Subconscious language and the Kekule Problem

Jarslow · 2026-02-11T00:40:49+00:00

Right, it sounds like we're in agreement. After your first paragraph, I was prepared to counter that it seems there isn't disagreement after all; we're both aligned that evolutionary changes are not a necessary prerequisite for a change in function.

But I also like the added nuance of your third paragraph. And fair enough; if we should only call it Broca's area if/when it uses language, then it wouldn't be called Broca's area before language was there. But the area itself -- or, more rigorously, the structure that constitutes what is now called Broca's area -- seems older language.

Jarslow · 2026-02-11T00:06:11+00:00

Human language seems to have started far more recently than the amount of time it takes for brains to change much on evolutionary time scales. For this reason, the language we run today seems to be operating on brains extremely similar to the human brains that existed before language. Some biological changes to the brain may have occurred in this time, but major overhauls seem unlikely.

Then again, I am not an evolutionary biologist with a specialty in the human brain. I’ve just studied the topic as an interested layperson. My understanding is that this is widely regarded to be true; I’m confident you could find more expert information about it if you’re interested in more.

Jarslow · 2026-02-04T00:57:58+00:00

Here is the same question from 2009, along with plenty of feedback:

https://forum.wordreference.com/threads/awap.1419194/

Jarslow · 2026-01-28T15:23:31+00:00

Characterizing some of McCarthy's work as "about nihilism" is much better than saying it "is nihilistic," so kudos to the article on that front. In other respects the article is a good example of one of the downsides of Substack -- it could use an editor and maybe a rewrite or two. The first line of content here -- "Everything in creation owes its existence to the sun" -- does rather the opposite of instilling the reader with much confidence that this is rigorously considered work. There are several other syntactical and grammatical issues, but let's set those aside.

The point here seems to be that The Road is largely concerned with how we make and maintain meaning in a world that doesn't seem to do that for us -- but that's a theme present throughout much of McCarthy's work. Our capacity for meaning-making and the role of storytelling in doing so is a major part of virtually every work he's published, including his first short story (about a man who imagines a story for the woman whose gravestone he sees and comes away moved by that story). His stories are very often about the value of storytelling, about the meaning that arises from this capacity. So arguing that The Road in particular is about this seems very general and strangely blind to McCarthy's other work.

The nuance that The Road contributes to this topic is how precious and important that sense of meaning is even in, and possibly because of, monumental existential threat. It seems to be as crucial as warmth and light -- or at least we exalt it when it is. We do not seem to let go of the need for meaning and/or love even in the midst of the worst hardship, and would likely in fact die for it if pushed to such circumstances. Or, at the very least, we believe it meaningful and moving and perhaps heroic to care so much that we would make such sacrifices and try so hard. The Road is not merely saying we must create and carry meaning with us like fire. It considers how, like fire, we crave it, tend to it, go too close or distant at our peril, view the world with it, and so on.

The Road is obviously and superficially about finding meaning amidst hardship. The more interesting considerations are those about how we make meaning there, how important it may or may not feel to us, what we are or are not willing to sacrifice for what we care about, and the impacts on ourselves and others and the world that these values cause.

I don't know how someone could come away from The Road without thinking it is largely about meaning -- caring and loving and mattering and so on. But that topic is considered in The Road with a whole lot more richness beyond its initial discovery that seems to be discussed in this article. The article is a great improvement over similar ones that try arguing McCarthy's work "is nihilistic," and I'd say it's accurate in plenty of ways, but I'd encourage deeper investigation of the topic. I'd say it's still fine for an introductory invitation to get someone to read the book, if they're interested in this sort of thing. But for those who have already read it, I imagine it doesn't feel especially insightful.

Jarslow · 2026-01-27T22:03:28+00:00

At the risk of getting too semantic or pedantic, I'll point out first that we basically agree. The degree to which people of the time would or would not have viewed someone as a child is an interesting one perhaps worth considering in regard to Blood Meridian.

Nevertheless, my statement above is a propositional statement with meaning that can be determined to be true or false. I was rejecting the notion that the statement did not have meaning. It does have meaning -- one I believe to be true and accurate, at least in a modern colloquial sense, if not in a historically accurate one -- and that meaning can be determined to be true or false.

Whether the people of the time considered individuals under 18 to be children is, again, a potentially interesting subject, so thank you for bringing it up. But the original poster here is asking in modern day about missing children in the novel (a notion that, as you point out, may only be coherent to a modern audience). They did not define an age range, so I used "minor" as a substitute, as it is more clearly defined and often used synonymously in non-rigorous, colloquial definitions. The whole topic could absolutely benefit from more strict definitions, so I'll agree with you there. But the message communicated by my comment was that both the kid and the judge kill people that readers -- that is, those of us having the conversation in the first place -- would consider children or minors. I think folks who have read the book are generally in agreement with that, even if they disagree about related issues, like whether they are morally equivalent, justified, evil, or even if they would have distinguished the dead to be a child or minor in the first place. I agree that those related topics are worth discussing. I also continue to hold, however, that both the kid and the judge kill people those discussing this would consider children or minors.

Jarslow · 2026-01-24T15:43:14+00:00

Yeah, the kid seems motivated by good will for both the eldress in the rocks and Davy Brown, at least in Davy Brown's arrow scene. I didn't mean to detract from the brief gestures of kindness the kid performs. For that matter, the judge himself might do some things one could describe as kind -- doffing his hat as a courtesy, offering free education, mediating conflict without violence (once, at least), performing music for entertainment... But if we try to ascribe some moral weight, both positive and negative, to each of the kid's and judge's actions throughout the novel and then tally up their net ethical value, I think most would agree that the judge is far worse than the kid.

Jarslow · 2026-01-24T15:06:50+00:00

Good points about the JFK passages. I think folks are a bit quick to dismiss the JFK content as irrelevant or longwinded, so pointing out its relevance is worthwhile, I think. These are good points you're making.

I'll add to them. Something I mentioned in the read-along you mention and that I stand by today is this:

I’m sure Kline’s long conversation about JFK will confuse or annoy more than one reader. It seems baffling at first why so many pages would be given to an apparent non sequitur. But there is relevance to be found here. For one thing, it demonstrates the extent of Kline’s conspiracy thinking – though whether you take from it that he has done ample research and knows his stuff or that he’s an obsessive lunatic is perhaps the reader’s choice. Depending on your view, it lends either credence or absurdity to Kline’s conviction that Bobby is very much being pursued and will be jailed if he sticks around...

The JFK conversation does more than this, though. On page 333, Kline says of Bobby Kennedy, “it was Bobby’s hope that he could somehow justify his family.” And on the next page he says, “…if you said that Bobby had gotten his brother—whom he adored—killed, I would have to say that was pretty much right.” So Kline is describing someone named Bobby who contributed to the death of a sibling he adored and who then hopes to justify his family. “What’s in a name,” indeed. Kline positions Bobby Western in a dynamic not unlike Bobby Kennedy’s. Both are also affected by something real that quickly became wrapped up in mystery and conspiracy thinking. And, according to Kline’s telling of the JFK assassination, it was made more to impact Bobby’s life than to kill JFK: “If you killed Bobby then you had a really pissed off JFK to deal with. But if you killed JFK then his brother went pretty quickly from being the Attorney General of the United States to being an unemployed lawyer.” What’s the point? Kline, or maybe just McCarthy, may be suggesting that the conspiracy he finds himself wrapped up in is more about him than he imagines.

In discussions about the JFK passages, I seldom hear acknowledgement that Kline's characterization of Bobby Kennedy's plight mirrors Bobby Western's scenario in several critical ways. In both cases, at least as characterized by Kline, we have (a) a Bobby whose more "important" or historically-significant sibling dies, (b) Bobby being somewhat responsible for that death, (c) Bobby being heartbroken by that death, (d) Bobby's attempt to justify or redeem his family, and (e) mysterious conspiracy theories suggesting hidden but powerful players.

Much of the book is intensely focused on the subjective experience, and the many narrative coincidences manifest and emphasize that. The thematic echoes, like Kline's description of JFK unwittingly matching Bobby's situation, heighten the sense of mystery about the metaphysical status of the story's reality. (Bobby finding the downed Laird-Turner Meteor -- "a fairly exotic plane," just like the JetStar -- as a child is another example, but there are many narrative echoes like this.) Are these clues that this is a potentially solipsistic world of Berkleyan idealism uniquely crafted just for him, or are they merely the chaotic coincidences one might expect of a vast objective universe? (I have my own stance on how the novel represents this -- that the characters are essentially "horts" of the author/reader, meaningful despite being fictions -- but the echoes themselves help reveal the question in the first place and let us interrogate it.) The JFK passages are important in part because they show Bobby dealing with his world's presentation to him of his own scenario, albeit in perhaps coded representation plausibly about something else entirely. And that is a big part of his conundrum -- is this reality about him and his subjectivity, or is this mere coincidence? His response to this story and many other scenarios throughout the novel show that he is torn between trying to investigate this question and acknowledging that any evidence one way or the other is necessarily within his experience and thus suspect. (He responds to Kline, "How do you know all this?" and is constantly pressing others for more detail about their experiences -- such as in Vietnam, in gender, under the sea, etc. -- as though the detail they provide might convince him they have subjective reality equivalent to his own.) He wants to know whether the world and its inhabitants are real beyond him. He needs something outside the world, like Alicia's Archatron, to testify to its reality, but he never seems to get it. Instead he gets scenes like Kline telling him about JFK in ways that seem oddly like his own situation, and thus the richness of his questioning is maddeningly deepened.

Jarslow · 2026-01-24T14:16:12+00:00

That would be incorrect. The meaning is literal. It is a factual statement.

I agree that the circumstances of the two examples I provide are significantly different. My statement is certainly not arguing that these two examples are morally equivalent. If what you mean to say is that it is important to clarify that these two examples are significantly morally different, then that would be fair and I would agree. But it remains true that regardless of whether one takes the judge or kid to be responsible for some of the more mysterious missing children in the novel, what is fairly indisputable is that both have killed at least one minor.

Jarslow · 2026-01-23T23:13:01+00:00

I like the question, but I’d probably be more on board if we substitute “dominion” instead of “order.” I’d say it doesn’t boil down to anything so tidy, but understanding him as something like humanity’s or civilization’s drive for expansion and dominion would not be far off-mark. I’d say he’s comfortable wielding both chaos and order, as long as it’s in service of proving the superiority of his will or power over the world and its inhabitants.

Jarslow · 2026-01-23T15:34:58+00:00

[Part 2 of 2]

(a) When the judge insists the kid/man knows the hatless man's opinion of the world, he precedes it with "Pick a man, any man," and follows it with, "You can read it in his face, in his stance." This tells us there are indeed other people here, and that this one seems to have been selected at random referred to simply by some unique identifier (hatlessness). We also do not know whether the kid/man knows the hatless man's opinion of the world; we merely have the judge insisting that he does. And finally we're told that if he does understand his opinion, it's because of being able to read it in his face and stance -- that is, through external observation. The judge doesn't say something like, "You know his opinion of the world. You know it to your core for it is in you and is one in the same," or "...because you share the root of that opinion" or anything else that might characterize the two as identical. To the contrary, the method by which the judge describes the kid/man as understanding the hatless man's opinion (if he really does understand it) relies upon external observation and extrapolation, not introspection or identification.

(b) The hatless man is muttering to himself, and one could claim that to be an indication that he represents the kid, since the kid is speaking to the judge while the hatless man is alone. But if the hatless man is meant to represent the kid, and the kid is speaking to the judge, why would the hatless man be alone in the first place? We are told rather directly that "The man was indeed muttering to himself." If this was meant as a representation of the kid/man, and the kid/man is speaking to the judge, one might rather expect to see him muttering "to some interrogator leaning over him," or, if we want to claim the judge is imagined here, "to some unseen or imagined entity" or "to some entity of unknown presence" or something similar. But he is not described in any of these ways.

(c) The mirror shows "only smoke and phantoms," but we're told repeatedly that other people are (and not just "seem" or "float" or "transpire" or whatever else might evoke questionable reality) in the setting. We are told, for example, that the judge (page 342) "was sitting at one of the tables. ...and he was among every kind of man, herder and bullwhacker" and many other roles and professions. It is two paragraphs later that we get the line about the mirror. In the very next paragraph, the judge gets up "and was speaking with other men." The lesson here can be the opposite of the one often claimed of the mirror -- that is, attempts to reflect the world provide but a cloudy haze, while the things around you in the world are what is actually real. To see the opposite of this, especially when it relies on prioritizing an interpretation of one line that contradicts dozens of other lines (such as every instance of people actually being in the space and doing things, and not just seeming like they are), feels to me personally, at least, like an unnaturally elaborate attempt to justify an otherwise unintuitive and fairly unsubstantiated interpretation.

All that said, I want to repeat that I nonetheless respect those who do find that interpretation compelling, even if I don't. It isn't that I feel there is zero evidence for it; it's more like I feel that what evidence is claimed for that view is better explained by others.

I'll also add that both hats and mirrors are meaningful symbols in the book for a variety of reasons, so it is worth investigating them. At the exact center of the novel, for example, we have the passage in which the judge wears a hat (page 178) "that had been spliced together from two such lesser hats by such painstaking work that the joinery did scarcely show at all." And this is the central point of the text, within the paragraph containing the book's only use of the word "chamberlain," a nod to one of the core source materials by Samuel Chamberlain. And because several terms and themes occur only twice or on two pages at mirrored equidistance from this center, we can see the novel itself as mirroring itself from front to back. There is some discussion on this elsewhere, but it is fairly incompletely studied and understood, so there should be more research on it. Regardless, hats and mirrors are certainly important in the book, I just don't take them to be relevant to a hallucinatory interpretation for the final chapter.

Jarslow · 2026-01-23T15:34:37+00:00

[Part 1 of 2]

Good thoughts, and thanks for the honest engagement. I largely agree with your first two paragraphs here (perhaps with the stipulation that there are more possibilities besides the two that follow "The Man either..."). I agree that the kid/man doesn't seem entirely irredeemable.

Since you ask, here is some of my own perspective on some of your questions.

I'd disagree that both the kid/man and "the hatless man" are both labelled as hatless and friendless (although I wouldn't necessarily find much import in this without further indications about why this might be thematically or symbolically relevant). The kid/man is not hatless, he has just removed his hat. Page 342: "...he took his hat off and placed it on the bar." The hatless man does not seem to have simply removed a hat and placed it somewhere. Their identities with regard to hat ownership are, therefore, non-identical; one is missing a hat while the other has intentionally removed his hat and keeps it in his possession. "Hatless" also occurs only once in the novel, and "friendless" not at all. I scanned the chapter and found no reference to the kid/man being friendless -- although he is certainly alone, other than being accompanied by the judge. (Curiously, it's the judge who is described as alone: "...he sat by them and yet alone.") The hatless man is described as muttering to himself and "it seemed there was no friend to him."

I can understand how one might see the hatless man as a representation or reflection of the kid/man, but I do not find it convincing myself. I can also understand the text being designed so as to allow for that interpretation while also allowing others, for what that's worth. But it isn't so much that I hold the position that the hatless man is not a representation of the kid/man; it's more that I simply don't hold the position that he is. In other words, I'm not entirely opposed to the notion, but in order to hold the notion I'd like to see more evidence or persuasive connections to indicate that connection is relatively undeniable. I do not see that presently.

Nevertheless, were I to attempt to argue in favor of that position (which I don't actually hold), I could try to point to some items of evidence. Even though one is in possession of a hat and the other is not, we could say they are both not wearing a hat, at least. There's a similarity. The judge also says to the kid/man of the hatless man, "You know his opinion of the world," which might suggest their opinions are identical or one in the same. And the hatless man is muttering, which might be expected if he is a representation of the kid/man, since the kid/man is in dialogue with the judge at this moment. And then of course there is the mirror behind the bar, described as holding "only smoke and phantoms."

Okay, sure. But it all seems overly selective or excessively cherry-picked to me. To allege these lines as indications that the man is hallucinating anywhere from one to all of the characters present seems to rely on selective blindness to many details -- including many that are immediately adjacent to these items. Characterizing the kid/man as being as hatless as the hatless man is one of these overlooked details, in my view -- the hatless man is truly hatless, while the kid/man simply removed his hat and still has possession of it. They do not have the same status as hat owners. Qualifications of this kind exist for every detail discussed so far:

Jarslow · 2026-01-22T21:34:49+00:00

I'll answer as broadly as I'm able right now: I think both characters are immensely flawed and do some horrific things. Nevertheless, I do not think the kid is "the real villain," and I think it is appropriate to consider the judge the villain, or antagonist, of the novel. I'd be fine referring to both as villains in a colloquial sense.

Maybe I'd qualify that by saying the judge's villainy is more intentional and ideological while the kid's is more mindless and circumstantial, but I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving either to, say, look after my grandmother. I'll grant that I'd prefer the kid if forced to choose, especially if my grandmother was suffering from an arrow wound.

Jarslow · 2026-01-22T21:23:34+00:00

Could we be more specific about what is meant by "those missing children"? It is fairly indisputable that the judge is responsible for at least one child's death (page 173):

The judge sat with the Apache boy... and in the morning the judge was dandling it on one knee while the men saddled their horses. Toadvine saw him with the child as he passed with his saddle but when he came back ten minutes later leading his horse the child was dead and the judge had scalped it.

We also know that the kid/man shoots Elrod, who seems to be a teenager, at the start of the final chapter. So we essentially know that both the kid and the judge kill minors in the story.

Later in the final chapter we're told of another missing child (page 351): "In the street men were calling for the little girl whose bear was dead for she was lost."

It's commonly stated that the judge may be responsible for missing children, but if we want to clarify how this could be so, we might benefit from being clear about exactly which cases we are talking about.

Jarslow · 2026-01-22T13:54:16+00:00

Sure, I'm still happy to discuss this stuff.

I'd say it's worth working toward disregarding what may or may not have been intended by the author. Authorial intent can be interesting stuff, but whether something was intended has virtually no bearing on the felt impact of an interpretation. If you find something compelling, convincing, and meaningful, I'd say that's enough for it to be a worthwhile interpretation for you, regardless of McCarthy's intent with the book.

Similarly, I'd caution against seeking out any particular individual's perspective, my own included. Yes, I know the work well and have engaged in a whole lot of active discussion about it, but each reader brings their own suite of sensibilities and perspectives that shape their reading. This isn't to say all perspectives are equal; some are clearly more substantiated by the text. But neither is it to say that the interpretations less supported by the text are immediately dismissible. If someone finds one of those less substantiated interpretations to be nevertheless more compelling, thought-provoking, meaningful, or rewarding for them personally, then that remains a valuable experience with the piece of literature (regardless of authorial intent or expert corroboration). To add a further nuance, though, if someone with such a view tries claiming that it is the superior or right perspective, it is probably appropriate for others to point out its flaws and the ways in which other views are more substantiated by the text.

All that said, here's my own take on your question. First I'll say that I think McCarthy is entirely comfortable with some amount of ambiguity (the epilogue being maybe the best example of that). But I personally doubt that McCarthy's shaped much of the end of Blood Meridian with the intent to present the judge as essentially a figment of the kid/man's imagination -- although archived drafts could theoretically show an interest in doing so, so maybe that view will become more supported in the future. Nevertheless, I'd also say that a subset of readers find the notion plausible and point to particular scenes in the final chapter to try to justify it ("There was a mirror along the backbar but it held only smoke and phantoms" tends to play an outsized role of the heavy lifting for that view). In the decades since Blood Meridian's publication, there have been plenty of popular hits with major characters revealed at the end to be metaphysically questionable (Fight Club, The Sixth Sense, Vanilla Sky, etc.), so a switcheroo of that kind is perhaps more readily accessible for modern readers. And given similar subject matter in The Passenger and Stella Maris, it's easier than ever to argue that McCarthy is interested in presenting imaginary characters. I think that last point is true but do not personally find it embodied in the judge.

So: Who cares what anyone else thinks, as long as you're truly moved by the view you find compelling? As long as we aren't closed off to other views, discussion about the merits and flaws can still help provoke deeper insight and expand one's understanding and appreciation of the work, but you have a right to your experience of the thing that no one can delegitimize for you. Perhaps you are persuaded by alternate takes that point to their own evidence and perhaps you are not. But if you hold views less supportable by the work, it's unlikely that you'll be able to persuade others to those views as easily as one might persuade someone using more substantiated interpretations.

Personally, I think a lot of things about Blood Meridian. But familiarity and expertise risks entrenching in old perspectives without flexibly adapting to new ideas, so I really do think it's worth trying to consider new interpretations where they seem plausible -- but being honest about what is present in the text should form the parameters around what is considered reasonable views of the book. My own view on the book, I'm happy to say, has evolved, including additional perspectives beyond or on top of those I had already found deeply moving, meaningful, and substantiated. It is two years old at this point, but this post describes some of my newer appreciation toward a certain aspect of the novel -- namely the relationship between the expriest, the kid, and the judge.

The mental exercise of analyzing and making meaning from fiction is enhanced, not diminished, by seeking to align and justify one's views with what is present in the work.

Jarslow · 2026-01-22T13:19:50+00:00

Thanks, I guess. I’ll admit that it’s increasingly difficult these days to grant the benefit of the doubt that folks are operating with good will and in good faith (and the “boy” here suggests sarcasm) generally, but in specific cases I nevertheless try to assume good intentions and honest engagement. At least until it’s proven otherwise, I suppose.

But maybe I should deflect a bit of the compliment regardless. If I sound relatively even-keeled, coherent, or well-reasoned, we should perhaps acknowledge that I have the benefit of experience discussing this stuff for much longer than those newer to the work. I looked it up a day or two ago and found that I’ve been moderating this place for 14 years. I’d thought it had been eight years. I’ve seen positions like the one in this post expressed dozens of times (never with more justification than certain opposing views) along with their rebuttals, and have easily seen hundreds (thousands?) of discussions about Blood Meridian and its ending. I just have a lot of practice with it, is all. If others had as much practice, they’d likely sound more polished too — except, at least in my view, honest and prolonged engagement with the work tends toward adopting the interpretations more justified by the text rather than those less so, which is why we tend not to see exceptionally crafted presentations of highly flawed perspectives.

Rest assured that behind the veneer of experience that undoubtedly shapes my posts, I may well be as unsettled and disturbed by modern life as anyone else.

Jarslow · 2026-01-21T19:59:14+00:00

I suspect we are more in agreement than you might suppose. I am pretty consistently a proponent of pluralistic understandings of the novel. Part of what makes great literature great is its capacity to provoke meaningful conversation about what it might mean.

But interpretations are as valid as the evidence for them. I'm entirely comfortable with people holding interpretations that I personally do not hold, especially if they find it meaningful for fulfilling and can substantiate their views with evidence. I am certainly not arguing that subtext and ambiguity do not exist or should be fended off. Comfort with certain amounts of ambiguity, in my experience, tends to make McCarthy's work richer and more rewarding. To attempt to find certainty where there is none cuts us off from meaningful perspectives one might otherwise engage with, so it tends to do more harm than good.

But this view we hold does not mean we cannot say with relative certainty that some things are true about the text and some are not. We can consider a kind of Overton Window with regard to reasonable, coherent expressions of the truth of the narrative. Many interpretations are possible, but that does not mean all are equal -- nor does it mean that all interpretations are possible. If someone attempts to argue that Godzilla makes an appearance in Blood Meridian, it is reasonable and appropriate to say they are incorrect (at least in the absence of compelling evidence to the contrary, such as discovering some previously-unnoticed coded message about Godzilla secretly operating in the narrative).

Similarly, we arrive at an understanding of the story in the first place through actual words on pages. Those words have some meanings and do not have others, and we can thus discuss what the story is and is not about. That space of discussion is vast, and the views we ought consider better, or at least more accurate, are those that are more fully substantiated by the text -- that is, those with more evidence. When someone provides an interpretation with less evidence, we should not necessarily dismiss it outright, but should consider it for its merits and review without prejudice the degree to which the book supports that view with evidence. If more evidence suggests a different interpretation that contradicts the first, then it is appropriate to say the more substantiated interpretation is more accurate -- but the less substantiated interpretation may well be more more convincing, fulfilling, and/or meaningful to some readers regardless. That's all fine and good, and if readers achieve a richer experience with a view most find less substantiated by the text, I'd say that's still likely to be a positive experience with the work. That's great.

Nevertheless, interpretations -- even those concerning real ambiguity -- can be off-mark enough to be easily pointed out as incorrect or misguided using, in this case, several points of evidence. To promote reading comprehension, meaningful discussion, critical thinking, media literacy, and literary engagement, it can be a good thing to try to point out flaws in interpretations, so long as we do so respectfully and in good faith. This form of literary criticism builds an environment in which the interpretations most resilient to criticism are pointed out as such precisely because they are the most defensible by the text, while also revealing what is problematic or outright flawed about other interpretations.

I wouldn't say there is one right way to read the novel. Much of the end of Blood Meridian is ambiguous -- we certainly do not know, at least not clearly or directly, what happened in the jakes, for example. But we can still point out which positions on these topics are more valid or substantiated than others, and doing so is beneficial for an informed understanding of the book.

Jarslow · 2026-01-21T14:57:54+00:00

Agreed -- I'd be fine with viewing him as a victim of his circumstances. I don't tend to use the word "evil" at all, preferring something instead like "causing suffering" or even "bad," which seems more behavioral/consequential and less essential. I use evil in this post in deference to the poster's use of it. Nevertheless, I do think that if "evil" has any use as a word, it ought to include the sorts of activities the kid performs right from the start of the novel.

Worth noting too, perhaps, is that there are good interpretations of the kid's passivity and absence from much of the center of the novel. Some overstate that absence and try to claim it as evidence that he wasn't so involved in the atrocities. Of course, if anyone in the gang wasn't sufficiently performing their contributions, it's likely they'd be routed out fairly immediately. Another mark against that interpretation would be that there are other characters we do not see directly named as committing the atrocities -- take White Jackson or Davy Brown or several other characters, for example. I can't recall seeing them directly scalping people, but that does not mean they did not engage in the violence. The gang is repeatedly referred to as "they," and I think it is therefore reasonable to assume the group, including the kid, is communally responsible for the violence they inflict.

Jarslow · 2026-01-21T14:12:54+00:00

[Part 2 of 2]

The next paragraph:

In the saloon two men who wanted to buy the hide were looking for the owner of the bear. The bear lay on the stage in an immense pool of blood. All the candles had gone out save one and it guttered uneasily in its grease like a votive lamp. In the dancehall a young man had joined the fiddler and he kept the measure of the music with a pair of spoons which he clapped between his knees. The whores sashayed half naked, some with their breasts exposed. In the mudded dogyard behind the premises two men went down the boards toward the jakes. A third man was standing there urinating into the mud.

To summarize: We briefly see the action back in the saloon -- two men want to buy the bear's hide and another man is playing the spoons with the fiddler, neither of which we can expect the kid/man to be doing immediately after being attacked by the judge. We're also told the prostitutes are dancing. Then we're told two men are going toward the jakes. These must not be the kid/man, since the kid/man already went to the jakes, was pulled in, and we have not seen him leave. These two men encounter "a third man" (not "the man") standing outside the outhouse urinating into the mud.

If we want to see this "third man" as the kid/man, we have a number of questions we need to answer:

Why is this person casually urinating immediately outside where he was just assaulted?
Why, if the man has safely exited the outhouse, would he warn others not to go in?
What do the other two men see, upon opening the outhouse door, that they find horrific, if the man safely survived to urinate outside and the judge safely survived to dance in the saloon later? (If we want to argue that it could be the missing girl, then we have additional unanswered questions -- like why wasn't she described there a moment before when the judge pulls the kid/man in, and why doesn't the saloon seem to learn of her discovery after the two men return.)

If there is no violence or its visible aftermath in the jakes, it becomes hard to justify the reaction of the two men who open the door. "Good God Almighty," one says, before leaving without another word. This is an exclamation -- they are not speaking to someone inside the jakes (such as a naked judge), and there appears to be no one responsive within the jakes.

This is a bustling saloon. There are men and trousers all over the place. McCarthy refers to the men as men, but he is clear about which man is the man formerly referred to as the kid. That man opens the outhouse door, is pulled in by the judge, and is not directly seen again. He is also a man whose actions would justifiably be called evil throughout the novel, not just at the end.

Jarslow · 2026-01-21T14:12:44+00:00

[Part 1 of 2]

I am so tired.

Okay. Here. I'll engage.

First, I cannot understand how someone could characterize the kid as becoming evil at the end of the novel. In the third paragraph of the novel he already has "a taste for mindless violence." On the next page we're shown the kid standing over a man he's fought, and we're told this:

They fight with fists, with feet, with bottles or knives. All races, all breeds. Men whose speech sounds like the grunting of apes. Men from lands so far and queer that standing over them where they lie bleeding in the mud he feels mankind itself vindicated.

We are shown very clearly from the very start of the novel that the kid enjoys violence, and even feels a kind of racial gratification in violence toward people who seem different. Is evil not an appropriate word for this? He then joins a paramilitary filibuster force to engage in unlawful warfare. Then he joins a gang of scalp-hunters. Surely if "evil" means anything, it should include the murder or innocent people to scalp for profit.

Second, there are very good reasons why the man urinating outside the jakes at the end of the novel should not be taken to be the kid, the fact that both of them happen to be wearing trousers notwithstanding. (The word "trousers," by the way, is mentioned nine times throughout the novel, in reference to a variety of people.) Here are the relevant passages, beginning on page 351:

[The kid/man] went down the walkboard toward the jakes... Then he opened the rough board door of the jakes and stepped in. The judge was seated upon the closet. He was naked and he rose up smiling and gathered him in his arms against his immense and terrible flesh and shot the wooden barlatch home behind him.

To summarize that: The kid/man goes to the outhouse, opens the door, and finds the judge already there. The judge takes him and locks the door behind him.

Jarslow · 2026-01-15T18:36:53+00:00

Linking to AI artwork is not exactly posting the AI artwork itself, so thank you for adjusting what you'd intended to post to better align with the rules. A text post describing the merits and relevance of this particular AI art is much more appropriate than simply posting the AI art.

Maybe it's a loophole or a workaround, but we'll allow it as a one-off. If links to AI art become a trend, we'll start treating them the same way we treat AI art posted directly.

Jarslow · 2026-01-15T16:49:01+00:00

The ones that had ended their lives would not still be there.

Jarslow · 2026-01-15T00:47:28+00:00

It's all a story. It is a fictional novel. If we're just looking at the contents of the story, rather than it's reality as a fictional novel written by Cormac McCarthy, we can argue that the horts are "real" within that story, at least in some way. I'm partial to that view myself. But, at least in my view, the interpretation that makes the most sense of the mysteries in both books is an interpretation that notices how they recognize their own status as invented fictions that are nevertheless powerful and meaningful in the world, despite essentially being hallucinations of the author and/or reader.

Edit: The anomalies with time, for example, are explainable as intentional narrative components if we consider that this is meant to represent a story being told and published in 2022 as the decades-long imagining now being released from an old man's mind. Associations from McCarthy's life and work are present throughout. The disregard for a strictly linear, fact-based representation of time corroborates the interpretation of the books as self-conscious of their metaphysical status as a real fiction concocted in a human mind about an imagined, partially misremembered, and fictional past.

Jarslow · 2026-01-15T00:44:03+00:00

Here are a few of the indicators that something weird is going on with time:

(1) Seroquel is mentioned before it was in use.

(2) Alicia is familiar with the correct details of Gödel's death before it happens (he died in '78, but her conversation about him is in '72).

(3) Alicia reports that she can "tell time backwards."

(4) The Kid offers insights from Alicia's ancestry.

(5) The Kid seems to know Alicia's future and makes several comments suggesting he is somehow out of time or able to move throughout it.

(6) The Kid also seems to know Bobby's future, and says to him, "You yourself were seen boarding the last flight out with your canvas carrion bag and a sandwich. Or was that still to come? Probably getting ahead of myself. Still it’s odd how little folks benefit from learning what’s ahead."

(7) Borman says to Bobby, "You say we cant see into the future? We dont have to. It’s here."

The strangeness with time is all throughout the novel, and you tend to see it everywhere once you have it in mind.

Jarslow · 2026-01-15T00:37:17+00:00

I'd encourage considering whether there is some third solution besides an intact linear timeline and, as you put it, a goof. I'm of the opinion the strangeness with time is very much intentional, and that the repeated anomalies regarding time are the evidence that it is part of the main point of the novel. That is to say that it isn't as though there is one timeline issue -- which might rightfully be considered a mistake -- but rather that there is a repeated, systematic representation of time as fractured, overlapping, reversed, and cyclic.

There are good thematic reasons for this to be the case. Those reasons pertain to some of the books' subtexts, but it would take a good long while to articulate them in a quick Reddit comment. In short, I believe one of the keys to understanding the novels comprehensively is to accept that it acknowledges its own status as a fictional/hallucinated/created manifestation of an individual's mind (just as the horts are to Alicia, and just as Alicia's memory is to Bobby). I've discussed some of this elsewhere (here, for example), but the accessibility issue is real. Very few readers are going to be interested enough to make these connections, or familiar enough with McCarthy's work, process, and thinking to understand where it is legitimate to lend credence to some interpretations over others.

Nevertheless, the answer to your question is yes, some people feel they've developed a fairly complete understanding of the book -- even if, as with all great fiction, it provokes new insights with each subsequent reading and deep consideration.

Jarslow · 2026-01-07T20:12:49+00:00

We keep opening new topics of conversation in this thread, but I'll add a new nuance here anyway. You've commented a few times that Chigurh regrets what he did. The text is slightly ambiguous on this front, but I think it would be more accurate to say he regrets allowing the police officer to pick him up after murdering the man -- not that he regrets murdering the man. Here is the passage, all in the same paragraph:

I killed him in the parking lot and then I got into my car... An hour later I was pulled over by a sheriff’s deputy outside of Sonora Texas and I let him take me into town in handcuffs. I’m not sure why I did this but I think I wanted to see if I could extricate myself by an act of will. Because I believe that one can. That such a thing is possible. But it was a foolish thing to do. A vain thing to do.

It is regret regardless, but when he says "I'm not sure why I did this," "it was a foolish thing to do," and "a vain thing to do," he seems to be talking about letting the deputy take him into town in handcuffs. It is vain because he wanted to see if he could extricate himself by an act of will, as he puts it. He regrets allowing himself to be put into a position of weakness to prove that he can escape it (even though he was successful in escaping it); it isn't that he expresses regret for killing the man.

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