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literature, politics

>The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating — Blood Meridian Pt. 3

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Blood Meridian is Cormac McCarthy’s first historical novel, as well as his first ”western”, with its roots in the history of the West. Like Samuel Chamberlain’s memoir, My Confession: Recollections of a Rouge – a mixture of fact and fiction which forms the basis of Blood Meridian – McCarthy’s novel is peopled by both real and fictional characters. However, those memoirs are far from the only sources used by McCarthy to tell his tale of the macabre. Every page in this astonishing book is the result of intense studying of great historical works by novelists, dramatists, reporters, biblical scribes, scientists, historians… The list of works is virtually endless, which makes the novel even more fascinating.

I knew from reading McCarthy’s novels that he pays great attention to geography, but I had no idea that Blood Meridian was based on such sickening historical analogues, such as the Yuma-ferry massacre, until I started doing a bit of research myself. Indeed, the Yuma-ferry massacre was very real. And Judge Holden – Satan – does exist:
Whatever his antecedents he was something wholly other than their sum, nor was there system by which to divide him back into his origins for he would not go.

However much historical research McCarthy did, there is still the fact that history is very much characterized by chance. Who was there and why? Whom to trust if only the winners get to write history? Facts really are ”facts”. If you study the Holocaust, this fact couldn’t be more obvious.
It seems like McCarthy is well aware of this, thus blending fact with fiction in such a smooth way. The cruel thing is that what may come off as fiction because of its sheer brutality is often pure fact.

The first time that I read Blood Meridian I was captivated by the balance of beauty and violence, and the words that read like poetry. I had a hard time struggling with the language, though, so the second time I could concentrate more on the story, delving into the characters and experiencing the flow. After this session I began studies on the text and by the third time I knew a lot more about the building blocks, the background stories and stuff like that.

You may read Blood Meridian as a work of fiction, but knowing about the conditions of the time in which Judge Holden lived makes it even more amazing. For example, the conflicts existing in 1850 between Mexicans (both common people and military), US troops, Texans (both Ranger and civilian), Comanches, Apaches, gold-rush travellers… and the scalp hunters.

Getting an Indian’s scalp was the most certain way to prevent the Indian’s soul from reaching paradise. When the scalp is torn off, the body becomes useless, not even worthy of burial. Also, if the Indian is killed by strangulation, the soul can never escape but must always remain within the body, even after complete decomposition. Thus, to the Indians, to keep the scalp was more important than to keep the life, and so, when the scalphunters presented a scalp is was certain proof of the Indian’s certain death.
(The head photo of this blog depicts an Indian burial ground)

There was good money in the scalphunting business, and the scalps were the recipes for these business men – a tradition that exists in modern day warfare as well (for example, troops in the Vietnam war had ears tied to the antenna of their vehicles as trophies of the body count).
The government of Chihuahua paid scalp bounties, which was not uncommon. Many American states, counties and cities did this, although the government of the United States never bought hair. The governmental payment for one single scalp exceeded the amount that a common day worker who became a gang member could earn in a year.

John Sepich writes in Notes on Blood Meridian:
”Pay in the United States Army at about that time ran between seven and fifteen dollars a month when bonuses were included. A group of fifty Indian hunters paid two hundred dollars a scalp would have to bring only four scalps a month into Chihuahua city in order to exceed the army’s rate of pay, and for work not much more hazardous than the army’s. Kirker’s group was known to have killed as many as two hundred Indians on a single trip, bringing in one hundred and eighty two scalps. This approach yielded sixty times what the men would have earned in other employment. At one point, Chihuahua owned James Kirker $30,000.”

The government of Chihuahua was also willing to pay for the scalps of women and children. Also, the city was inhabited by mestizos, Latin American people whose hair was similar to the Indian’s, resulting in the slaughter of many Mexican citizens. The moral problem of scalphunting was not even a problem, since the scalphunters were licenced to do a job for the benefit of the state.
The American Holocaust in full effect.

To be continued in Part Four.
Insights reached with the help of Notes on Blood Meridian by John Sepich.

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Related posts:
The Evening Redness in the West – Blood Meridian Pt. 1
The Letting of Blood – Blood Meridian Pt. 2
Genocide Awareness Pt. 1
Genocide Awareness Pt. 2
Belief and Bloodshed: The Religion of Genocide
Derrick Jensen: Endgame
Edward Abbey on population growth
Chomsky on demoralized societies
McCarthy’s The Road
The Road
The Road – A Neverending Well of Bliss

music, reviews, swedish

>SRM Reviews (#72 June 2010) Watain – Lawless Darkness

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>Published in Sweden Rock Magazine #72 June 2010.
Here’s the unabridged version.

Watain
Lawless Darkness – 9/10
Season of Mist (Sound Pollution)

Det här är ett storslaget verk sprunget ur mörkermagiskt vansinne. Mäktigt och komplext, men ändå med ett helvetes driv. En episk tripp som går på djupet, men ändå bara skummar på ytan. Jag tror nämligen att Watain har ännu mer att ge, hur märkligt det än må låta.
Men jag var skeptisk. Hur kan man tio år efter den fullkomligt fanatiska debuten Rabid Death’s Curse utveckla och förnya en hel genre – till det bättre? Vad kan man göra efter Casus Luciferi och Sworn to the Dark utan att totalt tappa fotfästet eller upprepa sig? Jag trodde inte att Watain hade så mycket mer att ge, men efter tjugo intensiva genomlyssningar är jag överbevisad och sitter här med kalsongerna på huvudet. Den entitet som är Watain tar nu black metal vidare på allvar.

Samtidigt är detta en återgång, flera steg tillbaka bortom det tidiga raseriet. En hyllning till de klassiska album som släpptes på åttiotalet där varje låt var något av det bästa som gjorts; mästerverken som för alltid kommer att finnas i våra själar. Känslan framträder tydligast i Kiss of Death, ett lapptäcke av tvära kast som bara växer och växer. Överlag dryper plattan av allsångsvänliga slagdängor (Quorthons ande är allestädes närvarande) som till en början må framstå som primitiva, men som är ruskigt effektiva. Du lär komma ihåg de här låtarna. Och här finns skivans styrka: det enkla vävs samman med det komplexa, och balansen däremellan är perfekt, vilket även kan sägas om produktionen. Tore Stjerna har överträffat sig själv i den anrika Necromorbus-studion. Skivan kunde inte ha låtit annorlunda.
Enkelheten återkommer även i texterna. Det är slagkraftig lyrik, men ganska långt ifrån de komplexa sjoken på de två första skivorna. Även här en återgång alltså, som egentligen började redan på Sworn to the Dark. Jag gissar på en vilja till makt, att hitta urkraftkällorna. Ibland slår det enkla hårdare än det svåra.

Att kalla detta ett mästerverk är dock omöjligt. Det återstår att se om tio år. Men ändå: Waters of Ain. Carl McCoy. Herrejävlar.
Fields of the Nephilim-sångaren medverkar blott med tjugosju ord i detta avslutande stycke, men stämningen – som redan är magisk – höjs ytterligare några snäpp när karln börjar mässa. Just Waters of Ain (jag antar att ordleken ”Wat” och ”Ain” är medveten) blir smältdegeln där allt som byggts upp under resans gång faller på plats. Epik i kubik, men enbart på ett självklart och upphöjande vis, aldrig patetiskt.
Varje spår är värt sin vikt i guld, men d-taktsröjet i Malfeitor och Total Funeral måste framhävas, liksom den mäktiga refrängen i Wolves Curse. Här finns så mycket att ta av att en viss yrsel infinner sig när reptilhjärnan försöker bearbeta materialet, och  ändå är det så snyggt sammanhållet – och alltid omisskännligt Watain. Paketeringen, där den hittills relativt okände Zbigniew M. Bielak står för all konst, sluter cirkeln. Total perfektion.
Även om tio år lär jag bocka och buga inför Lawless Darkness. Kanske har jag även då kommit överens med albumtiteln…

literature, quotes, swedish

>Emot världen, emot livet

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Universum är bara en flyktig uppsättning elementarpartiklar. En övergångsform mot kaos. Som till sist kommer att segra. Det mänskliga släktet kommer att försvinna. Andra släkten kommer att uppstå, och försvinna i sin tur. Himlen kommer att vara iskall och tom, genomstrålad av det svaga ljuset från till hälften slocknade stjärnor. Som också de kommer att försvinna. Allt kommer att försvinna. Och mänskliga handlingar är lika fria och meningslösa som elementarpartiklarnas fria rörelser. Gott, ont, moral, känslor? Rena “viktorianska påfund”. Endast egoismen finns. Kall, intakt och strålande.

Michel Houellebecq
H.P. Lovecraft – Emot världen, emot livet

literature

>The Letting of Blood – Blood Meridian Pt. 2

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In the days to come the frail black rebuses of blood in those sands would crack and break and drift away so that in the circuit of few suns all trace of the destruction of these people would be erased. The desert wind would salt their ruins and there would be nothing, nor ghost nor scribe, to tell to any pilgrim in his passing how it was that people had lived in this place and in this place died.

The nihilism in McCarthy’s Blood Meridian is ever present, and it’s not that shallow, quick nihilism you might be used to. This shit is deep. The above quote could be seen as a description of what became of the original owners of the American land. Total death. Read more about that here.

As the gang rides – like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but more of them – the world opens up showing its most grim and vile side. And in this world, the gang only live to kill, or rather: to kill before they are killed. McCarthy once said in an interview that he’s not particularly interested in books that don’t deal with issues of life and death. One commentary said: ”But his books are only about death, never about life”. I’d say it’s quite the opposite. Or rather: life is death. As simple as that. And McCarthy is the master of storytelling it in a beautiful and haunting way.
His visions are morbid, yet so full of beauty. They tell us things of utmost importance, things about life and how we are. He encompasses the brutal and more base elements of human nature, skipping the newspaper politics altogether, and still manages to convey a message: There won’t ever be a John Wayne type of character coming to the rescue. This is not the romantic West. This is the real deal, this is the brutal truth.

And the truth reads like the Old Testament, both in its biblical rhetoric and its doom-like message about the void, Satan (Judge Holden) and the slaughtering of innocence. This is pretty far from good versus evil – this is evil versus even more evil. And that’s what the Old Testament and this world is all about, right? Right.

People speak of The Great American Novel. Well, thinking of how America is portayed in Blood Meridian, it sure is stunning and beautiful in its descriptions of the lawless West, but as for the people and the nihilism and misanthropy ruling the souls of the gang… Here is no peace. And in that sense, this is more like The Great Anti-American Novel.

That night they rode through a region electric and wild where strange shapes of soft blue fires ran over the metal of the horses’ trappings and the wagonwheels rolled in hoops of fire and little shapes of pale blue light came to perch in the ears of the horses and in the beards of the men. All night sheetlightning quaked sourceless to the west beyond the midnight thunderheads, making a bluish day of the distant desert, the mountains on the sudden skyline stark and black and livid like a land of some other order out there whose true geology was not stone but fear. The thunder moved up from the southwest and lightning lit the desert all about them, blue and barren, great clanging reaches ordered out of the absolute night like some demon kingdom summoned up or changeling land that come the day would leave them neither trace nor smoke nor ruin more than any troubling dream.

To be continued in part three…