Question 1: Example, please?
Question 1.5: In what way does the example not make sense grammatically?
Question 2.0-2.(n): To what degree does grammar 'matter'? Is conformance to some prescriptive view of grammar essential to 'good' writing? What is the function of grammar - precision and disambiguation? Are there contexts in which grammar can or should be subservient to other linguistic effects, such as prosody? Are there other phenomenological effects of reading to which grammar may or may not be relevant?
An exercise for the motivated reader: Read 'A Carafe that is a Blind Glass' by Gertrude Stein. What does it feel like? What does it evoke? What are we doing mentally when we read it? What are we doing when we read?
To be fair—his writing's a lot more challenging than most. Even most other literary writing. Even most other literary writing that's widely regarded as challenging. Editing it to conform to language & grammatical norms would definitely make it a lot easier to read.
> What is the function of grammar - precision and disambiguation? Are there contexts in which grammar can or should be subservient to other linguistic effects, such as prosody? Are there other phenomenological effects of reading to which grammar may or may not be relevant?
And this is the "on the other hand": on the other hand—and most unusually—reigning in that deviation from norms, at all, would, nonetheless, make his writing worse. Some writing can tolerate bending even the more well-considered and empathetic of writing rules—his required breaking them. Demanded it, and demanded a whole other set of rules of his own making, exactly as a poem may break the rules of prose writing, while strictly following a whole other set of rules, all to good effect.
And grammer matters to the extent that the sentance is able to convey its meaning clearly to the reader. In my opinion, McCarthy does not hit this mark in a lot of case. Maybe im too dense, but his mixture of invented hick language, completely fucked up punctuation, and flowery/poetic language, is often very tough to sus out. What is actually supposed to be happening is often not so clear.
That the reader is required to make some effort to un-knot the language is a legitimate tool of the poet. Some are too impatient, used to sound-bytes from a tv personality perhaps, and won't open them selves to something novel or evocative. It has to 'make sense' grammatically and semantically. Poetry is often neither of those.
Ultimately this is all a matter if taste
Not a fan myself.
you should separate yourself from that notion.
it's true that authors can be damaged individuals with little personal hope, but some of the most macabre things ever written have been conjured by perfectly normal/well-functioning/happy individuals who enjoy fairly well-balanced lives -- it's simply not a good indicator of the person behind the pen.
as for the grammatic non-sense (to which I agree can be exactly that, non-sense) I always read it as if it were sort of styled similarly to the concept of 'beat poetry'. Grammar and syntax goes out the door for prose/beauty/imagery and style.
I read "Suttree", and it was a mixed bag for me. I loved "All the Pretty Horses" and "The Road".
But…
> I was flat out offended by the book
That was entirely up to you. That was a decision you made and blamed on someone else. I feel like that is something important to consider with your first sentence.
Im actually quite hard to offend but when a sick fuck publishes and makes money of his disgusting pornography, its upsetting. If it had some real artistic merit in my estimation I would not be so bothered.
But clearly this is all subjective. It just crossed a line with me, and the work wasnt meaningful enough to justify it.
Do yourself a favor and read Blood Meridian. It's been said many times that you are not the same person when you're done reading it. I fully agree.
Take The Road, for example. The notion of assessing the probabilities that you'll have enough ammunition to either kill multiple assailants, or alternatively, need to keep the ammunition to kill yourself and your son seems sickening and pointless to explore to some people. Taken seriously and with an open mind, it can invoke serious contemplation of your values, what life means to you, what compassion can really mean, how you take what you have for granted, and more.
As awful as it is to consider, there are real people who have had to make these decisions. That there can be a state of existence in this world where these are pressing matters is simultaneously bewildering and disgusting, yet eye-opening in ways I consider important to living better even outside of that context.
The relentless and ruthless tunnel of gloom and suffering in that book is a useful tool to remind yourself in a vivid way: It's all still here. I'm alive. The trees are green, the rain is clean, the grains are growing for a fall harvest I can still reasonably expect will arrive — life is pretty good. And yet life can get so much worse. Perhaps I should value this moment so much more than I was prior to these thoughts.
Cormac took the very real, very disgusting parts of humanity and wove horrifying tapestries from it. But they're not purely for the sake of shock and disgust. The contrast of what he depicts — held up to most readers' realities — provides a heightened sense of the inverse of what he describes, allowing you to realize much better how beautiful the good parts of humanity are. Left to our own imaginations, most of us are not only unlikely to wade into that darkness, but we also lack the sheer depth and breath of skill he has in bringing it to life. What he offers is a sort of simulation of something otherwise inaccessible to most of us.
I'd make the case that without this exploration, our perception of life can be duller. I'd never want that dullness to be sharpened by real experience though; I'd much rather brush against that reality in the form of a story.
Human senses are calibrated by relative experience. Whether it be taste, sight, smell, touch, or even emotion: you won't recognize what feels good or what is better without experiencing what's worse in some way or another. The harrowing experience of imagining the vulnerability and suffering of loved ones or yourself might actually be an excellent tool for recalibrating and hardening your desire to see people safe and thriving. It may reestablish how crucial it is not to let the world descend into what Cormac describes. It can open your mind to possibilities you hadn't considered in ways that aren't strictly hypothetical or for the sake of pure masochism.
In defense of an otherwise entirely useless comment, you weren't really speaking ill of the dead, you were speaking ill of his work.
> To make matters worth he cant write worth a damn.
OK tough guy.
You didn’t like the book? Fine, but attacking his capabilities as a writer is ridiculous. He’s one of the greatest authors in a generation.
Also Id like to clarify I am basing my opinion solely on the one book of his ive tried to read- child of god
Ok, but can you see any beauty in the fact that he wrote words that evoked such a response? How much do you read on a daily basis that evokes absolutely nothing and passes without memory? Read some of his other stuff if you didn’t like this particular novel.
I was just offended.
A friend gave me a copy of "Child of God" amd frankly it was the most disgusting, dark, unrewarding, unethical, uninspired, uniteresting, poorly written books ive ever read.
I was flat out offended by the book and repeatedly had to set it down and fume about how unnecessarily disgusting he was being. I never finished it. I got the impression that cormac was a thoroughly disturbed individual with a macabre fascination with the most fucked up 0.00001% of humanity. To make matters worth he cant write worth a damn.
I will say his metaphors can be quite beautiful hut they often make no sense grammatically.
Tldr : Cormac Mccarthy is not for me.