The Passenger & Stella Maris

The Passenger & Stella Maris

Anyone who has ever crossed paths with the work of American literary legend Cormac McCarthy probably could foresee what’s awaiting within the pages of McCarthy’s last books: The Passenger and Stella Maris. The crude rawness of Blood Meridian, the distress and emptiness of The Road, the liveliness of his border trilogy but above all else linguistic finesse and philosophical transcendence.

McCarthy has been especially generous with the last two. 

The Passenger doesn’t start with a bang, its story descends on the reader rather gradually. We embark on a typically McCarthy-esque journey with Bobby Western, a professional diver, as he again plunges into the depths of water, this time to investigate a plane wreck with its victims still on board. Bodies clutched by the safety belts, hair eerily floating in the water, hollow lifeless gazes. But something is missing from the scene: the black box, the pilot’s bag, and the tenth passenger. A setup not unlike one of McCarthy’s most famous thriller – No Country for Old Men.

Passenger

McCarthy, Cormac

EnglishPaperback / softback

Pan Macmillan

ISBN: 9780330535519

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€18.55

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But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The further we dive  into the story, the more we see that the investigation into the plane tragedy is just a fragment of something that’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen in the world of literature. The story is divided into two storylines. Bobby’s, which is characterized by its deep dialogues and an abundance of southern characters, and that of his schizophrenic sister Alicia, genius mathematician, which lets us submerge into the depths of her soul as she is tortured by hallucinations she cannot escape from. 

He sat wrapped in one of the gray rescue blankets from the emergency bag and drank hot tea. The dark sea lapped about. The Coast Guard boat that had pulled up a hundred yards off sat rocking in the swells with running lights on and beyond that ten miles to the north you could see the lights of trucks moving along the causeway, coming out of New Orleans and heading east along US 90 toward Pass Christian, Biloxi, Mobile. (The Passenger, p. 16)

The two storylines are, however, just a framework. While reading it for the first time, you feel like you're balancing on a shore, warily facing the thunderous ocean full of unanswered questions that settle deeply into the heart and mind. Seemingly random events are, in fact, masterfully thought out and give us a picture of an extremely complex world, which cannot be contained to one lifetime. Perhaps that’s the reason the characters delve into debates about physics geniuses of our time, pondering questions and topics that would fill a book of its own, or simply tease each other. In sharp contrast to the philosophical discussion of finality and mathematical logic stand petty conversations about relationships or shooting vermin in a flea-ridden caravan.

Borman drank. Western pointed at the wall. What is that? he said.

What is what?

On the wall there. What is that?

I dont know. Looks like dried puke. You sure you dont want another hit on this?

No thanks. This place looks awful.

It´s the maid´s day off. Hold it. Dont move.

What?

Dont move.

Jesus, Borman. Put that damned thing down.

Borman had put the bottle between his knees and fetched a pistol from somewhere in the depths of the lounger and was aiming it at Western´s head.

Good God, Borman.

Don´t move. (The Passenger, p. 225)

Dialogue-wise, it’s clear that McCarthy used all of his skill and talent to craft the last of his works. Often, the typical absence of quotation marks is at the expense of the poetic theatricality of dialogue (see above). In both books, we find improvisation and repetition, not as fillers, but as a way to give his southern characters a sort of plastic sharpness. Nothing’s as it seems and what perhaps looks like absurd parroting, might, in fact, be a sophisticatedly hidden mockery. 

Hi. I´am Dr. Cohen.

You´re not the Dr. Cohen I was expecting.

Sorry about that. That would be Dr. Robert Cohen.

Yes. I guess there´s no shortage of Dr. Cohens.

Probably not. (Stella Maris, p.1)

Which seamlessly moves us to Stella Maris. I won’t go into too much detail as there is a major plot twist hidden within the first couple of pages of the thinner of the two volumes. Plot twist that can be easily overlooked or, rather, misunderstood in The Passenger. The book consists entirely of dialogues between Bobby’s sister Alicia and Dr. Cohen. One can only marvel at what McCarthy can do within such limiting boundaries, all through the power of language. Sharp exchanges between genius Alicia and a young (at least that’s how I see him) psychiatrist, who, just like the hallucination-induced thalidomide Kid, tries to encourage her. Dr. Cohen doesn’t treat Alicia as one of run-of-the-mill patients. Psychological state…diagnosis…next, please! No, he is, first and foremost, trying to help. After all, the world can’t be such a hopeless place, can it?

Stella Maris

McCarthy, Cormac

EnglishPaperback / softback

Pan Macmillan

ISBN: 9781447294016

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I’m aware my review is only scratching the surface of what McCarthy treated us with. One even wonders whether it’s in anyone’s power to fully grasp this unique work. It’s not only its peculiar uneventfulness but also chronological disruptions which further complicate the plot. Reading this, there will be much uncertainty and doubts about when the events take place or if they happened at all. Are they possibly just a dreamy metaphor for the inner desires and suffering of the main characters? And will you at the end of it have the courage to guess who the Passenger is?

McCarthy’s books are not for everyone. They are not universally pleasing, nor do they aim to be. Language brilliance, attention to the smallest details, and their metaphorical and philosophical transcendency ask a lot from us readers, but it is all worth it. I would recommend these books to readers who enjoy mysteries, wordplay, and a deep and painful way of thinking because McCarthy’s prose and the topics he opens deserve nothing less. They are melancholic, often depressing. Devour us, the rising ocean. Man, fire the Bomb already! Almost like the author invites The End with open arms. 

I´m sorry, she said. I really am.

Oh that´s good. You get that, guys? She´s sorry. Well shit. Sorry? Why didnt you say so? Well fuck it. What the hell. (The Passenger, p.133)

Article translated by Gabriela Ježková

The Passenger & Stella Maris: Boxed Set

McCarthy, Cormac

EnglishMixed media product

Macmillan Publishers International

ISBN: 9781035003808

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