Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 4

I'd sing a hobbit song for you, but, well, that would go poorly. Oh so poorly.

A Short Cut to Mushrooms

This chapter opens a little more immediately than the first few, focusing in closely on the hobbits. Still a moment of downtime, though, a moment of rest and low tension in the story. What strikes me in this opening scene is Sam, in that he surprises Frodo (and likely the reader, too). We've seen Sam mostly as the humourous and loyal servant so far, but here we see a little more. Sam, speaking of the Elves: "'They seem a bit above my likes and dislikes, so to speak,' answered Sam slowly. 'It don't seem to matter what I think about them. They are quite different from what I expected - so old and young, and so gay and sad, as it were.'" He still speaks simply, a little more commonly than the others, but yet he shows some keen insight here, which surprises Frodo. And his desire to "see it through" surprises Frodo a little, too, and it is this very trait, in the end, that will decide all. Loyalty and perseverence... this is the necessity of Sam, and here we see and feel that first formulation of his value within the narrative, one that will grow ever stronger throughout the long journey to Mordor.

The hobbits continue on their journey, taking a short cut across country. A short cut that proves slower, as Pippin warned, since the going is rough and they get somehwat lost - but wise all the same, for the Black Riders are abroad. I think there's a fine moment here, where Tolkien allows the tension to cut through the initial playfulness of a scene. The hobbits start to sing, and there's again that feeling of a lark, a country stroll, where tension has ebbed beneath the sound of one of the funny Ho!Ho!Ho! songs... but this time the song is cut off by a long wail, the cry of some "evil and lonely creature", and it is answered my another similar, though more distant, wail. Tolkien has, in a sense, pierced his own silliness. Tension floods back... for this was no animal's cry: there were words in those cries, though indecipherable.

The hobbits make their way to Farmer Maggot's land, where they are held at bay by the farmer's dogs until Maggot himself rescues them. And Farmer Maggot has a tale to tell - a Black Rider has come by looking for "Baggins". And, following the wail, these riders seem suddenly a little more dangerous and dark. Maggot is not mildly "put out", as the Gaffer once was, but faces something more serious as his dogs are sent running at the mere presence of the Rider. And the Black Rider scorns Farmer Maggot, and casually attempts to ride him down - Maggot is beneath a serious effort.

After a meal, Farmer Maggot takes them by cart to the Ferry crossing. It is foggy, and the gloom and fog add a menacing atmosphere to the scene, one that heightens the sudden fear at the sound of an approaching horse - but it is only Merry arriving on a pony, out looking for them. Again, tension has been built at the end of the chapter, though here with the twist of a happy reunion.

A short and fairly simple chapter, really. A few light moments, a bit of history, and a continuation of the journey. The deepening characterization, particularly for Sam, seems important, as does the heightened danger of the Black Riders. They become more frightening, and so the journey itself seems to become more dangerous. This deepening of the story's tension is also supported by the setting and mood Tolkien has chosen for the chapter. Lost in the woods, and then the eerie and blinding fog... both, I think, deepen the gloom and sense of danger, the sense of closing pursuit.

Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 3

The blogging marathon continues...

Three is Company

I've always been puzzled by this section of the story, because it seems to lack a little in logic. We have a basic scenario: Frodo has the One Ring, Sauron wants the One Ring, and if Sauron gets the One Ring darkness will overtake the world. Frodo must escape... and so, with the fate of the world in the balance, Gandalf and Frodo decide that it's okay to wait through the summer and leave in the autumn, after his birthday. Even though they know Sauron knows about the Ring being found and who has it (from Gollum).

This seems atypical of Gandalf, at the least. And puzzling as a story choice. Not only does it seem illogical, but it again undercuts the tension that had just been built up in the previous chapter. What's more, Gandalf hangs around for a bit, doing... what? I can't think of anything particularly useful he'd be doing for these two months. And then he decides he must go, must search out information. Why now? Why not two months ago? Again, it seems puzzling, especially when it risks him being unable to get back in time, which turns out to be the case. I get the vague feeling of deus ex machina here. Escaping the Black Riders, the Old Forest... these won't work if Gandalf is there, so Gandalf has to go. But the decision seems more authorial than character related. Could just be me, but this is one of those areas that feels a little clumsy and poorly workedd out. The destination for the journey, at least, seems well chosen: Rivendell. As Gandalf says, "Towards danger; but not too rashly, nor too straight."

And the one good thing about Gandalf leaving is that it creates a tension when he fails to return. This helps, I think, because the journey still feels a bit like a lark. They're going to go out tramping towards Buckland, no real rush, a few picnics on the way... The absence of Gandalf at least inserts a sliver of fear and uncertainty - what could keep a powerful wizard from returning as he had promised?

We also have the first appearance of a Black Rider, an overheard conversation between it and the Gaffer. The Gaffer's a little shrill and put out, apparently... but what strikes me here, and through all the appearances of the Black Riders in this section, is how different they seem from what they become later in the story. The Gaffer is a little "put out", a description that does not exactly strike terror in the hearts of anyone.

I think this is quite interesting, because when he first wrote this Tolkien didn't know what the Black Riders were, or what role they would play in the story. They just sort of showed up, as much of a surprise to him as to the hobbits. And I think a little of that remains here, in these early appearances. The snuffling, as if the Riders are sniffing after Frodo... a little odd, particularly when their ethereal nature is later revealed. Why would a wraith sniff? And one rider gets down and starts to crawl towards Frodo... curious, and a little disturbing, yet such actions make the Black Rider seem much different than the Black Riders who attack on Weathertop, or the terrible Nazgul, as they come to be called, who haunt the battlefields of the later story and whose voices are embodiments of terror and despair. The Black Riders here seem half-finished. We do have an instance where Frodo feels compelled to put on the Ring, and this is important in showing the Black Riders connection to it, and the indirect seduction of both Sauron and the Ring. But the other elements, to me, seem a little more like the original sketchwork, rough figures whose aspects have not yet been tailored to their true natures (as later revealed).

There are some curios, too, in this chapter, like the fox whose head Tolkien playfully dips into: "'Hobbits!' he thought. 'Well, what next? I have heard of strange doings in this land, but I have seldom heard of a hobbit sleeping out of doors under a tree. Three of them! There's something mighty queer about this.' He was quite right, but he never found out any more about it.'" It's a silly bit, really, something that would be much more at home within the Hobbit than the Lord of the Rings. It's tonally quite at odds with most of what is to follow. Another one of those little signs, those lingering remnants, that indicate to me that this story hasn't quite found its way yet.

Perhaps this is a good time to touch on the POV, which is basically an Omniscient voice, though a carefully controlled one most of the time (fox aside). Tolkien often doesn't dig for deep psychology, but shows thoughts and moods where they might illuminate certain actions. He does not dip into the thoughts of everybody, but neither does he limit himself to Frodo. It's an opportunistic sort of voice, really. Fairly surface, usually centered on Frodo, but willing to wander when the need or inclination arises. It's a sort of voice that could easily become cluttered, with that feeling of head hopping, but I think his judicious use of it prevents this. The fact that he holds to the surface so often seems to allow the voice to wander a little without provocation. And even when digging a little deeper, he does not seem to wish to go too far. Perhaps, like the Mines of Moria, it is dangerous to dig too deep and too greedily...

Another thing I found interesting is the hobbit class structure. It seems much clearer here than it is in the movies. Pippin says "'Sam!" Get breakfast ready for half-past nine! Have you got the bath-water hot?' Sam jumped up, looking rather bleary. 'No, sir, I haven't sir!' he said." Pippin is playful here, and since they are in the middle of the woods there is obviously no bath water. Yet Sam jumps up very earnestly. It's an interesting point to remember, I think, that Frodo, Pippin and Merry are all young gentlemen (or gentlehobbits... but you get the idea), while Sam is basically a servant. Frodo is the master of Bag End, seemingly the richest and nicest home in the capital of the Shire, while Pippin and Merry are, respectively, the younger relations of the Old Took and Master Brandybuck, the heads of the two wealthy (and almost sovereign) clans of the Shire. Sam is a gardener. It'll be curious to see how this element plays out through the story.

We also have a lot of the songs and poems in this chapter. I've always felt the use of them to be a little overdone throughout the story, but clearly Tolkien loved this element, and made use of it whenever possible. It certainly provides a sense of culture, a sense of the characters beyond their necessary movements within the plot. But there really are a lot of these instances. My feelings here are likely, though, a matter more of subjective taste than anything else. Anyone else have a take on the poems and songs that appear so often?

The chapter concludes with the Elves, who they meet on the road. Both playful and serious... we see the strange dichotomy of the elves, their mingled joy and sadness. Gildor offers advice... and the absence of Gandalf is touched upon again, and our concern heightened by Gildor's worry. And the Black Riders, too, are mentioned, for even the Elves fear them... and for the hobbits it is better to know too little than be swamped by the fear that would accompany the truth of full knowledge. And so while the chapter ends in safety, worries and fears have been carefully placed to create tension and interest, to hook the reader into the next chapter. This, so far, has been a bit of a pattern. Slow, more distant openings, after which the chapter tightens and the tension rises, finishing with concerns that will be carried into the next scene.

Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 2

Popcorn? Drinks? On with the show...

The Shadow of the Past

Chapter two starts out rather distantly again, with that longshot view, a sense of the narrator framing the situation. A lot is covered in a little space. Years, in fact, in a few pages. And those passing years, it seems to me, are a bit of an odd authorial choice, considering we finally built up a little tension at the end of the last chapter. At least Tolkien covers it quickly, skimming across this passage of time in a dash. Yet still, a curious choice.

We're also introduced to two main characters, Pippin and Merry, though in a "tell" fashion that doesn't particularly inscribe them in the reader's memmory. Indeed, they are part of a list of friends, including Folco and Fredegar (Fatty). I wonder if Tolkien, at this time, even knew that they would be key characters? It doesn't really feel like it - but rather more like a placeholder introduction has been put in place, and never changed even when two of these characters become central to the story.

We also get some whispers and rumors of troubles in the world abroad, which is helpful here, both to show a bit of the larger picture and provide a bit of tension (since, in the quiet passing of years, much of the dramatic insistence inherent in the first chapter's hook drains away in this second opening).

At this point we reach the second of those mirrored conversations I mentioned in the last post, this one between Sam and the Miller's son, Ted. This introduction, I think, is a little better, as Sam is an important character, and (unlike the intro to Merry and Pippin) he is at least given a chance to breathe. And there are more rumors here of oddities abounding, which helps peak the interest a little. And a rumored sighting of something that sounds very Ent-like, these "Tree-men, these giants" as Sam calls them. A curious bit, considering the Ent scenes later in the Two Towers. Ents don't live outside Fangorn Forest, apparently... so is this an Entwife? or merely a tall tale? The similarity of description is striking. Or is this a sighting of something more like a Huorn, something that crept out of the Old Forest? And yet the idea of lurking Entwives is intriguing... Again, we have a foreshadowing or forewarning, something Tolkien seems to do often and intently. And again we see that penchant for mirroring ideas, for repetition. It creates a certain resonance, I think. We have the "Tree-men" here, then Old Man Willow later on in the Fellowship of the Ring, and then we have the Ents and Huorns in the Two Towers. Tolkien certainly takes a lot of care to set up certain elements and themes within the text.

We also see Frodo's "preservation" touched on. He remains young, just as Bilbo had, and strikingly enough for the community around him to notice. It's a small element, but I think it helps the reader keep plugged into the larger plot.

Gandalf finally returns (many years have passed), looking "older and more careworn". And yet the suggestion here is that this is not a result of age, but of weariness and the weight of many troubles, a suggestion that helps heighten (and darken) the mood. What has only been rumors and whispers to the hobbits of Hobbiton has been reality to Gandalf, and these cares have weighed upon him.

Finally we come to it, some of the mystery of the Ring revealed. Fears and suspicions become reality, and Gandalf relates some of the history of the Ring, and its danger, its corrupting power - and its desire to return to its master and maker. And Tolkien uses an interesting technique here, one I've not seen in many other books. In the midst of the scene he uses line breaks, as with a scene shift... and yet there is no shift, either in scene, location, or time. The next line after the break directly follows the one before it. It's an interesting, and somewhat odd, use of white space within the text. It highlights elements, certainly, though perhaps creates an overly dramatic pause? Anyone have thoughts on this technique?

The narrative tone has changed a little, too. No longer so funny, no longer with so many overt interjections by the narrator. The lines, it seem, start to become a little more fluid, a little more elegant and descriptive: "lines of fire that seemed to form the letters of a flowing script. They shone piercingly bright, and yet remote, as if out of a great depth." And this is a line I love, spoken by Gandalf, simple and yet evocative: "That name even you Hobbits have heard of, like a shadow on the border of old stories."

Interestingly, too, we are introduced to Gollum in this chapter, though he never appears. Yet we hear his history, and his character comes to life through the mimicry of Gandalf. An interesting and subtle introduction, really, that captures him in the dialogue of others. Craftily done, really.

And with the introduction of Gollum comes Frodo's desire that Bilbo had killed him, that he deserved death, and Gandalf's wonderful admonishment. "Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it. And he is bound up with the fate of the Ring. My heart tells me that he has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before the end; and when that comes, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many - yours not least." This is both an interesting evocation of the compassionate philosophhy guiding one side of this spiritual war, and a wonderfully brave bit of foreshadowing. I mean, in a sense he just gave us the climax of the story right there, in chapter two. It highlights, as well, the importance of Gollum, and keeps alive a sense of expectancy until he finally arrives.

Another clever refrain here is the use of "precious". That's Gollum's word, of course, for the One Ring, his "precious". And then in chapter one Bilbo uses the word in connection with the Ring, and Gandalf calls him on it by reminding Bilbo that he was not the first to call it so. Here, though, the word crops up again, and more subtly, slipped into the description of the Ring as Frodo is pondering it, considering an attempt to destroy it. "It was an admirable thing and altogether precious." It works merely as an appropriate descriptive word, but on that second level it reveals that the Ring is already seducing Frodo. Carefully done, here, and the same section also ends with Frodo unconsciously putting the Ring back in his pocket rather than attempting to harm it in some way. Again, another cheeky foreshadowing of the story's climax, a little mirror of what is to come.

And finally, a decision made. Frodo must leave, and take the ring with him. No sign of where or when... but the adventure is set to start, and Frodo has his first companion, the eavesdropping Sam Gamgee.

So, a few thoughts on what struck me about this chapter in a craft sense. I keep getting drawn back to the odd use of white space in the repeated application of the extra line breaks. In a way, it compartmentalizes the scene into little units, small chapters in and of themselves. And it might also help highlight certain moments, allowing a more direct focus to be drawn to particular elements. On the other hand... a wee bit choppy. It does, I think, break the rhythm and flow of the scene. And the other thing... foreshadowing! It's interesting how much Tolkien hints at right from the start. Fairly brazen, really, and it certainly shows how much you can get away with in this regard.

Note: I forgot to mention something that struck me in chapter one. Gandalf's description and my long-held mental image of him: Bushy beard, check. Pointy hat, check. Staff, check. Grey robes and cloak, check. Scarf... um, no. Never really had that as part of my mental image of Gandalf. Anyone else forget the scarf? Anyone else get surprised when rereading something and finding the text says something quite different than you remember? Important to remind oneself, perhaps, how much each indvidual reader brings to their interpretation of the story. And how mood and character can sometimes trump specific details, perhaps?

Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 1

So here we go! Drumroll, please...

A Long Expected Party

It's an interesting opening, and a little odd. We start somewhat distantly, at a remove from the characters. The opening seems very much shaped by the narrator's voice. It tells us about the characters rather than showing us directly. I think the first chapter, as a whole, does this to some extent, having at times the feeling of an overview. It's an element that would be fairly unusual in a contemporary novel. It provides the shape and feel of a tale being told, as opposed to a style that looks to create the illusion of the reader entering inside the story, seeing it from within.

I found myself conscious of the narrator, and the narrator's voice. He uses a lot of brackets (many, many!) throughout the chapter, often to frame humourous or quasi-humourous asides and interjections. This, for example, is from the second paragraph:

"...it seemed unfair that anyone should possess (apparently) perpetual youth as well as (reputedly) inexhaustible wealth."

The narrator seems overt, his personality clear, a certain reflectiveness apparent in his approach to the story, offering a wry and somewhat silly commentary. He uses the brackets again in the 4th paragraph, and the 6th, the 9th, the 11th... and so on. Interesting, I think, beause I have the feeling that the technique is not employed so aggressively through later chapters. We shall see...

The main characters, Bilbo (for this chapter, at least) and Frodo, are framed by the conversations of others, characters who will have no real place in the larger narrative. Interestingly, the conversation has a mirror in the second chapter. The first conversation is between Ham Gamgee, the "Gaffer", and the Miller, and the second is between Sam (the Gaffer's son) and Ted (the Miller's son), and only Sam among these plays a significant role in the novel. Each family offers one side of the story concerning Bilbo and Frodo, defining them through the two different polarities. Good and noble folk (of high social standing) on one side, and queer and strange on the other, people of eccentric and even dangerous habits.

And Bilbo is a little eccentric, if also kind and noble. He plans a joke during his party... to disappear before everyone using his magic ring. Bilbo hopes for laughter and amazement, but Gandalf asks "Who will laugh, I wonder?" I like this as an early example of Gandalf's clear sight, his wisdom, but also as the first bit of foreshadowing concerning the larger story - the Ring is more than it seems, and no laughing matter.

This is an important little bit, because the chapter is quite light-hearted. The narrative seems more intent on humour and history than building the story or dramatic tension. That touch of foreshadowing sounds a note that echoes through the next pages, setting up an expectation for Bilbo's "joke" at the party.

Frodo, surprisingly, plays only a minor role in the first chapter until its very end, yet in the early glimpses we learn a few things. Like Bilbo, he is more adventurous and curious than a normal hobbit, more inclined to wander, to explore beyond the normal boundaries. Yet we also see that he is more serious than Bilbo, less flighty and silly, less inclined to pointed jokes. Interesting, I think, because that mirrors, in many ways, the differences between the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit.

Yet here, at the start of the Lord of the Rings, it is still Bilbo's story, and the style reflects this. The tone, I think, is much like that of the Hobbit. Humourous, playful, adventurous and yet a little silly, the darkness often undercut. The story has not found its true pace yet, I think, and won't for many chapters. Here, I think, it is still the sequel to the Hobbit that was originally intended. The story goes far beyond that in the telling, and it is only at the end of the chapter that we get the first hints of this, the first hints that this is a different sort of story.

It begins with the first hints of the corrupting power of the Ring. Bilbo, the protagonist of the Hobbit, suddenly transforms. No longer the somewhat bumbling hero, both brave and a little silly, he becomes suspicious, bitter, greedy. If I recall correctly, from my readings, this was heavily shaped in revision, and I think shows some of the changes that will come, the differences between the two books. A thematic shift, the purposes of the books diverging.

Gandalf, too, is different, his power suddenly revealing him: "he seemed to grow tall and menacing; his shadow filled the little room." Gandalf's power too great for a small hobbit's burrow. "Seemed", usually such a weak word, here strikes me as appropriate, for Gandalf does not actually grow, it is only the sudden and vivid semblance of his authority made apparent. Bilbo says "I don't know what has come over you, Gandalf" and "You have never been like this before." All too true, and I think that's another harbinger of the changes between this book and its predecessor. Gandalf, too, has transformed, and will transform further.

Bilbo, though, gives up the Ring, despite its siren call, and leaves it for Frodo. We have an interlude, then, if you will, a return to the earlier whimsy, what with the gifts Bilbo has left with pointed jokes at the expense of the recipients. But Bilbo is gone, and Frodo now becomes the central figure, coping with the aftermath of the long expected party.

The chapter ends, though, with Gandalf admonishing Frodo to keep the Ring secret and safe - for the Ring is something more than it was thought to be. How much more? This is unknown, and yet of import enough to send Gandalf rushing away before he had intended to leave. This, I think, is important, a touch of the cliff-hanger to the chapter ending, and the first real hook into the larger story - the problem of the One Ring. And Gandalf leaves, bent as if under a great weight.

As I said, it seems an interesting chapter, and one that's a little odd. I think of it a bit like a camera, slowly zooming in. The further into the chapter we go, the closer the camera draws. We start with a wideshot. We see Bag End, and hear rumors of a party, and then a conversation about Frodo and Bilbo. Closer in we have the party and Bilbo's "joke". And then closer still we have Bilbo's choice to relinquish the ring. Closer yet we have the emergence of Frodo, and by the end we are at the foundation point of the story: the hobbit Frodo in possession of a mysterious and magical ring.

Coming To A Blog Near You!

Well, I have a little blog project I've been thinking about. Okay, it's sort of large. But it's been in my head for awhile now and so I think I'm going to do it. So: the grand idea is to do a rereading of The Lord of the Rings and blog about it chapter by chapter, with a focus on trying to understand the story from a writer's viewpoint (rather than a reader or critic's viewpoint).

I thought LotR was a good book for this because a) so many people have read it (and thus can offer comments, new ideas, heckling, etc.), and b) it's a very interesting book, and by that I mean both good and odd (it's a strangely constructed book in many ways). I've read the book a number of times, and have many ideas about it, but I've never read it with the conscious thought of trying to pull it apart and understand it from a writer's perspective. I've also read some of the history of its writing, so it'll be interesting to look at the story with that in mind. And the recent movies, I think, provide an interesting comparison point in discussing how the story is handled. And everyone's seen those. I believe you get deported if you haven't.

So, that's my idea. I thought about doing Ulysses, but I figured everybody would kill me. Well, if I didn't do myself in, first. I'm also hoping we'll get some normal posts during all this, too, just for variety. So there we are. Comments or insults?

A Miracle in Prose

That's what the New York Times Book Review said about the writing of Cormac McCarthy - "A miracle in prose, an American original."

I happen to agree, and wanted to look a little closer at just why it is I love his writing. I think it's always helpful, as a writer, to break down writing, to turn it inside out and see where the stitches are. And to do this I think it means that we have to look at the writing not just as a reader, not just as a critic, but as a writer. A critic, I think, is concerned with what, where, and when. What is it saying and what does it mean? Where does it come from? When did it come about? A writer, I think, is primarily interested in the other questions: how and why. How did this writer do it? And why did they do it?

I think one of the reasons that I find McCarthy interesting is that he generally spurns one of the great advantages of fiction: a chance to represent the inner world of people. In one sense, McCarthy keeps very close to the surface, seeing the world as if through a lens. He captures everything through dialogue, action and description. He might be called cinematic for this reason... and yet it is the very miraculousness of his prose that makes his writing hard to recreate in film. Language itself becomes the defining element, inseparable from the character and mood of the story. Depth is created through the resonance of the words that illustrate a strange world, a world seen at an odd angle and in colours never before imagined. Or perhaps there is no colour, just an endless variation in the hue of darkness.

So, here's a bit of Cormac McCarthy, from The Crossing:

They rode the high country for weeks and they grew thin and gaunted man and horse and the horse grazed on the sparse winter grass in the mountains and gnawed the lichens from the rock and the boy shot trout with his arrows where they stood above their shadows on the cold stone floors of the pools and ate them and ate green nopal and then on a windy day traversing a high saddle in the mountains a hawk passed before the sun and its shadow ran so quick in the grass before them that it caused the horse to shy and the boy looked up where the bird turned high above them and he took the bow from his shoulder and nocked and loosed an arrow and watched it rise with the wind rattling the fletching slotted into the cane and watched it turning and arcing and the hawk wheeling and then flaring suddenly with the arrow locked in its pale breast.

I mean, what a sentence. No sight nor scent of punctuation. It seems a simple thing: just strip out all the punctuation, there you have it. But so much harder than it looks, to carry the weight of meaning necessary and hold to the flow and drive of movement. The simple rhythm of it... the language propulsive and moving and carrying everything onward onward onward as if no end would ever be reached. I mean, "and they grew thin and gaunted man and horse". I love that. I love that it's "gaunted" rather than "gaunt". There's a rhythm and weight to it, the slight oddity of it providing a greater clarity, a more vivid image. And the fish standing over their shadows, and the "high saddle" in the mountains, so simple and perfect for a story revolving around horses. And the sharpness of his eye, the tracking of the bird's shadow in the grass as if it were a solid thing, solid enough to shy a horse... beautiful. And the arrow itself... the language follows the arrow, you rise with it, you see it twisting and spinning and marked by its passage through the wind. And there's no impact, just the sudden flaring of wings and an arrow locked in a pale breat.

Another bit:

He built a small fire but he had little wood and the fire died in the night and he woke and watched the winter stars slip their hold and race to their deaths in the darkness. He could hear the horse step in its hobbles and hear the grass rip softly in the horse's mouth and hear it breathing or the toss of its tail and saw far to the south beyond the Hatchet Mountains the flare of lightning over Mexico and he knew that he would not be buried in this valley but in some distant place among strangers and he looked out to where the grass was running in the wind under the cold starlight as if it were the earth itself hurtling headlong and he said softly before he slept again that the one thing he knew of all things claimed to be known was that there was no certainty to any of it.

Again the propulsion, the rhythm of it, headlong and rampant. Bits of description... the "winter stars". Yes, it's winter, but winter is also descriptive, the coldness attaching to the stars and thus to the character, to what he feels. They "slip their hold" and "race to their deaths in the darkness"... and the stars are lights, the darkness thus inevitable when they die, their own darkness vanishing within one greater still. The only light in the cold dark is the momentary lightning over Mexico... and then McCarthy slips in one of his ever so rare bits of thought, almost lost in the description, a knowledge of death amidst strangers. And again, the "cold starlight", heightening the atmosphere he's already laid down. And then dialogue, too, mixed into the description, caught in its rhythms, the idea attached and inseparable from the world around, from the impinging darkness and death.

Brilliant.

A last one (about wolves):

They ran their lean mouths against each other's flanks and they flowed about his knees and furrowed the snow with their noses and tossed their heads and in the cold their pooled breath made a cauldron about him and the snow lay so blue in the moonlight and those eyes were the palest topaz where they crouched and whined and tucked their tails and they fawned and shuddered as they drew close to the house and their teeth shone that were so white and their red tongues lolled. At the gate they would go no further. They looked back toward the dark shapes of the mountains. He knelt in the snow and reached out his arms to them and they touched his face with their wild muzzles and drew away again and their breath was warm and it smelled of the earth and the heart of the earth. When the last of them had come forward they stood in a crescent before him and their eyes were like footlights to the ordinate world and then they turned and wheeled away and loped off through the snow and vanished smoking into the winter night.

I love the rhythms, the long and drawn out sentences suddenly pierced in the middle by two very short and simple ones. A variance, a breath taken, before the language again sweeps away. And the diction, the genius of word choice. Their "pooled breath made a cauldron about him"... lots of words might take the place of cauldron, but few, I think, would have that sort of resonance. Bowl? I don't think so. The apparitional wolves in the night, the ghostly breath... cauldron is the right word. And the "wild muzzles"... so simple, and yet it captures so well the feral animals. And "footlights to the ordinate world"... how strange and vivid. And the wolves that "vanished smoking into the winter night"... beautiful, and again ghostly, almost insubstantial, the oddness of "smoking" seemingly perfect here. And again the overall atmosphere of darkness and cold that pervades the lines. Colour, image, repetion...

This is the uniqueness of style. I think I could see such lines anywhere and say "Cormac McCarthy wrote that." A miracle in prose... yes, I think so.

What do you think? Whose prose sings to you, jerks you out of your chair? Where do you find your little miracles, and what is it about them that makes them so miraculous?

Some Things Come in Pairs

So, the obvious companion question to the last one: What is your best writing skill or habit? And why? That last bit's trickier than it might seem at first. Why, as in what aspects of this skill/habit make you good at it, and why, as in why do you think you're good at these aspects? Does this aspect of your talent have a background?

Maybe think of it in terms of the evolution of your talent... how'd you get where you are today? And where do you want to go next?