Thirteen pages to go and McCarthy is whipping us up into a Godalmighty climax that should leave us exhausted.
Drugs, good or bad, would be hardpressed to produce worse nightmares than those in Suttree’s head. Methinks McCarthy had a helluva good time writing this ending, opening the gates to let out the full force of creativity in all its most extreme depravity and want.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology