trilogy. Anyone who wants to gain the full vision of McCarthy’s work will want to read all three volumes.

All the Pretty Horses
My first impression was that this book just wasn’t quite as immediately striking as The Road (one of my two favourite books of all time). That is to say, there were significant pros, but also some cons, which leads me to a “good,” rather than “great,” rating.

The undeniable and significant pro is that the world McCarthy recreates is captivating and leaves you with a lasting impression and an understanding of its reality. It is a world of men and horses, of grave injustice that is almost expected as a matter of fact, and justice that is self-made. It is a world of youth and childhood cut short, of free wandering and adventure, long nights and longer days. I return to this world as I flip casually through the pages of the book.

Dialogue is authentic to a fault. It is laconic; it is clearly Southern, and it is not complicated. At the same time, a few casual sentences sometimes touch on topics on which people have written volumes. They offer a refreshing, unrestrained and valuable perspective of a person with much intellect, but also much simplicity:

Coyotes were yapping along the ridge to the south. Rawlins leaned and tipped the ash from his cigarette into the fire and leaned back.

You ever think about dyin?

Yeah. Some. You?

Yeah. Some. You think there’s a heaven?

Yeah. Don’t you?

I don’t know. Yeah. Maybe. You think you can believe in heaven if you dont believe in hell?

I guess you can believe what you want to.

Rawlins nodded. You think about all the stuff that can happen to you, he said. There aint no end to it.

You fixin to get religion on us?

No. Just sometimes I wonder if I wouldnt be better off if I did.

This authenticity is also one of the impediments, in my reading at least, to the flow of the book, since some of the dialogue is in untranslated Spanish. This dialogue is not key, of course, but I found it a little unsettling that I could not understand everything.

Authenticity of setting, action and description also, on occasion, interfered with my ability to visualize the settings and events. There were terms I did not understand, some of them Spanish, others particular to the locale (such as names of plants and animals) and others relating to horses. Some segments were bogged in what seemed to be technical details. In a way, the world McCarthy describes is alien to me, but there are also no cues to its comprehension that are made deliberately available, as they would be in a work of science fiction.

I found it most difficult, however, to get used to the writer’s style, which purposely relies almost entirely on run-on sentences. Some sentences would be a third of a page long or more, and my “inner speaker” would be out of breath by their end. This is not to say that the writing is not beautiful or thoughtful:

"She rode with her hat pulled down in the front and fastened under her chin with a drawtie and as she rode her black hair twisted and blew about her shoulders and the lightning fell silently through the black clouds behind her and she rode all seeming unaware down through the low hills while the first spits of rain blew on the wind and onto the upper pasturelands and past the pale and reedy lakes riding erect and stately until the rain caught her up and shrouded her figure away in that wild summer landscape: real horse, real rider, real land and sky and yet a dream withal."

But looking at pages and pages of such writing for me, became tiresome and difficult to understand, which would cause me to put the book down from time to time to rest. My reading pace was slowed dramatically. A third of the way into the second book, and I am still not completely attuned to this; I’m still having trouble connecting with the trilogy because of it.

That said, I understand the author’s choice. This style, I think, harks back to the language of the protagonists themselves. The sentences that all have a purpose but almost border on rambling somehow correlate with descriptions of sprawling expanses of lonely roads. Sentences seem to get a little choppier towards the end, as if to highlight the stark differences between the hopefulness of travel in the first part of the novel and the sinister, matter-of-fact injustice that abruptly punctuates it in the latter half.

This somewhat abrupt punctuation was another roadblock for me, because it came very late in the novel. The first part of the book is, to a point, a pleasant and detailed account of a journey, but this journey, within the novel’s constraints, lasted too long, as did the account of life at the journey’s destination. Again, I understand this artistic choice - the turbulent later events were all the more unexpected; the long, quiet, lonely days of riding became all the more real, and life with horses at the hacienda becomes all the more idyllic. Nonetheless, at times, I found myself waiting for something to happen.

In reference to the work as a whole, then, though the pace was, at times, at a lull, and the style was, to me, a significant impediment, I do recommend All the Pretty Horses - its world is too different and vivid to pass by. When it comes to me personally, perhaps I am not as well suited a reader to this novel as others: I would feel much more at home if I had a better grasp of life in the American South.

As a final comment, I have heard a number of readers say that McCarthy’s work is depressing. Some avid readers shy away from him for this very reason. I’ve read two books of his, and his novels leave no room for rejoicing and much cause for disdain, to be sure. They may bring tears, and happy endings should not be expected.

I don’t find it depressing, however. Because I find that, ultimately, there is always some hope left.

Goodness does not persevere. But it persists.

The Crossing
A lot has changed since I’ve reviewed All the Pretty Horses. Another star was added to The Crossing, and yet another was added to the entire trilogy when I finished Cities of the Plain today (thoughts on that coming soon!). So, read, think, consider.

Some of the same limitations remained in this book as in the first, and I won’t expand on those here. There were run-on sentences, and lengthy technical scenes and Spanish. All the same, it felt like a different book.

First, the form. I’m not sure whether there was any distinct change in style, or whether this is a result of me becoming more accustomed to the rhythm of the novels, but The Crossing felt almost like a work of magical realism (at its best). There was no magic, but it seemed as though the novel was a fluid, and scenes and characters would flow naturally in and out of its fabric in the surreal way of legend. There were tales told by wise men and blind men and men searching for God. There was the tale of the mysterious bond between man and wolf, and man and horse, and there was a heroic quest to correct injustice.

I felt like The Crossing built on the world outlined in All the Pretty Horses and used it to probe the depths of the reader’s own consciousness. As I turned the pages, the book built in me a feeling of a sort of abstraction from the reality of the world. I felt like on its pages, the wise men and the blind men and the ways of this fictional world wanted to impart on me a truth about life and fate that I was not ready to understand, a truth concealed in legend and the ways of old, which obscured reality to the point of fiction. The overarching feeling I was left with is that there must be something more than the everyday we live, no matter how extraordinary that everyday may be. It seemed that these sages of Old Mexico I encountered together the characters knew some grand secret which they would only allude to in layers of metaphor and superstition and story.

I’m not sure exactly what this truth is. Perhaps The Crossing wants to show that there is some complexity and grand design to our existence that only an enlightened few can glimpse, and none can truly grasp. Billy and Boyd Parham (the main characters) appear to be destined to their life and their death by virtue of who they are, and their choice is but an illusion. As self-determined as the Americans think they are, it seems that damn near everyone except them feels like all that came was meant to be.

And in the end, all that was left of them or to them was their own story. McCarthy comes appears to come back repeatedly to the idea that only in being witnessed and recounted do events gain significance. The truth seems to be no more important or real than the legend it spawned. If anything, the legend holds more meaning.

At the same time, here is the eternal question present in any well-written book: does the author agree with what his characters say? Does he believe in fate and the power of the story, or does he just present a rumination of a people no longer relevant to modern lives? I couldn’t answer that definitively.

The novel’s very, very end was the most powerful. Everything done and said, after all that happened, all the pain and injustice visited on the Parhams was just a small part of the larger tapestry of events, a small part of the much larger story. I just can’t seem to get over the last sentence:

"He sat there for a long time and after a while the east did gray, and the right and godmade sun did rise, once again, for all and without distinction."

Cities of the Plain
The Border Trilogy grew on me in a way that I never expected it to. I’m happy that it took me a good few weeks to review it. In this time I’ve come to appreciate how much I really, genuinely loved it. It was one of those books that I think will remain with me for years. More than that, I think I may be falling in love with the idealization of the American South…

It is only after reading Cities of the Plain that I understood why The Border Trilogy is a trilogy. It is only after reading all three that you realize how deeply the novels complement each other, and how the ideas expressed take shape after you complete all three.

Stylistically, Cities of the Plain is, predictably, very similar to the first two novels I reviewed here and here. However, what before seemed like shortcomings and sources of confusion, becomes familiar, warm and dear. There is a sort of honesty, rawness, authenticity in the language as in the characters. I’ve grown accustomed to the idiosyncrasies and then grew to love them.

In substance, Cities of the Plain is a fitting end to McCarthy’s prior exploration. I think my ideas about the theme of fate were confirmed - the last sentence (above) is telling to that end. The events seem pre-ordained; some struggle in vain against the current, while others accept the eternal truth. Those who accept fate survive, yet the strugglers’ lives seem somehow more brilliant. The former life simmers, the latter - flames.

At the same time, I think that the entire trilogy highlights another point - the world is changing; the ways of old are being displaced, and with this, McCarthy seems to be saying, we are losing a piece of our collective wisdom and a certain beauty of a simpler life. I think I got a hint of that in The Crossing with the presence of "the sages of Old Mexico," who seemed to know a grander truth. This is echoed and expanded in Cities of the Plain, where we see cars subtly, almost imperceptibly, overtake horses, and see more and more ranches fade to black. We see an entire way of life crumble, as people become irrelevant and their values become outmoded. I fell in love with this life, however truthfully it may have been depicted. There is a goodness in it, a chivalry, principles that accept no compromise, no matter the personal cost.

The epilogue is a remarkably insightful end to the novel. It sees the process of displacement and irrelevance to completion. I won’t spoil it for you, but if you have or will ever read Cities of the Plain, I hope you consider what it made me think, and that is: we all have stories. Our own stories; our private stories that shape who we are and, unbeknownst to all, lead us to where we stand. That’s a powerful reason against judging people offhand…

We don’t know their stories.

I know enough Spanish to get the drift of what was said but it was frustrating to read this book. The idea that 16 and 17 year old boys could do what they did was hard to believe -- even if it was to have taken place early in the 20th century. I did not like the book. I gave it 2 stars because anyone who writes a book deserves at least that.

All the Pretty Horses - 4 Stars

The Crossing - 5 Stars

Cities of the Plain - 4.5 Stars

3.5*
A trilógia első része varázslatos, különleges, helyenként szívbemarkoló, azonban a következő kettő kötet már nem tudott felérni ennek az elsőnek a szintjére. Az atmoszféra továbbra is lebilincselő marad, a karakterek igazi baltával szabott kemény legények, akik ritkán szólnak, de akkor nagyot, viszont maga a történet ellaposodik és bár átélhet az olvasó pár magaslatot, mégis egy idő után kaland helyett inkább feladatnak érződik a monumentális kötet olvasása.

Tudtommal magyar nyelven 3 részben került kiadásra a Határ trilógia, érdemes lehet csak az elsőt beszerezni.

I am seriously never inviting this guy McCarthy over for a dinner party...whatever goodness and light his characters find at one point in the story eventually is engulfed by pain and darkness. But I am never ceased to be amazed at the high-wire act he pulls off with his words...I ought to be throwing the book across the room in disgust at the arch and over-developed prose, but instead, I get lost in it. One of the best prose stylists I've ever read.

1037 Pages, phew. I found the laconic characters ability to find a wide selection of plains philosophers, who like to talk at great length, quite remarkable. Enjoyed parts, but found the writing style quite peculiar, particularly the idiosyncratic punctuation. There were other oddities, like naming the character several lines into the scene, having begun it by refferring to (mostly) him, be it Billy or John Grady, as 'him'. Which meant that you had to work it out for yourself on many occassions.

Probably the most I’ve struggled with of all McCarthy’s works. First novel is absolutely wonderful, the second is crushing. The third was okay, and McCarthy’s writing doesn’t mesh well with the amount of characters he has on the page. It devolved into some strange exponential growth of dreams that I just couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of.

Good endings to good books should make it hard to sit down. Each novel of these three has conveyed their kinetic energy to me, and make me cramped and trapped in my studio apartment in a city instead of in the mountains. These are not easy books, his is not an easy style nor any easy content; they are brutal in their gore and their beauty, they are layered in their events and construction, and they leave you with a love of the Western landscape and admiration and terror at the creatures which inhabit it. I am sure I will pick all of these novels up many times over my life, encounter something new, and be the better for it.

I finished the final book of the trilogy -- "Cities of the Plain" -- and found that I enjoyed it much more than the first time I read it. It is really a masterpiece, bringing together the protagonists of the first two books, who are now good friends working on a ranch in West Texas outside of El Paso in the early 1950s.

One part of the book that impressed me was the depiction of the life of working cowboys of that era. I'm not sure how McCarthy could have written this without spending a lot of time living and observing on a ranch. His descriptions of training and riding horses, roping, and other details are fascinating. Another touch is the realistic dialog among the characters on the ranch. This is really the way that male friends interact with each other, and it is mainly through their dialog that the plot slowly unfolds.

The main storyline of the book plays out like a Shakespearean tragedy, and for all I know was based on one. It moved me a lot more than on my original reading and leads me to rate this book -- if not the trilogy -- among the best that I have read.

Throughout, McCarthy continues to expand on some of his favorite philosophical themes, but it almost never gets as heavy-handed as it did in the middle book, "The Crossing." Now if someone would only explain that one sequence in the epilogue chapter...

I’m obliged to review this trilogy as a whole. The prose, themes, and execution of these 3 novels alone set Cormac McCarthy apart as a master of literature. For what he does, there is none better. It is work to read and it is reward. The expansive themes of ideals, regret, humanity, and story layer into one of literature’s greatest meditations. These are books you study, discuss, reread, repeat.

Mi mancheranno i fagioli con tortillas di questi cowboy, nonché l'amore per i cavalli di John Grady <3