Keep the Fire Burning by James Wade

Keep the Fire Burning by James Wade

“He became a part of us. So much so that when we talk about Cormac McCarthy, we’re talking about some small part of ourselves. And as long as we keep the fire burning, he is here, carrying it with us.”

It feels selfish to write anything about my relationship to Cormac McCarthy or, more accurately, his work. With his passing, every literary or literary-adjacent publication in the world will be filled with tributes to his prose, his prominence, and his noted lack of presence in the public eye. Many authors will pay their respects by acknowledging McCarthy’s influence on their own writing or, if not, then surely the awe they felt when they first read one of his novels. Even so, as often happens with writers, I find myself struggling with the guilt that somehow, by writing anything at all about the man who impacted my life more than any other over the last decade, I’m trying to self-promote or make his departure about anything other than A) the great loss the literary world is feeling, and B) the great legacy he has left us.

The first thing I’ll admit is that I felt odd about the fervor of my admiration even when Mr. McCarthy was alive. I’m an avid sports fan. There have been many players in many sports that I’ve liked. Yet I’ve never cared enough to buy a jersey. I very much enjoy films. There are actors/actresses and directors who I seem to gravitate toward. But I don’t line up to pre-buy tickets to every Terrence Malick opening, and I readily admit that Cary Grant had some busts (Enter Madame, Kiss and Make-Up).

Even as a child there was no one I truly idolized. So it was a strange and unwelcome feeling when I read my first McCarthy novel (All The Pretty Horses) and found myself looking around to see if every other person in the world was reading this same book because I felt like surely they should be.

That same day I bought The Crossing and stayed up all night reading it. Then Cities of the Plain, which left me gasping for air near its conclusion when I realized I had been holding my breath for nearly four pages.

I would have told you then that McCarthy had no equal past or present. I realized I had found something that would alter the very foundation of my life. Something, like a religion, or perhaps even an addiction, that I would fall back on time and time again. Like any good addict or zealot, I needed more. Where better to start than at the beginning?

The Orchard Keeper– How could this be anyone’s first novel? The confidence of the prose. The emphasis on scene rather than story. It was no gothic western, but even in the hills of eastern Tennessee that same sense of mastery emerged. The novel’s most memorable scene, the great collapsing of the Green Fly Inn, was struck by editors multiple times, but multiple times McCarthy fought back. He was broke and unpublished, but he fought to keep the scene because he knew what power it held. His propensity for naturalism shines, as does his gift for showing a world that always appears on the cusp of a terrible change from one way to another. In this case, the encroachment of society on the wilds of Appalachia.

Outer Dark - Despite his debut brilliance, we already see growth. The first of his “going somewhere” novels (Outer Dark, Child of God, Blood Meridian, All the Pretty Horses, The Crossing, No Country For Old Men, The Road, even The Passenger to some degree) where characters are constantly on the move, either pursuing or being pursued. An early scene with Culla stumbling lost in the dark woods flexes his prose. And in this novel we see the first example of McCarthy’s nightmarish villains. The triune slips through the novels in italics, doing terrible deeds and showing readers what they can expect from future characters like The Judge, Anton Chigurh, Eduardo, and the roaming cannibals of The Road.

Child of God - Short, unsweet. McCarthy challenges us to look not just at the sad, pathetic Ballard, but to look at our role in his becoming. To ask if we might at all hold ourselves accountable for his condition. Or worse, to ask if somewhere within us lies the same darkness. Suttree - His greatest novel? Many disagree. Some don’t. Humor. Prose. A rage against being alive but also against dying. His complete abandonment of plot and total embrace of character challenges us to see the narrative one, two, three layers deep. Yes, the writing is unrivaled. Yes, the philosophy is thoughtful and beautifully rendered. But the novel, the only one named for its central character, is wholly

Suttree. With little to no interiority, McCarthy makes us laugh and grieve and stand in awe with Cornelius Suttree. We know him just by traveling alongside him for these few years. We aren’t told his feelings. We aren’t given his motives. We just exist there with him. And there within the Joycean-like landscape of McCarthy’s Knoxville.

Blood Meridian - No gloves. No service. Surreal, cosmic prose set down atop an anti-naturalism that paints the world entire in a malevolent red. Challenges the history of westward expansion. Challenges the nature of human beings. And certainly challenges the modern conventions of the novel.

All The Pretty Horses - Finally, the credit he deserves. The awards. The money. The career that he never had and yet simultaneously never abandoned. For thirty years he survived on grants and beans and toothpaste samples that came in the mail. He lost relationships. Sacrificed family. But now, with John Grady Cole and his loss of innocence, McCarthy becomes immortal.

The Crossing - Another boy (Billy Parham), another journey into Mexico. But this time there are stories within the story. Parables. Philosophies. Biblical prose that calls to creation and destruction. And the ending, well… a big boom that hints at the long-awaited novel, The Passenger.

Cities of the Plain - Written as a screenplay, the characters of Billy and John Grady were first conceived for this story. And now that we’ve been given their history (the previous two novels), it’s time for an ending. And what an ending they make. John Grady, his passion and fire and loyalty would always be his undoing. Billy, fails to protect his brother once again. We see a cycle for these characters (and throughout the novel cycles, wheels, circles, etc. are emphasized) that culminates with the only possible outcome.

No Country For Old Men - Unflinchingly McCarthy, and yet wildly approachable. Spare prose. Fast-moving action. And the surprise interiority of a character for chapters at a time. This is the closest McCarthy comes to the mass market, and yet everything about it feels completely original. And yes, Anton Chigurh.

The Road - Pulitzer. Oprah. And proof that McCarthy can slide from southern gothic, to western, to post-apocalyptic without spilling a drop of his signature style. He hated naming his characters and mused to an editor in the 60s that “maybe one day I’ll write one where there aren’t any names.” He did. The boy and the father. Carrying the fire. The whole thing is perfect. Dark, as usual, but also with such blinding moments of love and hope. Here we have the world McCarthy has written about for decades finally coming to pass, and what does he insist that we see? The love between a father and his child.

The Passenger - It’s finally here. It’s going to change everything. It’s… did he say the dwarf has flippers? The most ambitious novel of an incredibly ambitious writer. And my goodness what a parting gift. Pick your poison. Mathematics? The morality of the atomic bomb? Sins of the father? Love and incest and where society and convention clash with instinct and emotion? How about the JFK assassination? Climate change? Culinary delights? This book has it all. McCarthy throws his full weight at the relationship between our mind and our perceived reality. Between genius and insanity. Between nihilism and fatalism

Stella Maris - A coda for The Passenger? Prequel, sequel, companion. Whatever you want to call it. Here we have a novel in conversations. It reads at a pacing similar to McCarthy’s play,* The Sunset Limited, though Alicia dominates the dialogue with her therapist, whereas Black and White spoke equally. If these are the last words we have, we will cherish them:

I think our time is up.

I know. Hold my hand.

Hold your hand?

Yes. I want you to.

All right. Why?

Because that’s what people do when they’re waiting for the end of something.

Some critics dislike him. Almost all editors despise him. And many readers find his work too dense or challenging or grim or boring or purple or (insert opinion here). But for myself, and those who belong to the cult of McCarthy, he was the greatest of our time. Of any time. Not only was his talent exceedingly rare, but his dedication to craft rather than publicity should be applauded even by those who don’t value his work. While publishing changed hands from literary people to business people, McCarthy never budged. No book tours. No readings or workshops or seminars. No festival circuits. His appearances and interviews are so rare, they fit on a single Google Search page. He didn’t care about praise or rejection, about other writers, or who was getting what notoriety. He just wrote.

Writing was all there was. Writing is what made him happy.

But through his writing, he achieved an eternity he never cared about. That’s why so many of these posts will feel so personal and passionate. He became a part of us. So much so that when we talk about Cormac McCarthy, we’re talking about some small part of ourselves. And as long as we keep the fire burning, he is here, carrying it with us.

*McCarthy also wrote plays and screenplays: The Stonemason, The Gardener’s Son, The Counselor, and The Sunset Limited

Cormac McCarthy

Photo by Marion Ettlinger

James Wade lives and writes in the Texas Hill Country with his wife and daughter. He is a two-time Spur Award winner and the author of three novels: Beasts of the Earth; River, Sing Out; and All Things Left Wild. James is also a winner of the prestigious MPIBA Reading the West Award. He is currently working on his fourth novel, Hollow Out the Dark, coming in 2024 from Blackstone Publishing.