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Cormac McCarthy

No Country for Old Men Paperback – Big Book, July 11, 2006

by Cormac McCarthy (Author)

4.6 10,004 ratings

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From the bestselling author of The Passenger and the Pulitzer Prize–winning novel The Road comes a "profoundly disturbing and gorgeously rendered" novel (The Washington Post) that returns to the Texas-Mexico border, setting of the famed Border Trilogy.

The time is our own, when rustlers have given way to drug-runners and small towns have become free-fire zones. One day, a good old boy named Llewellyn Moss finds a pickup truck surrounded by a bodyguard of dead men. A load of heroin and two million dollars in cash are still in the back. When Moss takes the money, he sets off a chain reaction of catastrophic violence that not even the law—in the person of aging, disillusioned Sheriff Bell—can contain.

As Moss tries to evade his pursuers—in particular a mysterious mastermind who flips coins for human lives—McCarthy simultaneously strips down the American crime novel and broadens its concerns to encompass themes as ancient as the Bible and as bloodily contemporary as this morning’s headlines.

No Country for Old Men is a triumph.

Look for Cormac McCarthy's latest bestselling novels, The Passenger and Stella Maris.

Print length

309 pages
Language

English
Publication date

July 11, 2006
Dimensions

5.14 x 0.67 x 7.99 inches
ISBN-10

0375706674
ISBN-13

978-0375706677
Lexile measure

HL610L
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Popular Highlights in this book

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Anyway, you never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.
Highlighted by 2,095 Kindle readers
It’s a life’s work to see yourself for what you really are and even then you might be wrong.
Highlighted by 1,577 Kindle readers
Somewhere out there is a true and living prophet of destruction and I dont want to confront him.
Highlighted by 1,135 Kindle readers

Editorial Reviews

Review

“Profoundly disturbing and gorgeously rendered. The most accessible of all his works.” —Washington Post

“A narrative that rips along like hell on wheels [in a] race with the devil [on] a stage as big as Texas.” —The New York Times Book Review

“Expertly staged and pitilessly lighted. It feels like a genuine diagnosis of the postmillennial malady, a scary illumination of the oncoming darkness.” —Time

“A cause for celebration. He is nothing less than our greatest living writer, and this is a novel that must be read and remembered.” —Houston Chronicle

About the Author

The novels of the American writer, CORMAC McCARTHY, have received a number of literary awards, including the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Award, and the National Book Critics Circle Award. His works adapted to film include All the Pretty Horses, The Road, and No Country for Old Men—the latter film receiving four Academy Awards, including the award for Best Picture. He died in 2023.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

I

I sent one boy to the gaschamber at Huntsville. One and only one. My arrest and my testimony. I went up there and visited with him two or three times. Three times. The last time was the day of his execution. I didnt have to go but I did. I sure didnt want to. He’d killed a fourteen year old girl and I can tell you right now I never did have no great desire to visit with him let alone go to his execution but I done it. The papers said it was a crime of passion and he told me there wasnt no passion to it. He’d been datin this girl, young as she was. He was nineteen. And he told me that he had been plannin to kill somebody for about as long as he could remember. Said that if they turned him out he’d do it again. Said he knew he was goin to hell. Told it to me out of his own mouth. I dont know what to make of that. I surely dont. I thought I’d never seen a person like that and it got me to wonderin if maybe he was some new kind. I watched them strap him into the seat and shut the door. He might of looked a bit nervous about it but that was about all. I really believe that he knew he was goin to be in hell in fifteen minutes. I believe that. And I’ve thought about that a lot. He was not hard to talk to. Called me Sheriff. But I didnt know what to say to him. What do you say to a man that by his own admission has no soul? Why would you say anything? I’ve thought about it a good deal. But he wasnt nothin compared to what was comin down the pike.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I dont know what them eyes was the windows to and I guess I’d as soon not know. But there is another view of the world out there and other eyes to see it and that’s where this is goin. It has done brought me to a place in my life I would not of thought I’d of come to. Somewhere out there is a true and living prophet of destruction and I dont want to confront him. I know he’s real. I have seen his work. I walked in front of those eyes once. I wont do it again. I wont push my chips forward and stand up and go out to meet him. It aint just bein older. I wish that it was. I cant say that it’s even what you are willin to do. Because I always knew that you had to be willin to die to even do this job. That was always true. Not to sound glorious about it or nothin but you do. If you aint they’ll know it. They’ll see it in a heartbeat. I think it is more like what you are willin to become. And I think a man would have to put his soul at hazard. And I wont do that. I think now that maybe I never would.
The deputy left Chigurh standing in the corner of the office with his hands cuffed behind him while he sat in the swivelchair and took off his hat and put his feet up and called Lamar on the mobile.

Just walked in the door. Sheriff he had some sort of thing on him like one of them oxygen tanks for emphysema or whatever. Then he had a hose that run down the inside of his sleeve and went to one of them stunguns like they use at the slaughterhouse. Yessir. Well that’s what it looks like. You can see it when you get in. Yessir. I got it covered. Yessir.

When he stood up out of the chair he swung the keys off his belt and opened the locked desk drawer to get the keys to the jail. He was slightly bent over when Chigurh squatted and scooted his manacled hands beneath him to the back of his knees. In the same motion he sat and rocked backward and passed the chain under his feet and then stood instantly and effortlessly. If it looked like a thing he’d practiced many times it was. He dropped his cuffed hands over the deputy’s head and leaped into the air and slammed both knees against the back of the deputy’s neck and hauled back on the chain.

They went to the floor. The deputy was trying to get his hands inside the chain but he could not. Chigurh lay there pulling back on the bracelets with his knees between his arms and his face averted. The deputy was flailing wildly and he’d begun to walk sideways over the floor in a circle, kicking over the wastebasket, kicking the chair across the room. He kicked shut the door and he wrapped the throwrug in a wad about them. He was gurgling and bleeding from the mouth. He was strangling on his own blood. Chigurh only hauled the harder. The nickelplated cuffs bit to the bone. The deputy’s right carotid artery burst and a jet of blood shot across the room and hit the wall and ran down it. The deputy’s legs slowed and then stopped. He lay jerking. Then he stopped moving altogether. Chigurh lay breathing quietly, holding him. When he got up he took the keys from the deputy’s belt and released himself and put the deputy’s revolver in the waistband of his trousers and went into the bathroom.

He ran cold water over his wrists until they stopped bleeding and he tore strips from a handtowel with his teeth and wrapped his wrists and went back into the office. He sat on the desk and fastened the toweling with tape from a dispenser, studying the dead man gaping up from the floor. When he was done he got the deputy’s wallet out of his pocket and took the money and put it in the pocket of his shirt and dropped the wallet to the floor. Then he picked up his airtank and the stungun and walked out the door and got into the deputy’s car and started the engine and backed around and pulled out and headed up the road.

On the interstate he picked out a late model Ford sedan with a single driver and turned on the lights and hit the siren briefly. The car pulled onto the shoulder. Chigurh pulled in behind him and shut off the engine and slung the tank across his shoulder and stepped out. The man was watching him in the rearview mirror as he walked up.

What’s the problem, officer? he said.

Sir would you mind stepping out of the vehicle?

The man opened the door and stepped out. What’s this about? he said.

Would you step away from the vehicle please.

The man stepped away from the vehicle. Chigurh could see the doubt come into his eyes at this bloodstained figure before him but it came too late. He placed his hand on the man’s head like a faith healer. The pneumatic hiss and click of the plunger sounded like a door closing. The man slid soundlessly to the ground, a round hole in his forehead from which the blood bubbled and ran down into his eyes carrying with it his slowly uncoupling world visible to see. Chigurh wiped his hand with his handkerchief. I just didnt want you to get blood on the car, he said.

Moss sat with the heels of his boots dug into the volcanic gravel of the ridge and glassed the desert below him with a pair of twelve power german binoculars. His hat pushed back on his head. Elbows propped on his knees. The rifle strapped over his shoulder with a harnessleather sling was a heavybarreled .270 on a ’98 Mauser action with a laminated stock of maple and walnut. It carried a Unertl telescopic sight of the same power as the binoculars. The antelope were a little under a mile away. The sun was up less than an hour and the shadow of the ridge and the datilla and the rocks fell far out across the floodplain below him. Somewhere out there was the shadow of Moss himself. He lowered the binoculars and sat studying the land. Far to the south the raw mountains of Mexico. The breaks of the river. To the west the baked terracotta terrain of the run- ning borderlands. He spat dryly and wiped his mouth on the shoulder of his cotton workshirt.

The rifle would shoot half minute of angle groups. Five inch groups at one thousand yards. The spot he’d picked to shoot from lay just below a long talus of lava scree and it would put him well within that distance. Except that it would take the better part of an hour to get there and the antelope were grazing away from him. The best he could say about any of it was that there was no wind.

When he got to the foot of the talus he raised himself slowly and looked for the antelope. They’d not moved far from where he last saw them but the shot was still a good seven hundred yards. He studied the animals through the binoculars. In the compressed air motes and heat distortion. A low haze of shimmering dust and pollen. There was no other cover and there wasnt going to be any other shot.
He wallowed down in the scree and pulled off one boot and laid it over the rocks and lowered the forearm of the rifle down into the leather and pushed off the safety with his thumb and sighted through the scope.

They stood with their heads up, all of them, looking at him.

Damn, he whispered. The sun was behind him so they couldnt very well have seen light reflect off the glass of the scope. They had just flat seen him.

The rifle had a Canjar trigger set to nine ounces and he pulled the rifle and the boot toward him with great care and sighted again and jacked the crosshairs slightly up the back of the animal standing most broadly to him. He knew the exact drop of the bullet in hundred yard increments. It was the distance that was uncertain. He laid his finger in the curve of the trigger. The boar’s tooth he wore on a gold chain spooled onto the rocks inside his elbow.

Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group (July 11, 2006)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 309 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0375706674
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0375706677
Lexile measure ‏ : ‎ HL610L
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 8.3 ounces
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.14 x 0.67 x 7.99 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #761 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #11 in Westerns (Books)
- #16 in Contemporary Literature & Fiction
- #118 in Literary Fiction (Books)

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Cormac McCarthy

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Cormac McCarthy was born in Rhode Island. He later went to Chicago, where he worked as an auto mechanic while writing his first novel, The Orchard Keeper. The Orchard Keeper was published by Random House in 1965; McCarthy's editor there was Albert Erskine, William Faulkner's long-time editor. Before publication, McCarthy received a travelling fellowship from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, which he used to travel to Ireland. In 1966 he also received the Rockefeller Foundation Grant, with which he continued to tour Europe, settling on the island of Ibiza. Here, McCarthy completed revisions of his next novel, Outer Dark. In 1967, McCarthy returned to the United States, moving to Tennessee. Outer Dark was published in 1968, and McCarthy received the Guggenheim Fellowship for Creative Writing in 1969. His next novel, Child of God, was published in 1973. From 1974 to 1975, McCarthy worked on the screenplay for a PBS film called The Gardener's Son, which premiered in 1977. A revised version of the screenplay was later published by Ecco Press. In the late 1970s, McCarthy moved to Texas, and in 1979 published his fourth novel, Suttree, a book that had occupied his writing life on and off for twenty years. He received a MacArthur Fellowship in 1981, and published his fifth novel, Blood Meridian, in 1985. All the Pretty Horses, the first volume of The Border Trilogy, was published in 1992. It won both the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award and was later turned into a feature film. The Stonemason, a play that McCarthy had written in the mid-1970s and subsequently revised, was published by Ecco Press in 1994. Soon thereafter, the second volume of The Border Trilogy, The Crossing, was published with the third volume, Cities of the Plain, following in 1998. McCarthy's next novel, No Country for Old Men, was published in 2005. This was followed in 2006 by a novel in dramatic form, The Sunset Limited, originally performed by Steppenwolf Theatre Company of Chicago. McCarthy's most recent novel, The Road, was published in 2006 and won the Pulitzer Prize.

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Timothy Haugh

Three Interesting Characters

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on June 24, 2023

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Recently, we lost two writers for whom I have great admiration: Cormac McCarthy & Robert Gottlieb. I consider Cormac McCarthy’s The Road to be one of the great novels, and I recently wrote about The Passenger and Stella Maris. I decided that the best tribute I could give to these two authors is to go back and read some of their work I missed the first time around.

The thing about the ridiculous violence in certain McCarthy novels that makes it somewhat more palatable is that he is obviously always after something deeper. Here, I see a study in morality. Bell is the moral man, Moss is the amoral man, and Chigurh is the immoral man. The moral and immoral man live by rules and make things happen, for good or ill. The amoral man takes things as they come with little thought and things happen to him. The interesting thing is that the morality of the man doesn’t stop him from sometimes doing stupid, horrible things (and sometimes even good things—even the immoral man). The difference is simply how each reacts and examines (or doesn’t) his acts. All three characters here are fascinating.

Still, the theme of a novel must live within its plot, and this is where this novel falls a bit short. The drug-running plot is a bit too worn out for me, even if was prominent in this 1980’s setting (Miami Vice, Scarface). Some of it rings true: the shootout in the desert, the abandoned plane, hiding out in seedy motels. But I am always turned off by big criminal shootouts on the main streets of American towns where the law enforcement is completely ineffectual. And the novel, which is very muscular most of the way through, sort of peters out at the end. Chigurh disappears like a ghost, letting Bell of the hook. It doesn’t really satisfy.

For the most part, however, this is a very good novel, if not my favorite in McCarthy’s canon. I am always somewhat surprised at the sophistication he is able to bring out in the conversations between his characters. It foreshadows the kind of very thoughtful dialogue he will create by the time of The Passenger. It saddens me to know that we have reached the end of any new work from this great author, but I find most of his work to be worth revisiting, and that is something I would not say of many writers.

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Bruce Hilton

Fantastic writing, a classic imo

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on June 7, 2023

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This book is well established as far as reputation by many reviewers who make a living doing it. What I do want to mention is that movie, which is better than most, doesn't begin to touch the book. It's remarkable that the written word can, in some people's hands, seem more intimate and more powerful than pictures produced by good actors and directors. The movie skips some conversations that are highlights of the book. In summary, even if you have seen the movie the book is well worth the time - and it won't be a long time, as you will be pulled along as if you are hitched to a freight train.

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Marye young

Take your time

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on June 30, 2023

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The plot is riveting. His ability to paint disturbing pictures for his readers is satisfying
I would find myself returning to passages just to savor the color of the realm of emotional nature laid down.
Just, as in all his books, take your time to relax and enjoy.

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Aj

Open-Ended Questions?

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on June 3, 2023

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No Country for Old Men is a well-written thriller. One of its lasting contributions to popular culture lay in its chief antagonist, Chigur. The book asks several questions throughout, of which I will mention only one, but it can also be found in Frank Sinatra's 'My Way'. The only fault I can lay at its door is its open ending, but even then, I can not say that it is an undeserved one. In the end, the book only has suggestions, a warning perhaps, but still, no concrete answers. It is a recommended reading.

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James Barton Phelps

Dystopian Doom Drenched Fiction - But Superb Writing

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on December 14, 2012

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I read the book once-not carefully - and knew I didn't get it. Then I read it again with some care; and when I put it down that second time it bothered me that I still didn't know what the book was really about. Then I saw the movie and it cleared up a lot of it; but there were still things I didn't understand - locations, time lines, identities., who if anyone has the money at the end of the book Above all you need a map of West Texas to follow the story; and you need to consult it often. And now I have gone back once again to clear some things up and think about what McCarthy was really trying to say, if anything. And I'm still not sure. But I need to get this review off my mind. So to the extent that McCarthy was writing for a knowing audience the book is a flop. To the extent that once again McCarthy was showing off his superb writing skills - particularly his ability to give us a dystopian story, to write doom drenched fiction it was a success. Would I read it again? Probably. Would I recommend it to you? Depends.

About McCarthy as a writer: No one writing today can say so much or describe so much on one page as McCarthy - and in words of few syllables. Nor can anyone writing today bring the reader into the picture as well as McCarthy nor sketch a character as well nor write conversation so well that you can almost hear the Texas twang, the rural patois of a good old boy Texas lawman. Read a page of McCarthy describing Llewellyn Moss's first view of the scene of four burned shot-up trucks surrounded by three dead bodies and one wounded man in the Texas desert and you are right there. Listen to Sheriff Ed Tom Bell talk to his uncle Ellis and you are in the room with them. I just wish he would be clearer. Was this a requiem for the good old days in West Texas? Was it a tribute to the men of that time? Was it a study of evil? (Frankly I have the same questions in respect to his fascination with evil in the only other McCarthy books I have read - The Road and Blood Horizon ) Was sit a Jeremiad against the hippie generation? The narcotics trade? Or was it just a good story interspersed with a lot of philosophy, giving Melville a run for his money? I guess it was all of these things. But I wish now that, having put the book down, I really knew what he was trying to tell me.

The obvious story is fairly clear; Moss finds the trucks and the men in the Texas desert just this side of the border. Everyone is dead except the wounded man asking for water. (Moss has none.) One of the trucks is loaded with bricks of cocaine. There is a man lying dead by a briefcase under a tree. The briefcase holds 2.3 million in hundred dollar bills. Moss takes it. He returns that night with water, but the man has been shot and the cocaine is gone. He realizes too late that he may not be alone, all terrain four wheelers with lights are in the vicinity and he is spotted. He runs. And a lot of the rest of the narrative is the chase. Obviously two sides have been cheated - one of the drugs, one of the money - and both are out to find Moss and the money. The principle agent of the chase is a psychopathic killer with almost supernatural powers - Anton Chigurth who, armed with a compressed air bottle connected to a cattle stun gun and a sawed off shotgun, manages in two hundred blood stained pages to kill Moss, his wife, his mother in law, a deputy, an innocent citizen, two or three hotel clerks, the business man behind the drug dealing - all in separate killings - and then three Mexicans in a gun fight all together; and if you can tell me after reading this book how Chigurth managed to find all these people (even though a transponder was hidden in the cash and accounts for his presence in at lest one of he killings) I'll buy you a good dinner at a place of your choice. McCarthy, being the man he thinks he is, doesn't have to explain. Chigurth just appears And there is no denouement, no satisfaction, no justice, no catharsis Though injured Chigurth just walks away out of the pages. Evil, points out McCarthy, is still out there - and always will be.

That's the narrative; but it's not the story. The story is that West Texas has changed so much since the end of World War II to 1980 (the period in which the narrative is set) that it is no longer a country for old men; and that is lamentable. Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, a man who is sure to steal your heart, tells the story in his own words, about how things are now, how things were then, what men should be like, about his opinions on life in first person italicized ruminations which begin and end the book and which are often interspersed into the narrative. They are the guts of what McCarthy has to say about life; and they are worth reading. The rest of the stuff is just well written bloody crime stuff. You'll love Ed Tom and adore his wife Lorraine who, though unready, cheerfully goes into retirement with Ed Tom who, after thirty-five years of being a sheriff. finds it is no country for old men.
JBP - December 2007

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Mauricio Fontana Filho

Uma verdadeira obra prima

Reviewed in Brazil 🇧🇷 on August 25, 2022

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The road já chegou num pico do espetáculo, esta obra segue o mesmo nível, senão o transcende

2 people found this helpful

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Casper Oppenhuis de Jong

Better than the movie even

Reviewed in the Netherlands 🇳🇱 on June 20, 2023

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'No Country For Old Men' is a gripping tale of fate, morality, and the relentless march of time. The narrative is taut and suspenseful, with McCarthy's characteristic sparse prose heightening the tension. The characters are complex and well-drawn, each struggling with their own moral dilemmas. McCarthy's exploration of the themes of justice, fate, and the nature of evil makes this book a compelling read.

Edgar Rubio

Excelente libro

Reviewed in Mexico 🇲🇽 on July 12, 2019

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Un par de cineastas tan geniales como los hermanos Coen no pudieron encontrar cómo mejorar la narrativa y grabaron la adaptación casi cuadro por cuadro, con el diálogo casi sin alterar, eso habla mucho de la calidad de éste libro.

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Michele

Cormac McCarthy un genio

Reviewed in Italy 🇮🇹 on November 9, 2020

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Cormac McCarthy è forse uno dei più grandi scrittori viventi! Da Premio Nobel per la letteratura!

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José

Imposible d soltar

Reviewed in Spain 🇪🇸 on June 10, 2016

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Como todo lo.d Mccarthy, una joya. Esta vez con una prosa simple y diáfana. Lo más intenso, sus últimas líneas. Maravilla.

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