There have always been two dominant styles in Cormac McCarthy's prose-roughly, afflatus and deflatus, with not enough breathable oxygen between them. McCarthy in afflatus mode is magnificent, vatic, wasteful, hammy. The words stagger around their meanings, intoxicated by the grandiloquence of their gesturing: "God's own mudlark trudging cloaked and muttering the barren selvage of some nameless desolation where the cold sidereal sea breaks and seethes and the storms howl in from out of that black and heaving alcahest." McCarthy's deflatus mode is a rival rhetoric of mute exhaustion, as if all words, hungover from the intoxication, can hold on only to habit and familiar things: "He made himself a sandwich and spread some mustard over it and he poured a glass of milk." "He put his toothbrush back in his shavingkit and got a towel out of his bag and went down to the bathroom and showered in one of the steel stalls and shaved and brushed his teeth and came back and put on a fresh shirt."
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YULE RULES
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In Devika Regeâ first novel, India enters a troubling new era.
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Kyungha-ya. That was the entirety of Inseonâs message: my name.
REPRISE
Reckoning with Donald Trump's return to power.
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Whether youâre horrifying your teen with nauseating sex-ed analogies or watching TikToks while your toddler eats a bagel from the subway floor, face it: youâre flailing in the vast chasm of your childâs relentless needs.
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THE FAMILY PLAN
The pro-life movementâ new playbook.
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