Cormac McCarthy really fucked with my head in No Country for Old Men, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect in The Crossing. Alas, I was not disappointed as McCarthy always finds a way to remind you of just just how complex and non-mundane this world is.

Through out the book, McCarthy makes situations feel longer than they actually are by using really long run-on sentences, sort of bringing the story to life.

The man didnt answer. He held the cigarette between his forefingers and dipped his wrist in a birdlike motion and smoked and then raised the cigarette aloft again. Boyd came out of the trees and circled the fire and stood but the man did not look at him. He pitched the butt of the cigarette into the fire before him and wrapped his arms around his knees and began to rock back and forth in a motion barely perceptible.

McCarthy’s story telling is interesting in that his style of writing about characters who encounter the world (or nature) in a dark way often reveal the parts we choose to overlook.

There was blood everywhere in the leaves. She was lying on her side and her legs were running in the leaves and her neck was doubled back oddly. He grabbed her and pressed her to the ground and held her. The shot had broken her neck low and torn open the shoulder of one wing and he saw that he had very nearly missed her altogether.