I thought it might help me through this little episode my brain is having (we fight a lot, he and I--and no, I don't know why I've given my brain a masculine identity) if I had something else to focus on besides college, college, and more college. So even though I'm sure there aren't a ton of people who are super excited to hear my opinions about literature--except my mother; hi Mom!--I'm going to go ahead and put them here anyway. I think it will be good for me, which is reason enough for me to do it.
Look at me, I have opinions on things. Look at all these opinions I have.
Anyway, I'm reading about six books at the moment because I can't concentrate on one thing for very long, so I'm sure these writings will jump around a lot. I'm going to start off with a book I've already finished, and to I'm sure no one's great surprise, it's a Cormac McCarthy book--but surprise! It's not Blood Meridian! It's Suttree.
I started reading Suttree mostly as a part of my ongoing quest to read everything McCarthy has ever written.
Side note: it always bothers me to call him McCarthy, because I immediately think of Joe McCarthy, who is not worth mentioning in any context. Thanks for ruining that last name for me, Joe.
But Suttree. Which doesn't really have anything to do with Communists as far as I know. Although I guess you could argue that some of them had some pretty Commie ideas. Anyway. Suttree was rough going for me, because it's incredibly dense, even for McCarthy. The plot kind of meanders, as opposed to say No Country for Old Men or All the Pretty Horses, where there's a very defined narrative. But even though it took me ages to finish it, Suttree is still one of my favorite McCarthy books (which is kind of like saying chocolate is my favorite kind of cake--why pick just one?).
I think my favorite passage from Suttree is this one:
I've seen all I want to see and I know all I want to know. I just look forward to death.
He might hear you, Suttree said.
I wisht he would, said the ragpicker. He glared out across the river with his redrimmed eyes at the town where dusk was settling in. As if death might be hiding in that quarter.
No one wants to die.
Shit, said the ragpicker. Here's one that's sick of livin.
Would you give all you own?
The ragman eyed him suspiciously but he did not smile. It wont be long, he said. An old man's days are hours.
And what happens then?
When?
After you're dead.
Dont nothin happen. You're dead.
You told me once you believed in God.
The old man waved his hand. Maybe, he said. I got no reason to think he believes in me. Oh I'd like to see him for a minute if I could.
What would you say to him?
Well, I think I'd just tell him. I'd say: Wait a minute. Wait just one minute before you start in on me. Before you say anything, there's just one thing I'd like to know. And he'll say: What's that? And then I'm goin to ast him: What did you have me in that crapgame down there for anyway? I couldn't put any part of it together.
Suttree smiled. What do you think he'll say?
The ragpicker spat and wiped his mouth. I dont believe he can answer it, he said. I dont believe there is a answer. (Suttree, pg 258)
I like it so much for a few different reasons. First, I think it shows the theme of the book very well in just a short dialogue (although with McCarthy, pinning down theme is always difficult). Most of the main characters are very poor people who seem to be a little lost as far as what they're supposed to be doing with their life, or their luck has run out, or they've just given up entirely. They can't "put any part of it together" as far as life goes.
Also, I love that the ragpicker is calling God out on how the world works. Essentially, he's saying that if he were to ask God what his life was supposed to mean, he would expect no answer. That, to me, is another key theme of Suttree: a bunch of people constantly wondering if their life, or anything they do, has any real meaning or value.
Suttree also has several hilarious parts (a kid fucks a watermelon--no, really), and I'd highly recommend it if you're okay with the stream of consciousness sort of narrative. There are several other excellent parts I could highlight, but I'll stop for now. Next time maybe I'll even talk about an author who's not Cormac McCarthy. Maybe I won't even mention McCarthy. Wouldn't that be exciting?
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