On ruthlessness – George Berridge in TLS:
‘In April 2017, the monthly science magazine Nautilus triumphantly published a piece entitled “The Kekulé Problem”. The essay – a consideration of the relationship between the unconscious mind and the formation of language – would probably have drawn little at¬tention had it not been written by Cormac McCarthy, who, at eighty-three, was making a first foray into non-fiction. “Why is the unconscious so loathe to speak to us?” he asked. “Why the images, metaphors, pictures? Why the dreams, for that matter?” Sure enough, answers, comments and further queries came rushing in. Introducing the author’s printed responses later that year, David Krakauer, President of the Sante Fe Institute, a non-profit research institute where McCarthy has spent the past two decades as a fellow, quelled any notions of further dialogue: “I would reckon that this contribution marks a close to Cormac’s participation in this public debate”.’
(…)
‘On the publication of his debut novel, the TLS reviewer wrote that McCarthy’s “evocation of the woods and mountains is remarkably vivid and he gives the impression of having it in him to write a much better novel than this; but he will not do so while he confuses his Tennessee with Yoknapatawpha County”.’
(…)
‘The book takes its title from a comment McCarthy made to the New York Times in 1992: “The ugly fact is books are made out of books . . . the novel depends for its life on the novels that have been written”. One could in turn point to Faulkner’s Paris Review interview of 1956: “An artist is . . . completely amoral in that he will rob, borrow, beg, or steal from anybody and everybody to get the work done . . . . The writer’s only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one”.’
(…)
‘ In a pleasing moment of levity, Peebles notes an interaction between McCarthy and Austin Pendleton, an actor playing the role of White in a staged production of The Sunset Limited (2006), a Socratic dialogue between a suicidal professor and an evangelical blue-collar worker who saves him from the wheels of the titular train. “McCarthy turned to Pendleton. ‘Austin, on pages 81 and 82, I think you really had a hold of the character’ . . . . ‘Do I understand that you want me to play the other 118 pages the way I’m playing these two?’ ‘If you could’, responded McCarthy.” The conversation took place on the day of the invited dress rehearsal.’
(…)
‘The screen adaptations of All the Pretty Horses and The Road both received a muted reception. As Peebles astutely puts it: “[They] were made with such reverence for the original novels, [but] seem to be haunted by them – though at the same time, neither film is quite as haunted as it should be”.’
Read the article here.
The ruthlessness of the artist has lost its shine lately. But that books are made out of books is undeniable, in the best cases a bit of what we perceive as reality is added. But perhaps a true genius, the true thief, can make books out of books.
Why the dreams, is a valid question. To digest the sufferings and humiliations we endured during the day, is the shortest answer. A very rough summarization of Freud as well. The fantasy is more fascinating to me than the dream.