Castelli di Rabbia - Alessandro Baricco

 

Baricco is an author that I find fairly constantly good, rarely outstanding, and sometimes just overambitious. Castelli di Rabbia is one of those books that make me err towards overambitious (and possibly, dare I say it, overrated). 

An Italian attempt at magical realism involving - among other things - trains doesn't exactly attract me. If One Hundred Years of Solitude has lost its charm for me, it's not like a more contemporary attempt at creating a similar mystique will make me like a book. 

And while some of the anecdotes and subplots might be a pleasant enough read, the most they achieved was making me want to look into the actual history of some of those events (like the construction of the Crystal Palace in London) a bit more in depth, but very little more. 

Cities of the Plain – Cormac McCarthy

Up until a couple of weeks ago, I only disliked McCarthy’s books when I found them too gratuitously violent (Blood Meridian and No Country for Old Men). Sadly enough Cities of the Plain proved that on some rare occasions I might not fall in love with McCarthy’s novels because they can also be, well, average.

The prose is still great and the characters interesting if a bit boring in their stubbornness, but I have two problems with this book.

1. Was it all just about capitalizing on the success of All the Pretty Horses and The Crossing? Cause I really saw no need to bring back John Grady and Billy (despite the fact that they are two of the characters that I loved most in history!) and pair them together – I want my cowboys to be allowed to ride on in the sunset and never be seen again at the end of books

2. John Grady survived countless attacks in the Mexican prisons in All the Pretty Horses and then gets essentially destroyed in a knife-fight by his dead lover’s pimp. Now, I understand hating your enemy affects your judgement (thanks Godfather II), but I seriously would have expected more from one of the coolest men ever…

All the Pretty Horses – Cormac McCarthy

It’s like a good Western movie from start to finish. The hero leaves town to find his true self, others get the hero in trouble, he narrowly escapes, he gets himself in trouble because of a woman, he narrowly escapes, he then looks back at his life, learns his lessons, and rides on.

Despite being really rather predictable overall, this is a great book. The section set in the prison is as good, impressive, and nerve-wracking as it gets. Yet, in spite of all this, I pretty much refuse to read the other books of the Border Trilogy, at least for the time being, and why? Simply because I am afraid they’ll be virtually identical to All the Pretty Horses, and the magic of this book for me will be lost.

Blood Meridian - Cormac McCarthy

For two thirds of the book I had no idea what was going on. People were getting shot. People were getting scalped. There was a kid, “the” kid, a judge, “the” judge, and a bunch of minor characters that all meshed into one non-distinct blood-thirsty outlaw.

After a while the book started making sense, but too late to actually attract my interest or give me any sort of emotion. McCarthy’s prose remains unique, obviously, but that doesn’t mean that reading hundreds of pages that all blur into one has to be an enjoyable experience...