Meghan Collins Sullivan/NPR. Click for NPR’s review
A copy of The Passenger finally came through on Libby for me. I read most of it in a sudden calm spell in the wake of the holidays, the day after New Year’s Day.
The language in this novel is unlike anything. McCarthy has been polishing it since the 1970s. I guess that’s how you get a paragraph like this:
Seals roused himself. A bird person he. In his bathroom brooding raptors hooded like hangmen shifted sullenly upon their perches. A saker, a lanneret.
It’s going to take a while to marinate. I immediately ordered this nice matching box set of hardcovers. I’ll write more about it after I get through Stella Maris.