He stares at the utterly uninterested stars
and berates himself in a howling silence, curses himself for an irresolute
weakling and for being the sort of pathetic fool who wishes he could have a
moment back again so he might use it properly. Fool! A man takes an action or
he does not-and then the moment is fled to wherever all moments in relentless
succession do irretrievably flee.
A masterful novelized account of the life of William “Bloody Bill”
Anderson and all the rawness of the days of bushwhacking.
It is bloody, profane, poetic, poignant, in short, a work of art. I
have no problem elevating Mr. Blake to the status that is usually reserved for Cormac
McCarthy.
I enjoy McCarthy’s work but there is something more accessible in
Blake and no less beautifully addressed.
Easily a masterpiece within the genre.
But…not for the faint-hearted or delicate dispositioned, events are
portrayed accurately.
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