No Country for Old Men (Vintage International)

No Country for Old Men (Vintage International)

Cormac McCarthy

Language: English

Pages: 309

ISBN: 0307387135

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


In No Country for Old Men, Cormac McCarthy simultaneously strips down the American crime novel and broadens its concerns to encompass themes as ancient as the Bible and as bloodily contemporary as this morning’s headlines.

Darconville's Cat

The Federalist Papers (Oxford World's Classics)

Our Young Man

The Daemon Knows: Literary Greatness and the American Sublime

Now and Then: From Coney Island to Here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the door and took his wife’s hand. She got out and stood with her arms folded in front of her. There was a pickup truck parked a ways down and two men were standing there in the dull red glare. They nodded each in turn and said Sheriff. We could of brought weeners, she said. Yeah. Marshmallers. You wouldnt think a car would burn like that. No, you wouldnt. Did you all see anything? No sir. Just the fire. Didnt pass nobody or nothin? No sir. Does that look to you like about a ’77 Ford,

Mexican in a green guayabera had sat up on the bed and was reaching for a small machinegun beside him. Chigurh shot him three times so fast it sounded like one long gunshot and left most of the upper part of him spread across the head-board and the wall behind it. The shotgun made a strange deep chugging sound. Like someone coughing into a barrel. He snapped on the light and stepped out of the doorway and stood with his back to the outside wall. He looked in again quickly. The bathroom door had

plunger. He stayed in the motel for five days. Hobbling down to the cafe on the crutches for his meals and back again. He kept the television on and he sat up in the bed watching it and he never changed channels. He watched whatever came on. He watched soap operas and the news and talk shows. He changed the dressing twice a day and cleaned the wounds with epsom salt solution and took the antibiotics. When the maid came the first morning he went to the door and told her he did not need any

I got. He went on up the walkway and climbed the stairs and went in. The Barracuda pulled into a truckstop outside of Balmorhea and drove into the bay of the adjoining carwash. The driver got out and shut the door and looked at it. There was blood and other matter streaked over the glass and over the sheetmetal and he walked out and got quarters from a change-machine and came back and put them in the slot and took down the wand from the rack and washed the car and rinsed it off and got back

but there wasnt nobody around. It was a battlezone, that country. People had just left out. Come daylight I laid up in a patch of woods. What woods it was. That whole country looked like a burn. Just the treetrunks was all that was left. And sometime that next night I come to an American position and that was pretty much it. I thought after so many years it would go away. I dont know why I thought that. Then I thought that maybe I could make up for it and I reckon that’s what I have tried to do.

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