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From The Nethermost
Yet, I see that Cormac McCarthy uses no quotation marks in All the Pretty Horses. I read some of Kent Haruf's novel Plainsong recently. It was about two bachelor brothers who have lived together on a farm their whole lives. You and I would say they had a lonesome existence way out on that farm. Here's the big thing: When they talk, there are no quotation marks. None. I don't like it. Why would Haruf, or McCarthy, do this? Now, having said that let me tell of some of my pleasure at reading the dialogue between the two bachelor brothers. It brought back memories. Several times, as a maturing mathematician, I had grants. I thought it best to go away at those times. My wife was willing to do that even with three sons as baggage. The point was that going away for a full year gave me two years of not being on Institute committees: the first year was because I was out of town and the second year was because folks didn't remember that I was back. One year, we chose to be far away. We moved to Missoula, Montana.
Just as in Haruf's novel, bachelor brothers lived just a little more than a mile from the end of the gravel road and the beginning of the Forest Service road. Only occasionally, would I see one or the other of them as I did weekend jogs up the canyon. They would be the only people I might see on those wintry outings. It was always beautiful to make the run to the Forest Service Road. At one point, it seemed the canyon was closing. Then the road would turn, go though a notch, and the valley would open again. The brothers' house was the only thing in this almost hidden valley. The house was surrounded by a few cottonwood trees, out buildings, and wooden fences where the cattle the brothers kept could be corralled. I was making the run one day and, as I passed through the notch, I could see up the valley that one of the brothers was leading the cows back down to the barns. A winter storm was in the forecast. I guess the brother wanted to get them sheltered. He had them almost to the barns as I was passing the closest point to the house. I have no idea why his cattle decided that following me was an attractive alternative to going to the barns. Anyway, they turned and, at a gallop, joined me on my run. I got to the Forest Service road and, since I was completely innocent of any mischief, turned and started the run homeward. The cattle turned with me. They stopped as we all got near to the brother again. Maybe the cows were swishing their tails and sharing their pleasure of the afternoon jog before being stuck in a barn while the storm blew over. Maybe they were just curious about how far I'd go. Anyway, I imagined that the cows were amused. Not that brother! As I looked back, he had his fist doubled, his head lowered, and a very unpleasant look on his face. It was not a look of amusement. I found out later that one of the brothers asked my nearest neighbor who the fool was that came running barelegged up the road on weekends. I never met either of the brothers. I don't know whether they used quotations marks when they talked or not. I am sure it would have been lonesome at the top of Miller Creek Canyon. How do I know that? I mean, just look. Even the cows were seeking a little variety up there, above the notch.
Jim Herod is a retired Georgia Tech professor, enjoying retirement in Grove Hill.
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